MARJORY'S BIRTHDAY.
"I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie."
CRASHAW.
The eighteenth of September dawned at last. The sun shone in at
Marjory's window, waking her to her birthday, as if impatient for her to
begin this new year of her life.
She was soon up and dressed--dressed very carefully, in case the eyes of
the governess should find anything amiss; but she would have been
critical indeed could she have done so, for, when Marjory's toilet was
completed, she looked the pink of neatness: Her abundant dark hair was
plaited smoothly and tied with ribbon, new for the occasion, and she
wore a new frock of soft, warm material, for the autumn days were chilly
now and giving warning of the coming winter.
Marjory looked at herself in the glass very anxiously--a most unusual
proceeding on her part. As a rule she spent little thought upon her
personal appearance, but to-day things were different. She found
herself wondering what impression Miss Waspe was likely to have of her
at first sight. This was characteristic of Marjory, who was
over-sensitive with regard to other people and their opinions of her. In
this case it was not, "Shall I like Miss Waspe?" but, "Will Miss Waspe
like me?"
Marjory always looked forward to her birthday. Her uncle never forgot to
give her some gift in remembrance of the day; in fact, he made it a rule
to give her two presents. She often wondered why he did so, but had
never found courage to ask his reasons. The truth was that this was a
curious way the doctor had of trying to satisfy that conscience which
would continually prick him with regard to Mr. Davidson, and the second
gift represented Marjory's father.
To-day was no exception to the rule. As Marjory went half eagerly, half
shyly to the breakfast-table, there, by her place, were several parcels.
The first she opened was a nice leather satchel for carrying her books
to and from Braeside. This was from her uncle. Then came another with
the words "To Marjory" written on it in the doctor's handwriting. It
looked like a small square box, and as she took off the paper wrappings
it proved to be a leather case containing a pretty little gold watch and
chain. Her initials and the date were engraved on the back of it.
Dr. Hunter came in just as Marjory was examining this new treasure, and
as she ran forward to thank him he said,--
"Like it, Marjory? That's right. But I think I am a foolish old man to
give a watch to a young thing like you, for you'll only go and drop it
down the first rabbit-hole you and Silky go scratching into; but I
thought it might be useful in keeping you up to time with that governess
of yours. No excuse for being late, eh? The date too--an important one,
isn't it? Well, my child, I wish you many happy years."
Of the other parcels, one was raspberry toffee from Lisbeth, and the
other, a curiously shaped one, was from Peter, and contained a trowel.
Its somewhat prosaic appearance was relieved by the handle being
decorated with Marjory's initial inside a heart of uncertain
proportions, executed by poor old Peter's shaky hand with a red-hot
skewer.
"Dear old Peter!" exclaimed Marjory. "He must have noticed that my old
one is worn out. How good of him!"
"Come, child, eat your breakfast," was the doctor's only comment.
Marjory's enthusiasm was quenched in a moment, and she sat down in
silence. Dr. Hunter was anxious that Marjory should have a good
breakfast before starting for Braeside. He spoke abruptly, giving no
reason for his admonition, and Marjory thought he was cross--whether
with her or with Peter and his present she did not know; anyhow he was
cross, and her old thoughts and feelings against her uncle came crowding
in upon her. "Yet," the better voice whispered, "do not these gifts show
that he has thought of you and prepared for this day? Surely that was
good and kind of him."
Lisbeth and Peter were hovering about in order to see Marjory after
breakfast, anxious to know how their presents had been appreciated.
Marjory's thanks left no doubt upon the subject. Both the presents were
just what she liked and wanted.
Lisbeth eyed her critically.
"Yon's a fine new frock," she said. "But what way is't yer hair's no
hingin' the day? Are ye no gaun to yon governess leddy?"
"Yes, but I never thought of letting my hair loose; it isn't Sunday."
"Na, but I would hae thocht ye micht hae dune it just this first day,
an' yer birthday too. Yer hair's some bittie langer than Miss Blanche's,
I'm thinkin'," replied Lisbeth, with satisfaction in her tone.
"Aweel," remarked Peter, "it's no the ootside o' her heid Miss Marjory's
thinkin' o' the day, but the inside o't--to fill it up wi'
buik-larnin'."
"Puir bairnie, I just hope yon governess winna be ower strict wi' her at
the first.--Mind an' tell Peter an' Lisbeth if she's no kind to ye,"
said the old woman earnestly. She was more than half jealous of this
new authority over Marjory's doings.
The girl laughed joyously. "Don't you be afraid, you dear old things. I
want to learn lessons, and I'm quite sure Miss Waspe will be kind."
Dr. Hunter walked with Marjory to Braeside on this first morning. She
never forgot it. The slight chill of early autumn was in the air, here
and there the leaves were turning gold and red, and a faint mistiness
hung over the landscape. Here and there the gossamer threads so busily
woven since yesterday stretched across their path, and Marjory liked to
feel them touch her cheek as she broke through them. The doctor and she
walked in silence, Silky in attendance; and Marjory's heart was beating
quickly as they neared Braeside. This day of days, so eagerly longed
for, had come at last; but what would it bring with it? This feeling of
apprehension grew into an acute pain at last. Her ignorance of the
things which most girls of her age were well up in assumed the most
alarming proportions to poor Marjory, and she almost wished that her
heart's desire had not been granted, that she could have been content
with things as they were. She felt herself on the brink of a new world,
and she feared to take the step across. She remembered Peter's story,
and how the voice had called to young Malcolm that faith and a brave
heart would carry him across the yawning chasm. She, too, must be brave
and go to meet the unknown.
When they reached the gate at Braeside, Dr. Hunter said, "Well, Marjory,
you'll be all right now. Good-bye." And he stooped to kiss her.
Dismayed at the thought of going into the house and into that dreaded
schoolroom alone, she caught her uncle's hand and said pleadingly,
"Won't you come with me, Uncle George?"
Then for the first time the doctor noticed her pale face and
quick-coming breath, and he was touched by her confidence in him.
"Of course I will," he said heartily. "I'll go with you right into the
lion's den, or rather, in this case, it's the Waspe's nest, eh?"
Marjory laughed a little, which was just what the doctor wanted; and as
they walked across the park to the house he chatted and joked with her
until she felt much better.
Mrs. Forester and Blanche were at the door to meet them. Blanche, in
high spirits, skipped down the steps, calling out, "Many happy returns
of the day, without lessons. Come on upstairs to the schoolroom," she
cried, giving Marjory a hug, "and see what's there. I shall simply burst
if you don't come quickly."
"May I come too?" asked Dr. Hunter.
"Yes," said Blanche. "Father and mother are coming too."
The little party went upstairs to the schoolroom. Blanche threw open the
door with a flourish of triumph, and what Marjory saw caused her heart
to beat faster than ever. The doctor rubbed his eyes and asked
comically, "Am I dreaming? Is this a real schoolroom and a real
governess?"
It was indeed a pretty picture that the door had opened upon. There were
flowers in every available place in the room; and as Miss Waspe came
forward, smiling a welcome, the sun just caught her fair hair, turning
it to gold, and making her look like a spirit in a fairy bower. On the
table there were roses, and where the books ought to have been was
something which made Marjory's eyes grow big with wonder. It was nothing
less than a new saddle--a small side-saddle; and Marjory, fascinated,
watched Mr. Forester walk to the table and take it up; and then--oh!
what could it mean?--he came towards her, saying, "This is something for
you, Marjory, from Mrs. Forester and me. I hope you like it. Brownie
seems to approve of it."
Marjory felt as if she were dreaming. How often had she wished she might
learn to ride--more often than ever since Blanche's coming! She could
hardly find words to stammer out her thanks, but her kind friends could
see that she was surprised and delighted beyond measure.
Then Blanche came to her, holding out a dainty silver-topped
riding-whip.
"Here," she said; "this is my present. Only I don't believe you will
ever use it; it will only be for show. Won't it be lovely going for
rides together? Oh dear, _how_ thankful I am to-day has come at last!
This has been the very hardest secret I ever had to keep; and it's been
such a business, first getting Brownie measured and then breaking him in
to the saddle, all without you knowing. It was generally done while we
were bathing, and I used to be very slow dressing on purpose." And,
laughing merrily, she gave Marjory another hug.
"Let me too wish you many happy returns of the day," said Miss Waspe
kindly, "and many happy days in this room, which Dr. Hunter thinks is
not a real schoolroom," laughing. "It may not always look so festive as
it does to-day, but then this is a birthday, you see."
The dreaded moment was over, Marjory had entered the new world, and
never again would she regret the old one. She felt no fear when Blanche
and she were left alone with their governess, for something had told her
when she looked into Miss Waspe's eyes that she had no cause to be
afraid. Nor had she. Miss Waspe understood girls and their ways; she
loved them, and she had unlimited patience. Moreover, she was all
eagerness herself to begin to teach her new pupil, and she promised
herself many an interesting hour. She found that what Marjory had
learned she knew thoroughly. She could read fluently and with
intelligence, at figures she was quick and accurate, and she wrote a
good hand. A little judicious praise was a great encouragement to
Marjory, and the lessons begun that day were a source of delight to
governess and pupil alike. Nothing seemed to come amiss to Marjory, and
she progressed by leaps and bounds until Miss Waspe began to fear that
the busy brain might wear out the body, sturdy though it was. But the
girls had plenty of time for play and for exercise, and Marjory's
health, so far from being any the worse for her studies, seemed rather
the better.
Blanche had already learned to ride, and Marjory had little difficulty
after a few lessons from Mr. Forester's groom, so the girls had many a
lively gallop across the moor or along the country roads.
The weeks flew by, and very soon, as it seemed to Marjory, the Christmas
holidays began. None too soon for Blanche did they come, for she was by
no means so devoted to her studies as Marjory was, and, fond as she was
of her governess, she could watch her drive away to the station without
compunction, knowing that three short weeks would see her back again,
and lessons with her.
The friendship between the two girls had grown stronger every day. They
shared everything--hopes and fears, pleasures and pains--and they were
inseparable companions. Marjory's was the leading spirit. It was she
who planned their expeditions and proposed each day's doings. Blanche
looked up to her friend as being much stronger in every way than
herself, and admired her accordingly, while Marjory would have gone
through fire and water, as the saying is, for Blanche.
One day, soon after the holidays began, the girls went for a walk to a
pond about a mile out of Heathermuir, to see if it would bear for
skating. There had been continuous frost for some days, and as the pond
was a shallow one, Dr. Hunter thought it was quite safe for them to go.
Mrs. Forester could trust Marjory to take Blanche anywhere, but as she
had not yet learned to skate, the girls had promised that they would
only go to see in what condition the ice was. If it would bear, they
were to come back to Braeside for lunch, and afterwards Mr. Forester
would go with them and give Blanche her first lesson.
As they were walking along, a collie came bounding up to Silky, and then
to Marjory, wagging his tail, as if delighted to see her.
"That's the Morisons' dog," she said; "the boys must be home. Perhaps
they're coming to the pond too."
"Oh, bother," said Blanche; "it won't be a bit nice having strange boys
there while I'm learning. I don't like boys much, they are so rough and
rude. I do hope they won't stay all day on the pond."
Marjory stole a glance behind. Sure enough there was a boy, but only
one, coming along the road.
"It's Alan Morison, the youngest one, all by himself, and he's got
skates," she said, making a grimace at Blanche as she imparted the
information.
"Well, of course he has as much right on the pond as we have, and it's
horrid of me not to want him, but I don't. What is he like?"
"I haven't spoken to him much. He doesn't care for girls, and neither
does his brother; they both said so. They generally call out rude
remarks after me. They think all girls are silly."
"Well, we don't want them to like us, I'm sure," replied Blanche; "we
can do quite well without them; and these ones sound horrid from your
description."
Marjory, afraid she had said too much in disparagement of the boys,
hastened to say, "Oh, I don't suppose they would be rude to you; but
they've known me ever since I was a baby, you see."
Footsteps could be heard behind them now, and very soon a mocking voice
called, "Carrots, Car-rots." At first the girls took no notice, walking
along in their most dignified manner; but when the boy came quite close
and deliberately shouted "Carrots" into Blanche's ear, Marjory turned
upon him like a fury, crying, "Don't you dare to say that again, or I'll
knock you down."
The boy burst out laughing, and straightway repeated the objectionable
word. Marjory wheeled round in a moment. "Take that!" she said,
delivering a blow with her fist which sent Master Alan Morison flying.
He lost his balance and fell to the ground. He was up again in a moment,
blood flowing from a slight cut in his forehead. Marjory, aghast at what
she had done, stood rooted to the spot, expecting him to return the
attack; but, to her surprise, he looked at her admiringly and said, "I
say, you know, that was jolly good. I never thought a girl could hit
like that. I couldn't have done it better myself, and you're only
thirteen. I was fourteen last birthday."
Marjory began, "I'm so sorry," but Alan stopped her. "I tell you it was
jolly good. I'm glad you can hit; you don't seem so much like a girl.--I
say," turning to Blanche and blushing crimson under his freckles, "it
was beastly of me to call names after you." The boy shifted uneasily
from one foot to the other as he made his apology.
"Yes, it was rather," replied Blanche, "but it isn't the first time boys
have done it. I suppose my hair is carroty," ruefully, "but I think it
is rather mean to tease me about a thing I can't help."
"I say, I'm awfully sorry," said Alan, more shamefaced than ever.
"Never mind," said Blanche graciously; "I'll forgive you this once. Come
along; it's cold standing here apologizing and forgiving." And with a
merry laugh she started on.
Marjory, ashamed of her part in the quarrel, asked Alan if his forehead
hurt.
"No, it's nothing but a scratch, but I tell you," enthusiastically, "it
was a splendid hit. Any fellow would have done the same if another chap
had ragged his friend. I say," he continued bashfully, "would you two
chum up with me? It's beastly dull for me at home now."
"Where's Herbert?" asked Marjory.
"Oh, he's at home, but he's no good to me now," kicking a stone with his
foot, to the great satisfaction of the dogs; and then he continued,
"Since he went into the sixth, he thinks of nothing but the cut of his
coats and the shape of his collars, and whether girls think he's
better-looking than the other fellows. It's positively sickening. And
now we're at home he hangs about father, and won't do anything with me.
He called me a 'kid' this morning, young silly ass that he is." Another
stone went flying. "But look here," in a different tone and turning to
Marjory; "you're not a bit like a girl if you can hit like that, and I
should be awfully obliged to you if you would chum up with me. We could
have jolly fun if you would."
"All right," said Marjory, sorry for any one who was lonely; "we'll be
friends--that is, if Blanche wants to too; we always do everything
together." And she looked at her friend.
Blanche was too sweet-natured to be selfish over this proposal; besides,
she rather liked the look of this boy with his freckled face and honest
eyes, so she said, "Yes, let's have a Triple Alliance, like we've been
learning about in history, only much nicer," with a grimace; "it will be
awful fun." And thus the friendship was begun.
When they reached the pond it appeared to be quite fit for skating, and
Alan soon fastened on his skates and started off. They were pleased to
find that there was no one else skating; in fact, they had it all to
themselves. It was amusing to see the three dogs trying to follow Alan,
especially fat little Curly, who rolled over several times in his
frantic efforts to keep up with the grown-up dogs.
The girls watched Alan's movements with interest. He was a very good
skater, and could do all sorts of figures on the ice, seeming quite at
home upon it. He was shouting that he would teach them both all he knew,
when suddenly there was an ominous crackling on the other side of the
pond, and the dogs, who had gone over there unnoticed, began to bark and
whine excitedly.
"Where's Curly? I believe he's fallen in," screamed Blanche, and she
started to run across the ice.
"Go back!" shouted Alan. "Go round by the bank!" And in a moment he was
off at full speed across the pond.
Curly was nowhere to be seen, and Silky and Neil, the collie, were
barking furiously, leaping and splashing in and out of the water. Some
one evidently had been trying the ice, and it had broken away from the
edge, gradually cracking farther in. The big dogs had been able to
scramble to the shore, but the little one, frightened, no doubt, by his
unusual adventure, had been sucked in under the ice. The other dogs were
making frantic efforts to reach him, but the pieces of broken ice
prevented them, and poor little Curly was some distance in; and as the
pond was shallow, it would have been difficult for them to swim, even if
they could have got under the ice.
Alan saw at once what had happened, and judging by the dogs' efforts the
probable whereabouts of Curly, with a reassuring shout to the girls, he
began stamping in the ice, plunging knee-deep into the water each time.
In a few moments he pulled out poor little Curly--a helpless dripping
object, with no signs of life in him. Alan scrambled to the bank and
laid the dog on the grass. He tenderly wiped him as dry as he could with
his pocket handkerchief--a regular schoolboy's one of generous
proportions--and by the time the girls arrived, breathless after their
run, he was wrapping Curly in his coat.
"Is he dead?" cried Blanche, the tears streaming down her cheeks.--"Oh,
my darling little Curly, why did I let you out of my sight?"
"I dare say he won't die," said Alan, feigning a cheerfulness he did not
feel. "The first thing to do is to get him warm. Where's the nearest
house?"
"The Low Farm is the _nearest_," said Marjory doubtfully, "if Mrs.
Shaw--"
"Will let us in to make a mess of her kitchen," finished Alan. "She is a
bit of a cross-patch, but we'll _make_ her let us in. What's the good of
a Triple Alliance if we can't fight? Come on, girls. United we stand!"
They ran off as fast as they could towards the Low Farm, Alan carrying
Curly very close to him, so that the warmth from his own body might
revive the little dog. Blanche kept asking if he seemed better, but the
answer was always the same--he had not moved or shown any signs of life.
Once Marjory said, "I say, it was very good of you, Alan, and you're
soaking wet, and you must be cold without your coat."
"Rot!" replied Alan, and Marjory said no more.