MARGERIE'S ADVENTURE.
IT was on a bright, changeful April afternoon—a half-holiday, by the
way—that Margerie Grace was sent by her mother to order a parcel of
groceries.
The shop was a large and popular one, and several customers, both
grown-up and juvenile, were waiting to be attended to. Margerie had
been taught that it is unfair (and therefore unladylike) to attempt
to get served out of one's turn, so she stood aside for a while, and
amused herself by looking at the gay picture advertisements, and
ornamental arrangements of pickle jars and jam-pots, with which the
walls were lined.
She was just gazing with wonder and admiration at a gorgeously-coloured
show-card, which set forth the merits of a new baking-powder by
representing a procession of very small children, each bearing aloft
some marvellous achievement in the way of tart or cake—how lovely if
'she' could buy a packet and make a dear little loaf for father's
tea!—when someone rather imperatively pushed her out of the way with a
rolled-up umbrella, and went past her to the counter.
The umbrella was somewhat remarkable, bearing in shape a striking
resemblance to a "Cos" lettuce, and Margerie naturally turned to look
at its proprietor.
She was a little old lady in a dark cloak—so little that she was
really not much taller than the child herself, and so upright that
Margerie could not help being reminded of a china extinguisher in the
form of a tiny woman which graced their bed-room mantelpiece at home.
She, moreover, wore a very big black velvet bonnet, which viewed from
behind—so large and round was the crown—looked like one end of an
old-fashioned sofa-pillow. Margerie felt moved by an unaccountable
curiosity to see the face inside, and presently managed to get into a
position whence she could catch a sideway peep.
It was scarcely an attractive countenance. Perhaps, without being
unkind—as none of my readers actually know the lady—I may admit that
it was rather the reverse, being decidedly large for the size of the
figure it surmounted, very yellow, very much wrinkled, and very thin.
Thick iron-gray hair was plastered down "window-curtain" fashion close
to the corners of the eyes, the very pronounced nose was inclined to a
reddish-purple hue at the tip, and quite a moustache of gray hair hung
about the long, hard-set upper lip. A greater contrast to the faces
Margerie was accustomed to see about her in her home could scarcely be
imagined. She always felt sorry for people who were very plain, and
unconsciously heaved a real sigh.
The old lady looked sharply round. Her hollow eyes were large, black,
and mournful-looking.
Margerie, knowing what her own thoughts had been, coloured beneath
their gaze. She was quite glad that the bulgy umbrella at that moment
falling down gave her an opportunity of hiding her face as she stooped
to pick it up, and also of doing something to make up for thinking the
poor old lady ugly. She wiped the sawdust from its dingy folds with her
own little handkerchief before restoring it to the owner.
"Thank you, child," said the old lady rather brusquely, and stared at
the little girl with her great owl-like eyes until the latter felt as
if she were going to be swallowed up.
Margerie gave her order while the old lady was counting her change,
which seemed to take her a long time, and they left the shop almost
together.
It was then that a rather strange thing happened, or rather began
happening. Mrs. Grace had told Margerie that she need not hurry back,
but, as it was such a fine day, might take "a run round" before going
home. So she thought she would return by way of the Park, which was
near at hand.
But though she skipped about, ran back and forth, loitered to watch
the swans fed, and stood for some time to look at the tennis-players,
that strange old lady kept always in sight. She actually seemed to
be following her, and the idea made Margerie rather uncomfortable.
She was not exactly frightened; one does not generally feel afraid
in broad daylight under a sunny sky. But her pursuer was very
peculiar-looking—not unlike a witch in a fairy-tale—and it was not
nice. So she resolved to go home. She would run all the way, she
thought, and leave the old lady far behind.
But how it was I cannot tell; perhaps, once in the streets again, the
gay shop-windows tempted the little girl to linger, but so it was that
when she by and by glanced backward once more, there was the odd figure
in the long cloak and big bonnet just coming round the corner.
Margerie had a halfpenny to spend, and a thought struck her. She would
go into a sweetmeat shop that was close at hand, and not come out
again until the old lady had gone past, so she would not be able to
follow her any more. This plan she contrived to carry out, and when she
emerged from the shop, she had the satisfaction of seeing the ancient
dame walking before her instead of behind.
The road they were in was one of those thoroughfares one sometimes
finds in the suburbs of London, where shops and places of business
alternate in strange contrast with villa-residences of bygone days,
sitting far back from the rattle and noise amid the bowery seclusion of
their own fine old trees.
For some distance Margerie followed in the steps of her former pursuer.
Then they had to cross another road. The old lady had just stepped
off the curb-stone when a heavy two-horse van came rattling round the
corner. She started back in affright, slipped, and fell upon her right
arm on the edge of the pavement.
A man who was near assisted her to rise, and Margerie, who was only a
few paces behind, instantly forgetting her fear in sympathetic concern,
ran forward to pick up the old umbrella once more, and say in her own
pretty way, "I do hope you are not hurt!"
"I can manage to get home," answered the old lady, though evidently in
great pain, "if you'll carry my parcel. I live close by."
Kind little Margerie gladly complied, and somewhat imperiously
dismissing other offers of help, her new acquaintance went limping
independently on her way.
"Will you take my arm?" ventured Margerie timidly, but full of desire
to help.
"No, child, no! You look after my things, that's enough for you to do,"
was the decisive reply.
Presently they stopped before a rusty, ramshackle iron gate in a high,
blank wall. It had once been a rather grand-looking gate, and a pair of
broken-nosed griffins still guarded it on either side.
"Open it!" commanded the old lady in a voice sharp with pain.
Margerie did so, and a large grass-grown garden was shown within, all
wild, neglected and weedy, with a tangle of bushes surrounding a broken
statue in the centre. Far back stood a strange-looking house, old and
dilapidated, most of the windows of which were curtainless and many of
them broken.
"Feel in my pocket for a latch-key!" groaned the old lady, whose
suffering increased every moment.
Full of wonder at the strangeness of her adventure, Margerie obeyed,
and accompanying her companion up the long, moss-covered path, was
next directed to open the weather-beaten front door, which, by the
way, was shaded by a blackened and crumbling porch. Such a forsaken,
forgotten-looking house and grounds she had never seen before. One
could fancy that all the people who ever lived there had gone miles and
miles away, years and years ago, and that the house had sat waiting for
them to come back until it had grown hopeless and stupid, and fallen
fast asleep.
Margerie was afraid the old lady would ask her to go inside, and had
it been so, I have no doubt that, in spite of the peculiar shrinking
which the "uncanny" appearance of the house and its occupant inspired,
a desire to be of use would have urged her to comply. But as soon as
the door was opened, revealing an interior shabby and comfortless in
the extreme, the old lady took the umbrella and grocery parcel in her
uninjured hand, saying, "That will do. Now go home."
"Can't I do anything more for you?" asked Margerie, half sorry and half
relieved to get her dismissal.
"No, no! I never want anybody to do anything for me," replied the old
lady in a haughty and repellent tone, quite ignoring the service which
our little girl had already performed. "You make haste home!"
[Illustration]