THE HOLE IN THE FLOOR.
"And the former called the latter 'little Prig.'"--EMERSON.
"And how well that sweet child is looking, Nelson," said Miss Vincent
that evening to her maid as she was brushing her hair.
"I am glad you think so, ma'am," replied Nelson, in a rather queer
tone of voice.
"Why, what do you mean?" said Miss Vincent. "Do _you_ not think
so? To be sure it was by candlelight, and I am very near-sighted, but
I don't think any one could say that she looks ill. She is both taller
and stouter."
"Perhaps so, ma'am. I wasn't thinking so much of her healthfulness.
With the care that _was_ taken of her, she couldn't but be a fine
child. But it's her _feelin's_, ma'am, that seems to be so
changed. All her spirits, her lovely high spirits, gone! Why, this
evening, that Martha--or whatever they call her--a' upsetting thing
_I_ call her--spoke to her that short about having left the
nursery door open because Master Fixie chose to fancy he was cold,
that I wonder any young lady would take it. And Miss Rosy, bless her,
up she got and shut it as meek as meek, and 'I'm very sorry, Martha--I
forgot,' she said. I couldn't believe my ears. I could have cried to
see her so kept down like. And she's so quiet and so grave."
"She is certainly quieter than she used to be," said Miss Vincent,
"but surely she can't be unhappy. She would have told me--and I
thought it was so nice for her to have that little companion."
"Umph," said Nelson. She had a way of her own of saying "umph" that it
is impossible to describe. Then in a minute or two she went on again.
"Well, ma'am, you know I'm one as must speak my mind. And the truth is
I _don't_ like that Miss Bee, as they call her, at all. She's far
too good, by way of being too good, I mean, for a child. Give me Miss
Rosy's tempers and fidgets--I'd rather have them than those
smooth-faced ways. And she's come round Miss Rosy somehow. Why, ma'am,
you'd hardly believe it, she'd hardly a word for me when she first saw
me. It was 'Good-evening, Nelson. How do you do?' as cool like as
could be. And it was all that Miss Bee's doing. I saw Miss Rosy look
round at her like to see what she thought of it."
"Well, well, Nelson," said Miss Vincent, quite vexed and put out, "I
don't see what is to be done. We can't take the child away from her
own parents. All the same, I'm very glad to have come to see for
myself, and if I find out anything not nice about that child, I shall
stand upon no ceremony, I assure you," and with this Nelson had to be
content.
It was true that Rosy had met Nelson very coldly. As I have told you
before, Rosy was by no means clever at _pretending_, and a very
good thing it is _not_ to be so. She had come to take a dislike
to Nelson, and to wonder how she could ever have been so under her.
Especially now that she was learning to love and trust Beata, she did
not like to let her know how many wrong and jealous ideas Nelson had
put in her head, and so before Beata she was very cold to the maid.
But in this Rosy was wrong. Nelson had taught her much that had done
her harm, but still she had been, or had meant to be, very good and
kind to Rosy, and Rosy owed her for this real gratitude. It was a
pity, too, for Bee's sake that Rosy had been so cold and stiff to
Nelson, for on Bee, Nelson laid all the blame of it, and the harm did
not stop here, as you will see.
Miss Vincent never got up early, and the next morning passed as usual.
But she sent for Rosy to come to her room while she was dressing,
after the morning lessons were over, which prevented the two little
girls having their usual hour's play in the garden, and Beata wandered
about rather sadly, feeling as if Rosy was being taken away from her.
At luncheon Rosy came in holding her aunt's hand and looking very
pleased.
"You don't know what lovely things auntie's been giving me," she said
to Bee as she passed her. "And Nelson's making me such a
_beautiful_ apron--the newest fashion."
Nelson had managed to get into Rosy's favour again--that was clear.
Beata did not think this to herself. She was too simple and
kind-hearted to think anything except that it was natural for Rosy to
be glad to see her old nurse again, though Bee had a feeling somehow
that she didn't much care for Nelson and that Nelson didn't care for
her!
"By-the-bye, Rosy," said Mrs. Vincent, in the middle of luncheon, "did
you show your aunt your Venetian beads?"
"Yes," said Miss Vincent, answering for Rosy, "she did, and great
beauties they are."
"_Nelson_ didn't think so--at least not at first," said Rosy,
rather spitefully. She had always had a good deal of spite at Nelson,
even long ago, when Nelson had had so much power of her. "Nelson said
they were glass trash, till auntie explained to her."
"She didn't understand what they were," said Miss Vincent, seeming a
little annoyed. "She thinks them beautiful now."
"Yes _now_, because she knows they must have cost a lot of
money," persisted Rosy. "Nelson never thinks anything pretty that
doesn't cost a lot."
These remarks were not pleasant to Miss Vincent. She knew that Mrs.
Vincent thought Nelson too free in her way of speaking, and she did
not like any of her rather impertinent sayings to be told over.
"Certainly," she thought to herself, "I think it is quite a mistake
that Rosy is too much kept down," but just as she was thinking this,
Rosy's mother looked up and said to her quietly, "Rosy, I don't think
you should talk so much. And you, Bee, are almost too silent!" she
added, smiling at Beata, for she had a feeling that since Miss
Vincent's arrival Bee looked rather lonely.
"Yes," said Rosy's aunt, "we don't hear your voice at all, Miss Beata.
You're not like my chatter-box Rosy, who always must say out what she
thinks."
The words sounded like a joke--there was nothing in them to vex Bee,
but something in the tone in which they were said made the little girl
grow red and hot.
"I--I was listening to all of you," she said quietly. She was anxious
to say something, not to seem to Mrs. Vincent as if she was cross or
vexed.
"Yes," said Rosy's mother. "Rosy and her aunt have a great deal to say
to each other after being so long without meeting," and Miss Vincent
looked pleased at this, as Rosy's mother meant her to be.
"By-the-bye," continued Mrs. Vincent, "has Rosy told you all about the
fête there is going to be at Summerlands?" Summerlands was the name of
Lady Esther's house.
"Oh yes," said Miss Vincent, "and very charming it will be, no doubt,
only _I_ should have liked my pet to be the queen, as she tells
me was at first proposed."
This was what Mrs. Vincent thought one of Aunt Edith's silly speeches,
and Rosy could not help wishing when she heard it that she had not
told her aunt that her being the queen had been thought of at all. She
looked a little uncomfortable, and her mother, glancing at her,
understood her feelings and felt sorry for her.
"I think it is better as it is," she said. "Would you like to hear
about the dresses Rosy and Bee are to wear?" she went on. "I think
they will be very pretty. Lady Esther has ordered them in London with
her own little girls'." And then she told Miss Vincent all about the
dresses, so that Rosy's uncomfortable feeling went away, and she felt
grateful to her mother.
After luncheon the little girls went out together in the garden.
"I'm so glad to be together again," said Bee, "it seems to me as if I
had hardly seen you to-day, Rosy."
"What nonsense!" said Rosy. "Why, I was only in auntie's room for
about a quarter of an hour after Miss Pink went."
"A quarter of an hour," said Bee. "No indeed, Rosy. You were more than
an hour, I am sure. I was reading to Fixie in the nursery, for he's
got a cold and he mayn't go out, and you don't know what a great lot I
read. And oh, Rosy, Fixie wants so to know if he may have your beads
this afternoon, just to hold in his hand and look at. He can't hurt
them."
"Very well," said Rosy. "He may have them for half an hour or so, but
not longer."
"Shall I go and give them to him now?" said Bee, ready to run off.
"Oh no, he won't need them just yet. Let's have a run first. Let's see
which of us will get to the middle bush first--you go right and I'll
go left."
This race round the lawn was a favourite one with the children. They
were playing merrily, laughing and calling to each other, when a
messenger was seen coming to them from the house. It was Samuel the
footman.
"Miss Rosy," he said as he came within hearing, "you must please to
come in _at onst_. Miss Vincent is going a drive and you are to
go with her."
"Oh!" exclaimed Rosy, "I don't think I want to go."
"I think you must," said Bee, though she could not help sighing a
little.
"Miss Vincent is going to Summerlands," said Samuel.
"Oh, then I _do_ want to go," said Rosy. "Never mind, Bee--I wish
you were going too. But I'll tell you all I hear about the party when
I come' back. But I'm sorry you're not going."
She kissed Bee as she ran off. This was a good deal more than Rosy
would have done some weeks ago, and Bee, feeling this, tried to be
content. But the garden seemed dull and lonely after Rosy had gone,
and once or twice the tears would come into Bee's eyes.
"After all," she said to herself, "those little girls are much the
happiest who can always live with their own mammas and have sisters
and brothers of their own, and then there can't be strange aunts who
are not their aunts." But then she thought to herself how much better
it was for her than for many little girls whose mothers had to be away
and who were sent to school, where they had no such kind friend as
Mrs. Vincent.
"I'll go in and read to Fixie," she then decided, and she made her way
to the house.
Passing along the passage by the door of Rosy's room, it came into her
mind that she might as well get the beads for Fixie which Rosy had
given leave for. She went in--the room was rather in confusion, for
Rosy had been dressing in a hurry for her drive--but Bee knew where
the beads were kept, and, opening the drawer, she found them easily.
She was going away with them in her hand when a sharp voice startled
her. It was Nelson. Bee had not noticed that she was in a corner of
the room hanging up some of Rosy's things, for, much to Martha's
vexation, Nelson was very fond of coming into Rosy's room and helping
her to dress.
"What are you doing in Miss Rosy's drawers?" said Nelson; and Bee,
from surprise at her tone and manner, felt herself get red, and her
voice trembled a little as she answered.
"I was getting something for Master Fixie--something for him to play
with." And she held up the necklace.
Nelson looked at her still in a way that was not at all nice. "And who
said you might?" she said next.
"Rosy--_of course_, Miss Rosy herself," said Bee, opening her
eyes, "I would not take anything of hers without her leave."
Nelson gave a sort of grunt. But she had an ill-will at the pretty
beads, because she had called them rubbish, not knowing what they
were; so she said nothing more, and Bee went quietly away, not hearing
the words Nelson muttered to herself, "Sly little thing. I don't like
those quiet ways."
When Bee got to the nursery, she was very glad she had come. Fixie was
sitting in a corner looking very desolate, for Martha was busy looking
over the linen, as it was Saturday, and his head was "a'ting
dedfully," he said. He brightened up when he saw Bee and what she had
brought, and for more than an hour the two children sat perfectly
happy and content examining the wonderful beads, and making up little
fanciful stories about the fairies who were supposed to live in them.
Then when Fixie seemed to have had enough of the beads, Bee and he
took them back to Rosy's room and put them carefully away, and then
returned to the nursery, where they set to work to make a house with
the chairs and Fixie's little table. The nursery was not carpeted all
over--that is to say, round the edge of the room the wood of the floor
was left bare, for this made it more easy to lift the carpet often and
shake it on the grass, which is a very good thing, especially in a
nursery. The house was an old one, and so the wood floor was not very
pretty; here and there it was rather uneven, and there were queer
cracks in it.
"See, Bee," said Fixie, while they were making their house, "see what
a funny place I've found in the f'oor," and he pointed to a small,
dark, round hole. It was made by what is called a knot in the wood
having dried up and dropped out long, long ago probably, for, as I
told you, the house was very old.
"What is there down there, does you fink?" said Fixie, looking up at
Bee and then down again at the mysterious hole. "Does it go down into
the middle of the world, p'raps?"
Beata laughed.
"Oh no, Fixie, not so far as that, I am sure," she said. "At the most,
it can't go farther than the ceiling of the room underneath."
Fixie looked puzzled, and Bee explained to him that there was a small
space left behind the wood planking which make the floor of one room
and the thinner boards which are the ceiling of an under room.
[Illustration: 'WHAT IS THERE DOWN THERE, DOES YOU FINK?' SAID FIXIE]
"The ceiling doesn't need to be so strong, you see," she said. "We
don't walk and jump on the ceiling, but we do on the floor, so the
ceiling boards would not be strong enough for the floor."
"Yes," said Fixie, "on'y the flies walks on the ceiling, and they's
not very heavy, is they, Bee? But," he went on, "I would like to see
down into this hole. If I had a long piece of 'ting I could
_fish_ down into it, couldn't I, Bee? You don't fink there's
anything dedful down there, do you? Not fogs or 'nakes?"
"No," said Bee, "I'm sure there are no frogs or snakes. There
_might_ be some little mice."
"Is mice the same as mouses?" said Fixie; and when Bee nodded, "Why
don't you say mouses then?" he asked, "it's a much samer word."
"But I didn't make the words," said Bee, "one has to use them the way
that's counted right."
But Fixie seemed rather grumbly and cross.
"_I_ like mouses," he persisted; and so, to change his ideas, Bee
went on talking about the knot hole. "We might get a stick to-morrow,"
she said, "and poke it down to see how far it would go."
"Not a 'tick," said Fixie, "it would hurt the little mouses. I didn't
say a 'tick--I said a piece of 'ting. I fink you'se welly unkind, Bee,
to hurt the poor little mouses," and he grew so very doleful about it
that Bee was quite glad when Martha called them to tea.
"I don't know what's the matter with Fixie," she said to Martha, in a
low voice.
"He's not very well," said Martha, looking at her little boy
anxiously. But tea seemed to do Fixie good, and he grew brighter
again, so that Martha began to think there could not be much wrong.
Nursery tea was long over before Rosy came home, and so she stayed
down in the drawing-room to have some with her mother and aunt. And
even after that she did not come back to the other children, but went
into her aunt's room to look over some things they had bought in the
little town they had passed, coming home. She just put her head in at
the nursery door, seeming in very high spirits, and called out to Bee
that she would tell her how nice it had been at Summerlands.
But the evening went on. Fixie grew tired and cross, and Martha put
him to bed; and it was not till nearly the big people's dinner-time
that Rosy came back to the nursery, swinging her hat on her arm, and
looking rather untidy and tired too. "I think I'll go to bed," she
said. "It makes me feel funny in my head, driving so far."
"Let me put away your hat, Miss Rosy," said Martha, "it's getting all
crushed and it's your best one."
"Oh, bother," said Rosy, and the tone was like the Rosy of some months
ago. "What does it matter? _You_ won't have to pay for a new
one."
Martha said nothing, but quietly put away the hat, which had fallen on
the floor. Bee, too, said nothing, but her heart was full. She had
been alone, except for poor little Fixie, all the afternoon; and the
last hour or so she had been patiently waiting for Rosy to come to the
nursery to tell her, as she had promised, all her adventures.
"I'm going to bed," repeated Rosy.
"Won't you stay and talk a little?" said Bee; "you said you would tell
me about Summerlands."
"I'm too tired," said Rosy. Then suddenly she added, sharply, "What
were you doing in my drawers this afternoon?"
"In your drawers?" repeated Bee, half stupidly, as it were. She was
not, as I have told you, very quick in catching up a meaning; she was
thoughtful and clear-headed but rather slow, and when any one spoke
sharply it made her still slower. "In your drawers, Rosy?" she said
again, for, for a moment, she forgot about having fetched the
necklace.
"Yes," said Rosy, "you were in my drawers, for Nelson told me. She
said I wasn't to tell you she'd told me, but I told her I would. I
don't like mean ways. But I'd just like to know what you were doing
among my things."
It all came back to Bee now.
"I only went to fetch the beads for Fixie," she said, her voice
trembling. "You said I might."
"And did you put them back again? And did you not touch anything
else?" Rosy went on.
"Of course I put them back, and--_of course_ I didn't touch
anything else," exclaimed Bee. "Rosy, how can you, how dare you speak
to me like that? As if I would steal your things. You have no
_right_ to speak that way, and Nelson is a bad, horrible woman. I
will tell your mother all about it to-morrow morning."
And bursting into tears, Beata ran out of the nursery to take refuge
in her own room. Nor would she come out or speak to Rosy when she
knocked at the door and begged her to do so. But she let Martha in to
help her to undress, and listened gently to the good nurse's advice
not to take Miss Rosy's unkindness to heart.
"She's sorry for it already," said Martha. "And, though perhaps I
shouldn't say it, you can see for yourself, Miss Bee dear, that it's
not herself, as one may say." And Martha gave a sigh. "I'm sorry for
Miss Rosy's mamma," she added, as she bid Bee good-night. And the
words went home to Bee's loving, grateful little heart. It was very
seldom, very seldom indeed, that unkind or ungentle thoughts or
feelings rested there. Never hardly in all her life had Beata given
way to anger as she had done that afternoon.