The Hawthorns Part 11

She wondered now how it was that she had been able to play with the boys so long without disagreement before Ethelwyn came. Of course these quarrels were all their fault, for in Pennie's eyes Ethelwyn could do no wrong; if sometimes it was impossible to help seeing that she was greedy and selfish, and even told fibs, Pennie excused it in her own mind-- indeed, these faults did not seem to her half so bad in Ethelwyn as in other people, and by degrees she thought much more lightly of them than she had ever done before.

For Ethelwyn had gained a most complete influence over her, partly by her beauty, and partly by her coaxing, flattering ways. It was all so new to Pennie; and, though she was really a sensible little girl, she loved praise and caresses overmuch; like many wiser people, she could not judge anyone harshly who seemed to admire her.

So she was Ethelwyn's closest companion in those days, and even began to imitate what she considered her elegant manners. She spoke mincingly, and took short little stiff steps in walking, and bent her head gracefully when she said, "Yes, please," or "No, thank you." The new plush bonnet was a misery to her, and she sighed to be beautifully dressed.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE CHINESE MANDARIN.

This uncomfortable state of things had been going on for nearly a fortnight, and Ethelwyn's visit was drawing to a close, when one morning there came a letter from Miss Unity. It contained an invitation to Pennie to stay three days at Nearminster, and ended with these words:

"If my G.o.d-daughter has her little friend still with her, I shall be glad to see her also, if she would like to come."

Now it happened that this suggestion of Miss Unity's came at a wonderfully convenient moment; for it had been arranged already that Ethelwyn's governess should meet her at the Nearminster station in three days' time, and take her back to London. She would now go from Miss Unity's house instead of from Easney, and Mrs Hawthorn was not at all sorry to think that the children would be separated a little earlier than was first intended.

So, with many cautions not to be troublesome, not to talk in bed, and not to touch the china, she told the little girls that they were to go to Nearminster. The news quickly spread through the family, and caused a deep but secret joy to the other children, for they were very tired of Ethelwyn; nevertheless they restrained any expression of their pleasure until the day of departure, when they gathered at the white gate to see the wagonette pa.s.s. The little girls were feeling even more dignified and grown-up than usual, for it was a great event to drive over to Nearminster quite alone; therefore it was all the more trying to be greeted by a derisive song:

"Hurray, hurray, hurray!

Ethelwyn is gone away!"

screamed the shrill voices, even d.i.c.kie doing her best to swell the chorus. It was so loud that it sounded a long way up the road; and Ethelwyn's favourite remark, "How very vulgar!" did not disguise it in the least.

The first day at Nearminster was fine and bright, and the children found plenty to entertain them. It was all new to Ethelwyn; and to Pennie, although she knew them so well, every object had an ever fresh interest.

They went into the market with Miss Unity in the morning, and watched her buy a chicken, fresh eggs, and a cauliflower, which she carried home herself in a brown basket. Then in the afternoon Bridget was allowed to take the children into the town that they might see the shops, and that Pennie might spend her money. For she had brought with her the contents of her money-box, which amounted to fivepence-halfpenny, and intended to lay out this large sum in presents for everyone at home. It was an anxious as well as a difficult matter to do this to the best advantage, and she spent much time in gazing into shop-windows, her brow puckered with care and her purse clutched tightly in her hand. Ethelwyn's advice, which might have been useful under these circ.u.mstances, was quite the reverse; for the suggestions she made were absurdly above Pennie's means, and only confusing to the mind.

"I should buy that," she would say, pointing to something which was worth at least a s.h.i.+lling.

Pennie soon left off listening to her, and bent her undivided attention to the matter--how to buy seven presents with five pence halfpenny? It might have puzzled a wiser head than Pennie's; but at last, by dint of much calculation on the fingers, she arrived with a mind at rest at the following results:-- An india-rubber ball for the baby, a lead pencil for father, a packet of pins for mother, a ball of twine for Ambrose, a paint-brush for Nancy, a pen-holder for David, and a tiny china dog for d.i.c.kie.

Ethelwyn was very impatient long before the shopping was done.

"Oh, spend the rest in sweets," she said over and over again in the midst of Pennie's difficulties.

But Pennie only shook her head, and would not even look at chocolate creams or sugar-candy until she had done her business satisfactorily.

In the evening she amused herself by packing and unpacking the presents, and printing the name of each person on the parcels, while Miss Unity read aloud. It was not a very amusing book, and Ethelwyn, who had spent all her money on sweets and eaten more of them than was good for her, felt cross and rather sick and discontented. She yawned and fidgeted, and frowned as openly as she dared, for she was afraid of Miss Unity; and when at last bed-time came, and the little girls were alone, she expressed her displeasure freely.

"I can't bear stopping here," she said. "It's a dull, ugly old place, I think I wish I was back in London."

"Well, so you will be the day after to-morrow," replied Pennie shortly.

She did not like even Ethelwyn to abuse Nearminster, and she was beginning to be just a little tired of hearing so much about London.

Unfortunately for Ethelwyn's temper the next day was decidedly wet--so wet that even Miss Unity could not get out into the market, and settled herself with a basket of wools for a morning's work. Through the streaming window-panes the gra.s.s in the Close looked very green and the Cathedral very grey; the starlings were industriously pecking at the slugs, and the jackdaws chattered and darted about the tower as usual, but there was not one other living thing to be seen. "Dull, horribly dull!" Ethelwyn thought as she knelt up in the window-seat and pressed her nose against the gla.s.s. It was just as bad inside the room; there was Miss Unity's stiff upright figure, there was her needle going in and out of her canvas, there was the red rose gradually unfolding with every st.i.tch. There was Pennie, bent nearly double over a fairy book, with her elbows on her knees and a frown of interest on her brow. There was nothing to see, nothing to do, no one to talk to. Ethelwyn gaped wearily.

Then her idle glance fell on the clock. Would it _always_ be twelve o'clock that morning? And from that it pa.s.sed to the Chinese mandarin, which stood close to it. He was a little fellow, with a s.h.i.+ning bald head and a small patch of hair on each side of it; his face, which was broad, had no features to speak of, and yet bore an expression of feeble good-nature. Ethelwyn knew that the merest touch would set his head nodding in a helpless manner, and she suddenly felt a great longing to do it. But that was strictly forbidden; no one must touch the mandarin except Miss Unity; and, though she was generally quite willing to make him perform, Ethelwyn did not feel inclined to ask her. She wanted to do it herself. "If she would only go out of the room," thought the child, "I'd make him wag his head in a minute, whatever Pennie said."

Curiously enough Bridget appeared at the door just then with a message.

"If you please, ma'am," she said, "could Cook speak to you in the kitchen about the preserving?"

Now was Ethelwyn's opportunity, and she lost no time. She went quickly up to the mantel-piece directly Miss Unity closed the door, and touched the mandarin gently on the head.

"Look, Pennie! look!" she cried.

Pennie raised her face from her book with an absent expression, which soon changed to horror as she saw the mandarin wagging his head with foolish solemnity. Ethelwyn stood by delighted.

"I'll make him go faster," she said, and raised herself on tiptoe, for the mantel-piece was high.

"Don't! don't!" called out Pennie in an agony of alarm; but it was too late. Growing bolder, Ethelwyn gave the mandarin such a sharp tap at the back of his head that he lost his balance and toppled down on the hearth with a horrible crash.

There he lay, his poor foolish head rolling about on the carpet, and his body some distance off. Hopelessly broken, a ruined mandarin, he would never nod any more!

For a minute the little girls gazed speechlessly at the wreck; there was silence in the room, except for the steady tick-tack of the clock. Then Ethelwyn turned a terrified face towards her friend.

"Oh, Pennie!" she cried, "what _shall_ I do?" for she was really afraid of Miss Unity.

Pennie rose, picked up the mandarin's head, and looked at it sorrowfully.

"Mother _told_ us not to touch the china," she said.

"But can't we do anything?" exclaimed Ethelwyn wildly; "couldn't we stick it on? He's not broken anywhere else. See, Pennie!"

She put the mandarin on the mantel-piece and carefully balanced the broken head on his shoulders.

"He looks as well as ever," she said; "no one would guess he was broken."

"But he _is_," replied Pennie; "and even if he _can_ be mended I don't suppose he'll ever nod like he used to."

"Are you going to _tell_ her we broke him?" asked Ethelwyn after a short pause.

Pennie stared.

"_We_ didn't break him," she said; "it was you, and _of course_ you'll tell her."

"That I sha'n't," said Ethelwyn sulkily; "and if you do, you'll be a sneak."

"But you'll _have_ to say," continued Pennie, "because directly he's touched his head will come off, and then Miss Unity will ask us."

"Well, I shall wait till she finds out," said Ethelwyn, "and if you tell her before I'll never never speak to you again, and I won't have you for my friend any longer."

"I'm not going to tell," said Pennie, drawing herself up proudly, "unless she asks me straight out. But I _know_ you ought to."

As she spoke a step sounded in the pa.s.sage, and with one bound Ethelwyn regained her old place in the window-seat and turned her head away.

Pennie remained standing by the fire, with a startled guilty look and a little perplexed frown on her brow.

Miss Unity's glance fell on her directly she entered; but her mind was occupied with the cares of preserving, and though she saw that the child looked troubled she said nothing at first.