THE FRIGHT OF MILLIKINS-PILLIKINS
For another moment there was utter silence in the cottage. Even the
Dame's calmness forsook her, the absurd performance of her bald-headed
husband making her ashamed of him. She had seen the Lady Principal
passing along the road beyond the lane but had never met her so
closely, and she felt that the mistress of Oak Knowe was high above
common mortals.
However, as the flush died out of Miss Tross-Kingdon's face Mrs.
Gilpin's ordinary manner returned and she advanced in welcome.
"You do us proud, madam, by this call. Pray come in and be seated."
"Yes, yes, do!" cried John, interrupting. "I'll just step-an'-fetch
the arm-chair out o' Robin's room. 'Twas carried there for his mother
to rest in. She--"
The mortified old fellow was vainly trying to put back the smock he
had so recklessly discarded and without which he never felt fully
dressed. He hated a coat and wore one only on Sundays, at church. But
his frantic efforts to don this garment but added to his own
discomfiture, for he slipped it on backwards, the buttons behind,
grimacing fiercely at his failure to fasten them.
One glance toward him set all the young folks laughing, he looked so
comical, and even the dignified caller was forced to smile.
"Don't see what's so terrible funny as to send ye all into a
tee-hee's-nest! but if so be _you_ do, why giggle away and get shut of
it!" testily cried the poor old man. To have been caught "making a
fool of himself" was a "bitter pill" for him to swallow; having always
prided himself upon his correct deportment.
It was, as usual, the portly Dame who came to his relief, reminding:
"There, husband, that will do."
Then she quietly drew the smock over his head and slipped it back in
proper guise. With this upon him his composure returned, and he
apologized to Miss Tross-Kingdon as any gentleman might have done.
"Sorry to have kep' you standing so long, lady, but I'll
step-an'-fetch--"
However he was spared that necessity. Dorothy had heard and
understood that the best chair in the house must be placed at the
caller's service and had as promptly brought it. For a moment Miss
Tross-Kingdon still stood as if she would decline, till, seeing
the disappointment on her host's face, she accepted it with:
"Thank you. My errand could easily have been done without so troubling
you. I came to see if you have any more of that variety of apples that
you sent us last time. The _chef_ declares they are the finest yet.
Have you?"
"Yes, lady, I've got a few bar'ls left. Leastwise, my Dame has. She
can speak for hersel', if so be she wants to part with 'em. I heard
her say she meant to keep 'em for our own winter use. But--"
"That will do, John. Bring a pan from the further bin and show Miss
Tross-Kingdon. Maybe she'll like them just as well."
"All right, wife. I'll step-an'-fetch 'em to oncet."
So this obedient husband went out, his lame foot once more dragging
heavily behind him, and he managing as he departed to pass by Dorothy
and firmly clutch her sleeve, as he hoarsely whispered:
"Did you ever see the beat! In your mortal 'arthly life, did ye? Well,
I'm ashamed to the marrer of my bones to be caught cavortin' round
like the donkey I was. Come on down suller with me and I'll get
the apples. But carry 'em back--I shan't. Not this night. That
woman--lady, I mean--has got eyes like gimlets and the less she bores
'em into old John Gilpin the better he'll like it. Worst is, what'll
dame think? She won't say much. She's a rare silent woman, dame is,
but she can do a power of thinking. Oh! hum!"
So it happened that Dorothy returned to the kitchen, fairly staggering
under the weight of the biggest pan of apples that the farmer could
find. Mrs. Gilpin took them from her and showed them to the Lady
Principal, who was inwardly disappointed at the failure of her visit.
But the business was speedily concluded and, rising, she bade Mrs.
Gilpin good evening. The only notice she bestowed upon her runaway
pupils was to offer:
"If your visit is ended, young ladies, you may return to Oak Knowe in
my carriage."
Dorothy did not yet know how serious an offense she had committed and
merely thought that the Lady Principal was "stiffer" even than usual;
not once speaking again until the school was reached. Then, as she
moved away ignoring Winifred entirely, she bade Dorothy:
"Go to your dormitory, take a warm bath, and dress yourself freshly
all through. Your luggage has been unpacked and arranged in your
wardrobe. Put on one of your wool gowns for the evening, and come to
Assembly Hall. We are to have a lecture and concert, beginning at
eight. Punctual attendance required."
"She acts and looks as if we had done something dreadful, but I can't
guess what," said Dorothy, perplexed.
"Lucky for you that you can't! Your ignorance of school rules may save
you this time, but it can't save me. One of the hardest things about
it is, that you and I will be prohibited each other's 'society' for
nobody knows how long. I'm a wild black sheep, who's led a little
lamb--that's you--astray. It was fun--_was_ fun, mind you, but--but
it's all over for Winifred!"
"Win, you darling, what do you mean?" demanded Dolly, throwing her
arms about her new friend's neck in great distress.
"I mean exactly what I say. I'm an old offender, I've been there
before and ought to know better. I did like you so! Well, never mind!
The milk is spilled and no use crying about it!"
Dorothy was surprised to see tears suddenly fill Winifred's eyes and
to feel her clinging arms gently loosened. Under all her affected
indifference, the girl was evidently suffering, but as evidently
resented having sympathy shown her; so the new pupil made no further
comment, but asked:
"Do we have supper before that lecture? and should I dress before the
supper?"
"Huh! There'll be no supper for you nor me this night! And I'm just
ravenous hungry! Why was I such a fool as to dance that jig instead of
eating that pudding and beans? Yorkshire pudding's just delicious, if
it's made right, and the Dame's looked better even than our _chef's_.
If one could only look ahead in this world, how wise one would be,
'specially in the matter of suppers! Well, good-by, Queenie, with
aching heart from you I part; when shall we meet again? Ah! me! When?"
With a gesture of despair, half-comical, half-serious, the older girl
dashed down the corridor and Dorothy turned slowly toward her own
little room. There she found her luggage unpacked, her frocks and
shoes neatly arranged in the wardrobe, underclothing in the small
bureau, her toilet things on the tiny dressing table, and the fresh
suit she had been asked to put on spread out upon the bed.
It was all very cosy and comfortable, or would have been if she hadn't
been so hungry. However, she had hardly begun undressing before
Dawkins appeared with a small tray of sandwiches and milk, explaining:
"Supper's long past, Miss Dorothy, but the Principal bade me bring
this. Also, if there's time before lecture, you are to go to her
private parlor to speak with her. I'll help you and 'twill make the
time seem shorter."
"Thank you, Dawkins, that's sweet and kind of you; but--but I don't
feel any great hurry about dressing. Maybe Miss Tross-Kingdon'll be
better-natured--I mean not so cross--Oh! dear, you know what I mean,
don't you, dear Dawkins?"
"Sure, lassie, I know you have a deal more fear of the Lady Principal
'an you need. She's that just kind of a person one can always trust."
"I reckon I don't like 'just' people. I like 'em real plain _kind_.
I--I don't like to be found fault with."
"Few folks do so like; especially them as deserves it. But you will
love Miss Muriel better 'an anybody at Oak Knowe afore the year's out.
Only them that has lived with her knows her. I do know. A better woman
never trod shoe leather, and so you'll find. Now, you've no time to
waste."
Nor was any wasted, though Dorothy would gladly have postponed the
Principal's further acquaintance till another day. She found the lady
waiting and herself welcomed by a gracious word and smile. Motioning
to a low seat beside her own chair, Miss Muriel began:
"You are looking vastly improved, Dorothy, since you've taken off your
rain-soaked clothes. I hope you haven't taken cold. Have you felt any
chill?"
"Thank you, Miss Tross-Kingdon, none at all. Winifred says I will soon
get used to rain, and she doesn't mind it in the least. She says she
likes it."
The Lady Principal's expression altered to one of sadness rather than
anger, at the mention of the other girl, but she did not criticise her
in words.
"My dear little Dorothy, I sent for you to explain some things about
Oak Knowe which you do not understand. We try to make our rules as few
and lenient as possible, but such as do exist we rigidly enforce.
Where there are three hundred resident and day pupils gathered under
one roof, there is need for regular discipline, and, in general, we
have little trouble. What we do have sometimes comes from ignorance,
as in your case to-night. Your taking so long a walk without a
chaperon, and paying a social visit without permission, was a direct
trespass upon our authority. So, to prevent any future mistakes, I
have prepared you a list of what you may and may not do. Keep this
little notebook by you until you have grown familiar with Oak Knowe
life. Also, you will find copies of our regulations posted in several
places upon the walls.
"And now that we have finished 'business' for the present, let us talk
of something pleasanter. Tell me about that 'Aunt Betty' of yours,
whom our good Bishop lauds so highly."
Vastly relieved that the dreaded "scolding" had been so mild and Miss
Tross-Kingdon so really kind, Dorothy eagerly obeyed, and was
delighted to see a real interest in this wonderful aunt showing in
the teacher's face.
But her enthusiastic description of Mrs. Calvert was rudely
interrupted by a childish scream and little Millikins-Pillikins flying
wildly into the room, to spring into Miss Muriel's lap and hide her
face on the lady's shoulder, begging:
"Don't you let him! Don't you let him! Oh! Auntie, don't you!"
"Why, darling, what is this? What sent you out of bed, just in your
nightgown? What has frightened you?"
"The debbil!"
"Grace! What wicked word is that you speak?"
"It was, _it was!_ I seen him! He come--set on my feet--an'--an'--Oh!
Auntie Prin, you hold me close. 'Cause he was a talkin' debbil. He
come to cotch me--he said it, yes he did."
Miss Tross-Kingdon was as perplexed as horrified. That little Grace,
her orphan niece and the dearest thing in life to her, should speak
like this and be in such a state was most amazing.
For a few seconds she did hold the little one "close" and in silence,
tenderly stroking the small body and folding her own light shawl about
it, and gradually its trembling ceased, the shuddering sobs grew
fainter and fewer and the exhausted little maid fell fast asleep. Just
then the clock on the mantel chimed for eight and Miss Muriel's place
was in assembly, on the platform with the famous lecturer who had come
to do her great school honor. She must go and at once.
Dorothy, watching, saw the struggle in the aunt's mind depicted on her
face. With a tender clasp of the little one she put her own desire
aside and turned to duty; and the girl's own heart warmed to the
stately woman as she had not believed it ever could.
Dawkins had prophesied: "You'll love Miss Muriel, once you know her,"
but Dorothy had not believed her. Yet here it was coming true already!
"Dorothy, will you please ring for a maid to look after Grace? Wake
up, darling, Auntie Prin must go."
The child roused as her aunt spoke, but when she attempted to put her
down and rise, the frantic screams broke out afresh, nor would she
submit to be lifted by the maid who promptly came. Miss Muriel's bell
was not one to be neglected!
"No, no, no! I shan't--I won't--the deb--"
"Not that word, sweetheart, never again!" warned the Lady Principal,
laying her finger on Grace's lips. "Go nicely now with Dora, and make
no trouble."
"No, no, no!" still screamed Grace: her flushed face and feverish
appearance sending fresh alarm to her aunt's heart.
"Why, look here, Millikins! I'm Dorothy. The 'sleepy-head' you came to
wake up this morning. Won't you go with _me_, dear? If Auntie Prin
says 'yes,' I'll take you back to bed, and if you'll show me where."
Millikins looked long and steadily at Dolly's appealing arms, then
slowly crept into them.
"Pretty! Millikins'll go with pretty Dorothy!"
So they went away, indeed a "pretty" sight to the anxious aunt.
Dorothy's white gown and scarlet ribbons transformed her from the
rain-and-mud-bespattered girl of a few hours before, while her loving
interest in the frightened child banished all fear and homesickness
from her own mobile face.
Little Grace's room was a small one opening off from Miss Muriel's,
and as soon as the lecture was over and she was free, she took Dr.
Winston with her to see the child. Her dark little face was still very
flushed, but she was asleep, Dorothy also. The girl had drawn a chair
close to the child's cot and sat there with an arm protectingly thrown
over her charge: and now a fresh anxiety rose in the Lady Principal's
heart.
"Oh! Doctor, what if it should be something contagious? I don't see
why I didn't think of that before. Besides, I sacrificed Miss
Calvert's opportunity to hear the lecture for Grace's sake. How could
I have been so thoughtless!"
"Well, Madam, I suppose because you are human as well as a
schoolma'am, and love for your niece stronger than training. But don't
distress yourself. I doubt if this is anything more than a fit of
indigestion. That would account, also, for the imaginary visit of a
goblin, which terrified the little one. However, it might be well to
isolate Miss Dorothy for a day or so, in case anything serious
develops."
By that time Dorothy was awake and sat up listening to this
conversation; and when the doctor explained to her that this isolation
meant that she must live quite apart from the schoolmates she so
desired to know, she was bitterly disappointed.
"I haven't been here more than twenty-four hours, yet it seems as if
more unpleasant things have happened than could anywhere else in a
lifetime," she complained to Dawkins, who had come to arrange another
cot for her to use and to bring the needed articles from her own
little cubicle.
"Ah, lassie! When you've lived as long as me you'll learn 't a
'lifetime' is a goodish long spell: and if so be you can't mix with
your mates for a little few days, more's the blessing that's yours,
alongside as you'll be of the Lady Principal. Now, say your prayers
and hop into this fine bed I've fixed for you, and off to Noddle
Island quick as wink. Good night and sleep well."
Surely our Dorothy had the gift of winning hearts, and other Oak Knowe
girls with whom Dawkins exchanged scant speech would have been
astonished by the kindly gossip with this newcomer. Also, the maid's
belief that Dorothy's intercourse with the Lady Principal would be
delightful was well founded. Miss Muriel was grateful to her pupil for
her patience with troublesome Grace, and regretful that her isolation
from her mates had come about in just this wise.
However, Dr. Winston had been right. Millikins-Pillikins had been
allowed the run of the house and, like most children, found its
kitchen its most attractive place. There her sharp tongue and amusing
capers furnished amusement for the servants, who rewarded her with all
sorts of "treats" and sweetmeats. The result was natural, but what was
not so natural was her persistent declaration that she had been
visited by an evil spirit.
"I did so see him, Auntie Princie! He had big whitey eyes, and his
head was all red--"
"No more, darling. Say no more. Just play with your blocks. See what
sort of house you can build, or--"
"Auntie Prin, I do _hate_ blocks! And you don't believe me. Did
Millikins ever tell you a wrong story in her whole life?"
"No, darling, not to my knowledge. I'm proud to know you are a very
truthful little girl. But even such can _dream_ queer things. Ask
Dorothy to play for you and me. You know this is the last day she'll
be shut up here and I'd like to hear some music."
Dorothy laid down her book and went to fetch her violin, but the
self-willed Grace would have none of that. Stamping her foot, she
imperiously cried:
"No, no, no! She shall come with me and seek that old debbil. She
shall so. He had hornses and his face--"
"Grace Adelaide Tross-Kingdon! if you disobey me again by mentioning
that subject, I shall send for the Bishop and brother Hugh and see
what they can do with you. Do you want to be disgraced before them?"
The little girl pondered that question seriously. She could not
understand why telling the truth should disgrace anybody. She loved
the Bishop and fairly idolized her big brother Hugh. Her Aunt Muriel
was more angry with the child than ever before in her short life and
Millikins fully realized this fact.
"I'm sorry, Auntie Prin. I'm sorrier than ever was. I hate them two
should think I was bad and I wish--I wish you wouldn't not for to tell
'em. I isn't bad, you only think so. 'Cause it's the truthiest truth,
I _did_ see him. He had--"
Miss Tross-Kingdon held up a warning hand and her face was sterner
than any pupil had ever seen it. Such would have quailed before it,
but Millikins-Pillikins quailed not at all. Rising from the carpet,
where she had been sitting, she planted her sturdy legs apart, folded
her arms behind her and unflinchingly regarded her aunt. The midget's
defiant attitude made Dorothy turn her head to hide a smile, while the
little girl reiterated:
"I did see him. I have to tell the truth all times. You said so and I
have to mind. I did see that debbil. He lives in this house. When my
brother Hugh comes, he shall go with me to hunt which room he lives
in, and the Bishop shall preach at him the goodest and hardest he can.
This isn't no badness, dear, angry Auntie Prin; it is the truthiest
truth and when you see him, too, you'll believe it. If Hugh would
come--"
Miss Tross-Kingdon leaned back in her chair and threw out her hand in
a gesture of despair. What made her darling so incorrigible?
"Oh! I wish he would come, I certainly wish he would! This thing is
beyond me or anything in my experience. I almost begin to believe that
Bible days have returned and you are possessed of the evil spirit."
Millikins-Pillikins returned to her play in supreme indifference. She
knew what she knew. Couldn't a body believe one's own eyes? Didn't
the _chef_ often say that "Seeing is believing," when the scullery
maid stole the raisins and he found them in her pocket? She couldn't
help Auntie Prin being stupid; and--
"Oh, oh, oh! Hughie's come! Hughie's come! Oh! you darling brother
boy, let's go and seek that debbil!"
The youth who entered and into whose arms his little sister had
sprung, held her away from him and gasped. Then answered merrily:
"That gentleman doesn't belong in good society, kiddie. It's not good
form even to mention him. I'd rather go the other way."
Then he set her gently down and turned to acknowledge his aunt's
introduction to Dorothy. He was well used to meeting the Oak Knowe
girls, but wondered a little at finding one at this hour in the Lady
Principal's private parlor. As he opened his lips to address some
courteous remark to her, a shriek of utter terror rang through the
house and a housemaid burst unceremoniously in, white and almost
breathless, yet managing to say:
"Oh! Ma'am, I'm leavin'--I'm leavin' the now! Sure, 'tis a haunted
house and Satan hisself dwells in it!"