HORATIA SPEAKS OUT.
One thing Sarah had learnt from Horatia, and that was to be outwardly
respectful to her father, whatever she might inwardly feel towards him.
It is true, she had been told the same thing by her mother and brother;
but one word from her schoolfellow had had more effect than all her
brother's arguments or her mother's scoldings.
The next morning dawned cold and rainy; and Sarah was surprised to find
that for once the bad weather did not depress her, and the prospect of a
day in the house, which she generally dreaded, rather pleased her than
otherwise. The fact was that Sarah was glad her father's plans for the
day were put an end to. 'He's sure to have thought of something quite
unsuitable, that Horatia would not like,' she said to herself.
'Isn't this horrid, Sarah?' cried Horatia when the two met at breakfast,
and the rain was falling faster.
'It's a bore; but I dare say we can find something to do,' said Sarah,
after looking out of the window and seeing no prospect of better weather.
'It 'as turned quite cold; one might think it was autumn,' complained Mrs
Clay, rubbing her hands. 'That's the worst o' our climate, never two days
alike. I'm sure I'm starved in this dress; an' so must you be, my dear,'
she added to Horatia. 'Starved' is Yorkshire for 'cold.'
'I'm dreadfully sorry,' said Horatia, who was always in extremes of joy
or sorrow; 'because of Mr Clay's lovely plan, which can't come off now.'
'What was it?' demanded Sarah, who imagined from her way of speaking that
Horatia knew and liked the plan.
'I don't in the least know; but I'm quite sure it would have been lovely,
and now we can't do it,' she replied.
'I'm not so sure about that,' remarked Mrs Clay.
'Oh, what is it? Do tell me!' cried Horatia.
'I don't think Mr Clay would like me to; but I think 'e'll be in by the
time you've 'ad your breakfast, an' before it, if you go on as you're
doin', my dear, not eatin' anythin',' she put in; for Horatia, in her
excitement, had put down her knife and fork, and was letting her
breakfast get cold while she questioned her hostess.
'Hasn't father gone to the mill?' asked Sarah.
'No; 'e's busy over this plan,' replied his wife, smiling at Horatia, and
adding, 'It's not often 'e breaks 'is 'abit of goin' to the mill by nine
o'clock, for all 'e's so rich, so you must take that as a compliment, my
dear.'
'I do. I think it's most awfully kind of him, and I'm simply dying to
know what his plan is,' cried Horatia.
'You look anything but dying,' said Sarah, with a glance at Horatia's
bright, eager face.
'If you please, ma'am, the master has sent word that he'd be glad if the
young ladies would come to the barn as soon as they've finished
breakfast,' announced Sykes.
Both girls looked in surprise at this request--which, however, they both
prepared to carry out; and Sarah remarked that Sykes looked quite excited
for him.
'It's the plan! What on earth can it be, Sarah? What kind of place is the
barn?'
'A huge, ugly, dark, long room,' said Sarah in disgust, for the barn was
the last place to amuse one's self in.
'Oh, then, your father is having a magic-lantern show for us. Well, it's
very kind of him,' said Horatia in rather disappointed tones, for she was
not fond of a magic-lantern.
'We'd better drive there; it will be wet across the grass. Put on your
'ats an' take wraps wi' you in case you get 'ot, for the barn may be
draughty,' said Mrs Clay.
'Are you coming, mother?' said Sarah.
'Yes, my dear, if you don't mind. I sha'n't interfere wi' your pleasure,
an' I'd like to see the magic-lantern, too,' said Mrs. Clay quite gaily
for her.
'Of course, come along. Perhaps Nancy might come too; she'd like to see
it.'
'If she goes, Naomi might as well go too; it's absurd to have a
magic-lantern for three people,' said Sarah.
Mrs Clay said no more, but put on the cloak her maid brought her, and sat
there smiling, in what Sarah considered rather an aggravating way, till
the large motor which was to take them all to the barn drove up to the
door.
Two minutes brought them to the barn-door.
'Why, there's a band!' cried Horatia; 'or is it a gramophone?'
The door flew open as if by magic when they appeared, and even Sarah
gave a cry of admiration as Horatia, clapping her hands, exclaimed, 'Why,
it's a rink!--a lovely rink!'
'It is,' said Sarah, and said no more.
'It's better than a magic-lantern, isn't it, my dear?' inquired Mrs Clay
with a happy smile.
'Oh Mr. Clay, you are good!' cried Horatia, as she laid her little hand
in his huge, rough one.
The millionaire held it for a moment as he said, 'That's all right.
You're more than welcome, my little lass. Now, let's see you play this
new-fangled game.'
'But how did you do it? When was it done? You must have had it done since
I spoke two days ago,' declared Horatia.
'How did I do it? I did it by turning a golden key, my lass. There's few
things that that can't do,' he replied with a rough laugh.
'I should never have imagined that the barn could have been made so
pretty and artistic. It was very clever of you to think of it, father,'
said Sarah.
The millionaire looked pleased. Perhaps these few words of his proud
daughter gave him more satisfaction than all Horatia's delighted thanks,
for Sarah was hard to please, and her father always felt that she
secretly, and sometimes openly, despised him; but he only said, 'You
didn't think your rough, old father knew what dainty young ladies like
you and Miss Horatia would like, did you?'
Sarah coloured, for this was exactly what she had thought; but she
replied, 'Then I was mistaken, for it is just the thing for this nasty,
cold weather.--Isn't it, Horatia?'
'Yes; but my roller-skates! I have left them at home. I never thought I
should get skating up here,' said Horatia suddenly, and her face fell.
'You can have mine. I'll send to the house for them, and we can get a
pair in Ousebank for me,' said Sarah.
'I think we can manage that,' said the millionaire, as he made a sign to
the footman, who brought two beautiful pairs of roller-skates, and
prepared to put them on.
'It's just like Cinderella or a fairy pantomime,' cried Horatia, as she
started skimming along the smooth floor.
'My!' cried Naomi to Nancy. 'However can they keep on their feet with
they wheels under their boots?'
'It's habit. Miss Horatia's very fond of the pastime,' replied the nurse,
as she followed her charge with admiring gaze.
But in a moment Sarah joined Horatia, and then the relations between
Nancy and Naomi became strained, for if Horatia rinked well, Sarah rinked
much better.
'Oh, ain't she beautiful on they things? Why, it's like a bird, is that,'
cried Naomi. 'It's a pastime where you want a good figger.'
'For my part, I like well-made, strong-built figures more than such thin
ones,' said Nancy.
'If you'd be calling Miss Sarah thin, I'd have you to know she's not. Her
arms are beautiful and round, and so is she, and it's the grapes that are
sour, Mrs. Nancy,' retorted Naomi.
Mrs. Nancy did not deign even to notice this remark with a look, but with
a slow and dignified step walked over to where Sykes stood watching the
two girls with grave, approving face; and Naomi, who was only a young
servant, did not presume to join these two, and wished she'd kept her
tongue still.
[Illustration: 'Ask the band to play "La Rinka," Sarah,' cried Horatia.
PAGE 105.]
'Ask the band to play "La Rinka," Sarah,' cried Horatia, 'and we'll go
round together and dance it.'
The band, a local one, struck up 'La Rinka,' and even Mr Clay exclaimed,
'That's something to look at, Polly, ain't it? There ought to be some
folk asked to see 'em do it.'
At that moment Horatia and Sarah, still with linked hands, skated up to
them, and Sarah said, 'Horatia wishes we could have a skating-party this
afternoon. It sounds rather absurd in August; but really the weather is
more like November, so I dare say people will like to come.'
'They'll come right enough if I ask 'em to Balmoral,' said Mr Clay, with
his usual laugh. 'There's not many refuses my invitations.'
Sarah felt her lip curl; but the thought of Horatia checked her. She gave
her a quick look to see if she, too, was disgusted at this boasting, and
felt almost cross with her schoolfellow when, with a bright smile, she
answered, 'Then do ask them, Mr. Clay. I don't wonder that your
invitations are popular; you do have such good ideas for entertaining
your guests. When could we have them? To-morrow?'
'You'd better have them to-day. Who knows but to-morrow may be summer
again, and then it'll be too hot for rinking. We'll just 'phone up a
hundred or so.'
'A hundred?' gasped Horatia, as she thought of the preparation a party of
that kind would require at her own home.
'Oh, they won't all be able to come, but half will; and mother'll give
orders for the spread. And now I must be off. Good-bye, and enjoy
yourselves.' And the millionaire, with a brusque nod, was off.
Mrs Clay soon followed him, and the girls skated for another hour, and
then decided to stop, so as not to be tired for the afternoon.
'Well, mother, have you got victuals for seventy or so?' inquired Mark
Clay when they all met at lunch.
'Yes, Mark, the _chef_ is seein' to all that, an' 'e is sure to 'ave
everythin' to do you credit.'
'That's right. I've ordered the Ousebank band up, and I met Bill down
town, and asked him up. He says he can't rink, but he supposes you'll
want some to admire you, so he's coming to do that part. He's a great
admirer of Miss Horatia already, it appears.'
'I like him most awfully, and everybody else seems to, too. All the
people in his mill do, anyhow; they all looked glad to see him when he
went into their part.'
Mark Clay scowled. 'Ay, it's cheap popularity, is Bill Howroyd's; but
it's bad policy and bad business. If you let sentiment come into your
business you pretty soon have no business left for it to come into.'
No one made any comment upon these remarks, and the millionaire went on
in his harsh, dictatorial tones: 'Business is business, say I, and you've
got to keep your people under. I'm not making blankets and cloth to
please them, nor from philanthropy. I'm doing it to make money, and the
man that can make the most money for me I keep, and the one that doesn't
make enough goes, and the sooner the better.' And he gave another laugh.
Mark Clay had been eating between his sentences, and had his eyes upon
his plate, or he would have noticed Horatia's face. He gave a start of
surprise when she said, with indignation in her voice, 'What a horrid,
hard-hearted way to talk! I think Mr Howroyd's way is ten thousand times
better.'
Poor little Mrs Clay trembled, and even Sarah grew pale at the thought of
the storm Horatia had brought down upon her devoted head.
Mark Clay stared at this girl who presumed to call him horrid and
hard-hearted, and to hold up as an example his bugbear and opponent, Bill
Howroyd. Horatia returned his look with a perfectly fearless one. 'So you
prefer Bill Howroyd's way? Perhaps you prefer his home to mine? He'll
never build himself a Balmoral,' said the millionaire with a sneer.
'No; but he'll have a mansion up in heaven, and perhaps that's what he's
thinking of,' said Horatia.
Sarah looked at Horatia in amazement, and Mrs Clay looked anxiously at
her husband, as if imploring him not to be hard on this daring child; but
Mark Clay was not taking any notice of any one, not even of Sykes, who,
to divert his attention from this dangerous conversation, was pressing
some delicacy upon his master, who was staring moodily in front of him.
Horatia had little idea that she had quoted his mother--William Howroyd's
mother's last words to her sons, for they had had the same mother, though
their fathers had been very different: 'I've been very happy here; but I
am going to a better mansion up in heaven. Be sure and join me there,
lads,' she had said.
'Ay, there's something in what you've said, my lass,' observed the
millionaire after a pause, which seemed an eternity to those who were
present. 'There's sommat in it.' And without another word he rose from
the table.
'Oh Mrs Clay, what have I done? I'd no business to speak to Mr Clay like
that. I don't know what made me,' said Horatia, rather ashamed of her
plain speaking.
'I think the Almighty made you, my dear; an' may He bless you for 'avin'
done so, an' bless the words to my dear 'usband,' said his faithful wife.
And she, too, left the room.
'I'd no idea you were religious,' said Sarah to Horatia when they were
alone.
'Do you mean you thought I was a heathen?' demanded Horatia with a laugh.
'No; but I never heard you talk like that before,' said Sarah, who could
not get over her surprise at the way Horatia had come out. Truth to tell,
Sarah had an idea that to talk religion was not good form.
'I never heard myself,' laughed Horatia.