Comin' Thro' the Rye (Mathers)/Seed Time/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI.
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
We are in August now, and there is no coolness anywhere, not in the house, nor in the garden, nor in the sea; twice to-day have I dipped in its salt waters, and each time I have come out of it ten degrees hotter than when I stepped in. Through the dining-room windows yonder we can hear the manly bass of the governor, and the shrill little pipe of the Mummy, following each other in friendly monotony, and out here, under the big linden tree, are sitting Jack, young Mr. Tempest, and I.
The weather has surely softened papa's brain, for, not content with shaking hands with Mr. Tempest, he invited both him and his son to dinner, and has just peaceably partaken of the same with them; Mother, Charles Lovelace, and Alice being also of the company. George and I are old friends now, and he gets on very well with Jack, so he has forsaken claret for our company; and very sociable and merry we are as we sit and fan ourselves with cabbage leaves, for oh! though the sun is sinking, he has heated the earth so thoroughly that it is red-hot through and through; it is impossible to think of even the hours of the night being cool.
Yonder, in the winding ways of the formal garden, Alice and Charles are walking with their heads touching; she is holding up her white silk train with one hand, and her pretty little feet are peeping in and out, while the white roses in her breast and hair are no fairer than her round arms and neck.
"I wish we were at Silverbridge!" I say, swaying my cabbage leaf gently; it goes to my heart to be sitting here, gooseberryless, currantless, raspberryless, while all the little Dorleys are, I am certain, taking their nasty little fills! "Mother wanted to have the fruit sent to us once a week, but papa said it was to be preserved."
"I hate preserves," says Jack, "nasty apologies for fresh fruit; blackberry jam's good though?"
"Did you ever make jam sloes?" I ask George Tempest, "that cleaves to the roof of your mouth and won't be swallowed?"
"Never! Did you?"
"Once, but we only made one pot, and it lasted years; whenever we were very hungry, and quite at our wit's end, we used to take it out and look at it, but never got any further, and at last it withered up. I wish I knew where to get some blackberries now, large juicy, soft ones, like raspberries; but it's full early, I don't think we'll get any worth having before September."
"I saw a lot this morning," says George, as I was riding across the lower———("Jack!" calls mother in the distance, "I want you.")—landslip," finishes George as Jack goes. "Would you like to go and get some?"
"So much!" I say quickly. "Are there many?"
"I think so; why cannot you and Dolly come with me to-morrow morning?"
"We are forbidden to go out alone," I say thoughtfully; "you won't mind Amberley coming?"
"Indeed, I shall," he says laughing. "What do you want with that stupid old woman? We could have such a jolly morning."
"So we could," I say, considering; "I think I could dodge her all right; but how about the governor?"
"He goes for a ride sometimes."
"Yes, but not always. Supposing he were to inquire for us and we were missing?"
"What then?"
"What then? Oh, nothing! A vision rises before me of the condition of the household under the circumstances, and his simple question makes me smile.
"Don't take any notice of him," says George indifferently (It is all very fine for him to talk); "I shall be waiting on the Parade for you to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock punctually."
"I am afraid you will have to wait," I say disconsolately: "but never mind, if we don't come, you will know it is not our fault!"
"The governor!" signals Jack, beckoning in the distance; so without waiting for farewells I hastily decamp. By-and-by the sound of music rising from the drawing-room gives us a new sensation. Never within the memory of man, certainly not within ours, has the piano's modest voice been uplifted in papa's presence; but, lo! at the magic touch of company, its long-frozen melodies stream forth, and there is a convivial, rakish, bacchanalian sound about the festivities below that lifts the hair from off our youthful heads in amazement; we should not be surprised even, if on peeping in we discovered papa affably turning over the pages of Alice's music; he may, for all we know, be drinking tea. This mildness of temper if agreeable is alarming; can he be going to have a fever or a fit? or has the sun actually melted some of the obstinacy out of his brain? Middle-aged gentlemen don't act in direct opposition to all the traditions of their past lives for nothing. If his wits would only go on softening until he is just like anybody else! I fall asleep with the cheerful tune of "Kiss me quick and go, my honey," in my ears. Somehow it seems indecent as sung before the governor.
We have all slept, risen, dressed ourselves—(of all the machines that are yearly invented for reducing labour to a minimum, why is there not one for turning us out ready dressed? Who is there that does not now and then kick against the wearisome, ever-recurring duties of the toilet?)—listened to prayers, eaten our breakfasts, and scattered hither and thither to our several pursuite and occupations. It is holiday time with us, so I am not expected in the schoolroom, and my present object in life is to ascertain what the governor is doing, where he is going, and whether there is any dire chance of his catching Dolly and me just as we are trotting off to "pastures new." I carefully track him to the library, and am presently surprised and relieved by the appearance of his man of business, who is shown to that sanctum by Simpkins, and left for four good hours, I hope. And now to find Dolly. I have not mentioned to that young person that I meditate taking her out, or her eyes would have become so round that everybody would have suspected she was up to mischief, and on searching inquiry she would certainly have let it out. I discover her in the nursery with Alan, learning Scripture history—the fag-end of a punishment given by papa weeks ago. I give nurse a hug. Dear old soul! is she not like a second mother to us? but wish she would turn her back; for if she is loving she is shrewd, and is too well acquainted with my knack of getting into scrapes to trust any one of her charges to my tender mercies. She is hemming dusters and rating Balaam's Ass, who with her usual obstinacy has been doing that which she ought not to have done, and leaving undone such things as she ought to have done. Apparently she has been taking the air on the leads, for nurse is remarking with a violent sniff, "that rent will soon be dear in these parts if so much beauty is seen disporting itself on the tiles." (B.A. is the most ill-favoured young woman I ever saw.)
"Like Bathsheba," says Alan.
"Nurse," says Dolly, looking up from her book," who was Bathsheba?"
"Nobody in particular, Miss Dolly; nobody you have any call to ask about. A woman."
"She was an improper person," says Alan unexpectedly.
"Sakes alive!" ejaculates nurse holding up her hands; "what ever is the boy talking about?" Hold your tongue, Master Alan, and mind your book."
"I shan't," says Alan, resting his chin on his hand and regarding nurse with meditative eyes. "You know as well as I do. I heard Jack humming something the other day about—
And she without a rag on.'
And I asked him who she was, and he said Bathsheba. And I looked it out, and I shan't ever think much of David again, psalms and all."
Nurse looks at him helplessly as he returns to his book. Why do our elders always look so completely put out of countenance when we show any signs of shooting up in unexpected directions? They did the same when they were children.
Taking advantage of her departure to quell a riot among the boys in the next room, I catch Dolly's hand and pull her away with me.
"May not Alan come?" she asks, looking back.
"No," I say in a whisper; "I only want you." I trot her into my bedroom, and having informed her of the trip I propose taking, ask her if she can get at her hat and jacket without nurse's knowing.
Yes, she can, and, all delight and round eyes, she departs on tiptoe, obtains the coveted articles, and in five minutes, after patient and careful dodging of mother, Amberley, Simpkins, and Alice, we stand on the high road, and are scampering away as fast as we can pelt towards the Parade.
Oh! the bonny, bonny sea! Though I see and stand by it every day, it always gives me a new delight every time my eyes light thereon. It is only half-past ten; there is plenty of time and to spare, so we betake ourselves to Tippet's, the confectioner and as—oh, wonder!—I actually possess a sixpence, we indulge in one bun each, one sponge-cake each, and a pennyworth apiece of bull's-eyes. Delicious! We are thirsty, but lemonade is beyond us, so we drink water unthankfully. (Why does every one take kindly to adulterated and manufactured drinks, and turn away disdainfully from the only pure liquid the world contains ) and then take a comfortable little trot round the town, glueing our noses to shop windows; pausing to look at the omnibus starting for the railway station; helping to pick up an unfortunate pair of twins who have been rolled out of their perambulator by an elder sister, aged seven years; standing still to watch a man walking round and round his horse in the vain effort to mount it; diving into a chemist's shop to get out of the way of old Mr. Tempest; feeling, in short, very dissipated, very happy, and intensely, grandly independent. Eleven o'clock is striking as we reach the Parade, and at the far end is George. Seeing us, he steps out briskly, and in another two minutes we are shaking hands and laughing over the success of our undertaking.
"We must be very quick, though," I say, "for some unlucky spirit may put it into his head to ask for us, and then———"
"How do you do, Miss Adair?" asks a voice behind me. Turning, I see Bobbie Silver and two or three other young fellows, friends of Jack.
"How do you do?" I say, rather chapfallen: they will see Jack presently, and tell him they saw me down here alone. Oh, the ways of disobedience are very crooked!
"And where is the duenna?" asks Bobbie.
I am opening my mouth to answer him, when in the distance I espy Balaam's Ass bearing down upon us with a portentous mien that betokens some deadly tidings. The words I am about to speak die on my lips; my open mouth remains open; my widening eyes enlarge to their fullest extent, and remain fixed. The young men, marvelling, turn to ascertain the cause of my petrification.
"If you please, Miss Helen and Miss Dolly," says Balaam's Ass, appearing in our midst, "your pa says you're to go home and go to bed directly!"
She might have whispered. . . . I do not look at Bobbie or George. I look nowhere; I see nothing. Why does not the earth open and swallow us up? Somehow, I do not know how, to this day, we get ourselves away.
"How dare he do it?" I say, as I climb the steep hill that leads to our abode, with bitter tears raining down my burnt cheeks, hot anger and outraged pride scorching my heart, "just as we were so happy, Dolly! How shall I ever look one of them in the face again!" And I am fourteen years old! Truly "pride goes before a fall!"