THE STORY BOOK LADY.
Annie found the road hot and the way long. As she said, she was a very
good walker, and was never daunted by difficulties or dangers either
real or imaginary. She was impressed by Boris's bright little face, and
Kitty's story of his fidelity to the path of duty touched her quick and
affectionate nature. Annie Forest, the grown-up girl, was very like
Annie Forest, the child. She was still intensely impulsive, wayward, and
eager. Her faults were in a great manner subdued, but they were not
eradicated. She was intensely affectionate, brave, and true as steel;
but she was apt to be both heedless and thoughtless. When rushing away
to rescue Boris, it never once entered into her head that the secret of
her absence might prove very troublesome to poor Kitty, and that the
rest of the party might suffer uneasiness on her account. Without any
adventure from bull or bull-dog, without endangering her life in the
bog, which turned out to be almost non-existent at this time of year,
she reached the Towers at the most sultry time of the day, and appeared
upon the scene between one and two o'clock, a tired, flushed, and very
thirsty Annie. All during her walk she pictured Boris's state of
despair. She saw in her mind's eye a vision of his little, flushed,
tear-stained face. She thought of Nell, too, and imagined the rapture
with which the ugly duckling would greet her, the deliverer of the
oppressed.
Annie entered the Towers by a side entrance, and, skirting a pretty,
shady lawn, approached the house by the nearest way. As she did so, she
was attracted by voices which seemed to proceed from out of a clump of
trees. She stepped close to the spot from where the sound proceeded,
and, craning her neck, looked over the thick laurustinus bushes, which
enclosed a very tiny lawn or plot of grass.
Seated here, in the utmost peace and apparent contentment, were the poor
victims for whom she had exerted herself so terribly. Nell was lying
full length on her back on the grass. Boris was seated tailorwise on the
ground a little way off. Nell had a white rat curled up in her hair and
another nestling in her neck. Boris was feeding some white hares and
some pet rabbits. The children were eagerly talking to their animals,
and Annie had to own to herself that there was nothing in the least
unhappy or even morbid in the sound of either of the voices.
For a moment the children's perfect happiness almost vexed her. It
seemed provoking to have taken that long, exhausting walk for nothing,
and oh! how hungry and thirsty, how very hungry and thirsty she felt.
The next instant, however, her good-nature asserted itself. She said
"Hullo!" pushed her way through the laurustinus hedge, and stood in the
midst of the group.
Nell started into a sitting position, tumbling the white rats on to her
lap. She looked up at Annie. What a tumbled, dishevelled, hot, but oh,
what a pretty strange lady was this! Nell worshipped beauty with the
passion of a very hot and fervent little soul. She had scarcely noticed
Annie in the schoolroom, but now her heart went out to her with a great
throb.
"Who are you?" she said. "Where do you come from? What is your name?"
"Oh, I'm not a fairy, my good child!" said Annie. "I'm a poor, exhausted
girl, who thought she was performing a very heroic feat and finds
herself mistaken."
"Pray come in and take a seat," said Boris, who was always the soul of
gentlemanly politeness. He stood up as he spoke, tumbling his rabbits
and hares helter skelter in all directions, and tried to push back the
laurustinus hedge for Annie. She squeezed through, tearing her cotton
dress as she did so.
"Oh, dear, dear, your sweet dress is spoiled!" said Nell, in a tender
voice.
"Never mind," answered Annie; "one must lose something to attain to this
perfection."
"Won't you seat yourself?" said Boris.
He pointed to the grass, and Annie sat upon it with a sense of delight.
"How hot you are," said Nell. "What can we do for you? Would it soothe
you to stroke one of the rats? This darling, for instance. His name is
Crinklety."
Annie took the rat on her lap and looked at it reflectively.
"It's a darling," she said, "and so are the rabbits, and so are the
hares; but oh, I'm so hot and so thirsty! and oh, children, don't you
know what I've come about, and don't you know who I am?"
"No, I'm sure we don't," answered Boris. Nell stared solemnly; she did
not speak.
"Well," said Annie, "I see I must introduce myself. I am Annie Forest.
I'm Hester Thornton's friend, and I came here this morning with Hetty
and Nan, and we all started on a picnic, and when we came to Friar's
Wood, I found that you, Boris--you see I know your name--and you, Nell,
were left behind, and I could not stand it somehow; it seemed too cruel
and unfair, so I--I came back for you."
"How did you come?" asked Boris. "Did you drive back with Dobbin or
Jacko?"
"No; they will have plenty to do this evening, and why should I give
them double work, poor dears? No; I came back with these," she pushed
out her dainty, but very dusty, feet as she spoke.
"You mean that you _walked_?" said Nell. "You walked all that long way
just because of us two children that you knew nothing about. I didn't
believe it was true. I never believed anything so perfectly splendid
could be true out of a story book. Boris, do you hear? She walked from
Friar's Wood all by herself."
"Are you awfully dead beat?" asked Boris, standing in his sturdy
attitude in front of Annie and looking at her with immense attention.
"Yes; I never was hotter in my life, and I don't think I ever felt more
tired. It is such a blazing day."
"Then you don't want to walk back again?"
"Well, I suppose I must, only I think I'll rest a little bit first, and
perhaps one of you can bring me a glass of water. I consulted Kitty
about it, and Kitty said you could ride your brother's bicycle, Boris.
She only told me about Nell just when I was starting, but perhaps Nell
can get on the bicycle sometimes, too. I'm not quite sure how it can be
managed."
"You need not trouble about me," said Nell, "for I'm not going to the
picnic. I don't wish to."
"And I don't wish to either," said Boris; "there's nothing to go for
now, for dinner will be over. I always think the fun of a picnic is
washing the potatoes and lighting the bonfire, and they'll be all over
long ago."
"Well, then," said Annie, "I see that I have made myself a martyr in an
unnecessary cause. You bad children, you are not a bit unhappy at
staying at home, and I pictured you both such miserable little victims."
"Would you rather have seen us miserable?" asked Boris.
"Of course I'd much rather have seen you miserable, you little wretch.
How dare you look at me with those smiling, bright blue eyes? If I had
seen you and Nell pale and wretched, and a little bit withered up, I'd
have felt that my walk had been taken for a good purpose; but now----"
"Perhaps you think," said Nell, looking at Annie with great earnestness,
"that you did nothing when you took that walk and when you made the
story books come true. You did a great deal for me. We are Lorrimers,
Boris and I, and it isn't the fashion for a Lorrimer ever to fret when
things can't be helped. Boris would have liked to go to the picnic, and
I'd have liked it, too, if it had happened on another day, but as we
couldn't go, we meant to have a picnic at home. Will you stay with us
and help us to make up a jolly picnic at home?"
"Of course I will, only too gladly."
"Then, Boris," said Nell, "we had best fetch the food while the story
book lady is resting."
The children disappeared, and Annie lay back on the grass and laughed to
herself. She was absorbed as usual with the fascination of the moment,
and forgot all about Kitty, who would be carefully guarding her secret
far away in Friar's Wood.
The picnic, which was partaken of by Annie, Nell, and Boris on the tiny
lawn, surrounded by the laurustinus hedge, was a truly gay affair. The
white hares, the rabbits, the rats, joined the company of diners, and
Annie became her gayest and wildest self. When dinner was over, Boris
reluctantly took his pets back to the out-house where they were kept,
and then returned once more to the fascination of strawberries, cream,
and Annie Forest's society.
Meanwhile, in Friar's Wood, Kitty was keeping an eager look-out. It was
almost time for Annie to come back, and all the other members of the
party who did not know where she had gone were becoming anxious about
her. They would have been much more so but for Hester and Nan. But
Hester and Nan were both well accustomed to Annie's many vagaries.
"If it were anyone else, I should fret about her," said Hester,
answering Nora's eager inquiry for about the twentieth time. "She has
wandered away in the wood by herself and will come back when she
pleases, or perhaps she may have gone straight back to the Towers or to
the Grange. Annie is grown up now, and she can take care of herself.
There is no manner of use in fretting about her."
"If you only knew Annie at school!" exclaimed Nan. "Why there is quite a
proverb about Annie at school. Let me see, this is it: 'The only thing
to be expected of Annie Forest is the unexpected.' Now don't let's talk
of her any more. She is a dear old Annie; but why should she spoil this
lovely, perfect day, the first of my holidays? Guy, I wish you'd come
and sit next me. Let us get up a jolly game of hide and seek."
"No," said Guy, "It's too hot at present. We will presently, when the
sun gets a bit lower."
"Then tell me a story, there's a darling Guy."
Guy complied rather lazily. Nan moved a little apart with him, and the
two began an eager, whispered conversation. Molly and Hester once more
joined forces and resumed the interrupted talk of the morning. The
others wandered away in different directions, and Nora and Kitty found
themselves together. Nora felt rather discontented. She missed Annie
Forest, not because she particularly liked her just now, but because
Annie's conduct during their morning walk had rather piqued her. Nora
was quite sharp enough to read Kitty's secret in her troubled, demure,
watchful and impatient eyes. She thought it would be rather good fun to
bully Kitty a little.
"What are you staring through that long line of trees for?" she said.
"Come here, and out with it at once. You know you're bursting with a
secret. If you don't tell soon you'll explode, and there'll be nothing
left of you. Come here, I say, and out with it."
Nora thought it quite unnecessary to put on her society manners for
Kitty's benefit.
"Come here, Kit, at once, when I call you," she said, in a cross voice.
"I needn't come if I don't like," answered Kitty. "I'm not obliged to
obey you, so don't you think it."
"Highty tighty. Do you suppose I'm going to take impertinence from a
little chit like you? You know perfectly well where Annie Forest has
gone, and it is your duty to tell."
"I won't tell. There!"
"Ah!" laughed Nora, now thoroughly exasperated. "I guessed you had a
secret. I knew it when I saw you shutting up your lips so straightly,
and putting on that little demure expression whenever Annie's name was
mentioned. Now you have confessed it."
"I have confessed nothing," said Kitty in alarm.
"Yes, you have; you said you wouldn't tell. How could you say you
wouldn't tell if you had nothing to tell? I know mother is uneasy about
Annie, and I know Jane Macalister is uneasy, and you know where she is
and you dare to keep them in suspense. Come along to mother at once.
She'll soon get this secret out of you."
"I won't go, Nora--I won't. I'll climb up into this tree, where you
can't catch me. Here," continued Kitty, suiting the action to the word,
"you can't catch me up here; you can't. I won't go to mother--no, I
won't."
"You will if I make you," said Nora. "You think I can't climb."
"You wouldn't dare to climb!" exclaimed Kitty, shouting down from the
foliage of the tree into which she had hastily swung herself. "You'll
get your frock all torn, and Molly and Jane will be just mad. You
daren't climb, Nora--you daren't. You can't catch me Nora--you can't."
Nora had a quick temper, and Kitty's manner was most exasperating. Under
ordinary circumstances the ladylike Nora would have hated climbing
trees, but now all was forgotten in her fierce desire to lay hold of the
daring, exasperating little Kitty and to force her secret out of her.
How dared Annie Forest snub Nora and then confide in a baby like Kitty?
"Unless you come down this minute, I'll follow you into the tree and
drag you down," said Nora. "Now you know what I mean to do, so come down
this instant."
"Not I, not I," laughed Kitty. She had been rather frightened while Nora
was taunting her on the ground, but now she felt so secure that she
could afford to laugh, and even in her turn to use taunting words.
"I knew you were too much of a coward, fine, ladylike Miss Nora, to
climb up here," she said; "and I'm going to stay here just as long as I
please."
"Oh, are you?" said Nora. "There'll be two people to decide that point."
She was in a blind fury now, and, before Kitty could say another word,
began to swarm up the tree. She managed to catch the branch where Kitty
had planted herself, and in another instant would have caught hold of
the little girl's dress; but Kitty and Boris could both climb like
monkeys, and it did not take the little girl an instant to swing herself
on to a higher branch. Nora's mettle was now up. She was resolved that
Kitty should not conquer her. The spirit of defiance in Kitty made her
resolve to die rather than be taken.
"You shan't catch me--you shan't," screamed the child. "I'm lighter than
you. I'm going to creep on to the end of this bough; it will bear my
weight, but it won't bear yours, Nora. Don't attempt to get on it, Nora;
if you do the bough will break."
Kitty, as good as her word, crept on to a dead branch of the forest
beech tree; it was high above the ground and nearly bare of leaves. It
looked what it was, thoroughly rotten; but it bore Kitty's light weight
without strain. She reached almost the end, and turned her flushed,
laughing, defiant face towards Nora. Nora had reached the bough, but
hesitated a moment before trusting herself on it.
"Who said I was going to be caught?" exclaimed Kitty. "Hurrah! hurrah!
I'm safe enough."
"I will catch you!" exclaimed Nora. "You horrid, sneaking little cheat.
This bough looks firm enough. It will hold me as well as you; anyhow,
I'm going to try."
"Don't, don't!" screamed Kitty. She was really frightened now, for she
saw the danger from the position where she was sitting far more plainly
than Nora did. "Don't do it, Nora," she shrieked. "I'd rather come back
to you. I would really, really. You'll be killed--we'll both be killed
if you get upon this rotten bough. Oh, dear! oh, dear! Nora, are you
mad? Are you mad?"
Blind passion had made Nora almost mad. She did not believe Kitty's
words. The bare bough looked safe enough from her position. She
stretched out one cautious hand, then another, and propelled herself
slowly along. Her whole weight was now upon the bough. It was thoroughly
rotten and very brittle. Kitty gave a shriek of terror, and, with a wild
leap, managed to throw her arms over the bough just above. She was not a
minute too soon. The rotten branch cracked and broke with a loud report,
and poor Nora was hurled with great violence to the ground.