"BAD AGAIN!"
When tea, and reading, and sewing were all over, the children were allowed
to play with the new kittens, and Granny presented a kitten to each child,
Turly choosing the black and Terry the white one. They were each of a very
aristocratic cat race, and had been sent a great many miles as a present to
Madam. Terry named her kitten Snow, and Turly gave his the name of Jet.
Nurse Nancy had provided a ribbon and a little tinkling bell for each. Jet
had a scarlet ribbon and a gold bell, and Snow a blue ribbon and a silver
bell. Nancy also produced two balls of knitting worsted, and it was very
funny to see the kitties frisking about the floor after the dangling balls.
This gave a pleasantly exciting finish to the evening, and the play went on
until Gran'ma began to look tired.
As Nancy was tying the blue ribbon round Snow's white, furry neck, Terry
holding her up by her fore-paws while a pretty knot was being made between
her ears, Terry heard Nancy say to Granny:
"I think you are very tired, madam. I believe you miss your new-laid egg
in the mornings; sure I know you do, madam."
[Illustration]
"Why don't you have your new-laid egg in the mornings, Granny?" asked
Terry, putting Snow down on the floor, and nestling up to her grandmother.
"Because, darling, the hens don't choose to lay, this cold weather."
"Do they never lay in cold weather? Are there no hens who will lay eggs for
Gran'ma, Nursey dear?" urged Terry.
"I believe there's a few down at Connolly's farm," said Nancy; "at least
I've heard so. I've a mind to send down and enquire."
Then Granny went off with Nancy to her bedroom, and the children were left
in the sitting-room playing with the kittens.
"Turly," said Terry, "I want to speak to you. Put the kittens in their
basket and come here."
Turly came directly and they sat on two little stools and looked into the
fire.
"What is it about, Terry?" asked Turly. He was always ready for any
startling plot or plan that Terry might propose to him.
"Did you hear Nancy saying Granny was getting weak for want of her new-laid
eggs, and that the hens wouldn't lay them for her?"
"No," said Turly.
"Well, she did."
"We can't help it," said Turly.
"You can't, dear; but I can. I'm older than you."
"The hens won't do it for you, no matter how old you are," said Turly.
"Oh!" said Terry impatiently, "that is not what I mean! There's a few hens
down at Connolly's farm, and Nancy thinks they lay."
"Where is Connolly's farm?"
"I'm sure I don't know, but there are hens there, real industrious hens,
and I want to get their eggs for Gran'ma."
"You can't," said Turly.
"Wait till you see," said Terry.
Turly looked at his sister admiringly, but went on piling up the
difficulties she was going to surmount.
"You don't know where Connolly's farm is. And when you do, the hens are not
yours. Connolly wants to eat his own eggs. Perhaps he's got a gran'ma."
"No, he hasn't. And he would rather have money than eggs. At least poor
people generally do."
"How do you know he is poor?"
"Oh, Turly, how you do keep contradicting! Now I'll tell you what I am
going to do. I'll just get out the pony quite early in the morning and ride
to Connolly's farm, and be back with the eggs for Gran'ma's breakfast."
Turly opened his eyes wide with admiration, but he was not convinced.
"Somebody will be sure to be angry," he said, "and there will be a row."
"But you know it couldn't be wrong, Turly, because it is for Gran'ma. And
I'm not going to bring the pony up the stairs, and it won't be wet, because
it's just nice frosty weather--"
"Connolly's farm is awfully far away. I'm sure it is," said Turly. "You'll
never get back here for breakfast."
"But I shall start quite, quite early."
"It will be dark."
"There's ever so much moonlight at six," said Terry. "I was awake this
morning, and I saw it. I was just longing to get up and go off for a ride,
and now there will be a real reason for doing it."
"I will go with you," said Turly, suddenly changing his front.
"Oh, no, you couldn't, Turly! There is only one pony. You must stay behind,
and if there's any fuss because I'm a little late or something, you can
tell them I've gone for the eggs and will be back directly."
Nurse came in and took them off to bed, but Terry kept thinking of her
morning adventure. She did not think of it as an adventure, but as a
delightful surprise for Gran'ma.
"She does so much for us," thought Terry, "and we can do so little for her!
And she will find it so nice to have a good fresh egg for breakfast!"
Still Terry felt it would never do to tell Nursey of her intentions. She
would be sure to think that everything would go wrong. Rain would come on,
or Connolly's really wouldn't have any eggs, or the pony would go lame. But
won't she smile up all over when she sees Gran'ma eating her fresh egg at
breakfast-time!
The greatest dread Terry felt was of oversleeping herself. She fell asleep
as soon as her head was on the pillow, but wakened with a start as the
clock was striking three. She could hear Nurse snoring through the wall,
and Nurse Nancy had a most peculiar snore, first a long-drawn note, as of a
horn, and then a little whistle.
"I wonder how she does it," said Terry to herself, and tried to imitate the
sounds. "I couldn't. It's awfully clever of her. And when you see her going
about in the daytime you would never think she could do it."
Terry thought it would be quite easy to lie awake, waiting, for three
hours. However, after listening for about five minutes to Nursey's snoring,
and blowing through her own little nose to try to do the same, she was fast
asleep again.
She wakened again exactly at a quarter to six. The moonlight was now
pouring into the room, and she could see everything as well as if by day.
She got up and went out to the landing to look at the clock, and stood
there in her white night-dress, with her little bare toes on the carpet,
gazing at the solemn white face of the tall brown clock which Granny said
had stood there just as she was for quite two hundred years. It was
impossible not to think of this clock as a personage, and she was
accustomed to change her character very much as Terry changed her moods.
Sometimes she was a cheery old creature, hurrying on the time with her
pleasant chimes, coaxing round the sunshine out of the dark, and bringing
back the cosy bed-time when children were tired. At other times she had the
air of a stern prophetess, with a threat in every "tick, tick", and a hint
of doom in the striking of every hour. As she stood now in her brown cloak
darkened by the moonlight, and her round meaningless face whitened by it,
she recalled to Terry a remark once made by Granny, "Many a life she has
ticked away out of this house, and out of this world, has that old
great-grandfather's clock, my children!"
"She sha'n't tick my life away," thought Terry. "I hope she won't tick away
Gran'ma's and Nursey's! But that is nonsense, of course. Granny couldn't
have meant that she had anything to do with it, for that is only God's
business!"
These ideas just flashed through Terry's little head as she stared at the
clock and heard her give that curious snarl with which she always warned
one that there were but three minutes left of the passing hour. And the
hour hand was at six.
It was just the time for Terry. She dressed quickly, putting on the little
riding-skirt that she had brought from Africa. It was some inches shorter
than it had been then; but never mind, it was all right.
"I don't believe anybody gets up till seven these winter mornings," she
reflected, and certainly the house was quite still as she slipped out, and,
knowing where to find the stable-keys, she was soon in the stable. She put
her own little saddle on the pony and led him from the yard, leaving the
keys in the doors, because it was morning, and there was no more use in
locking up the places.
Away went Terry trotting down the avenue, full of the enthusiasm of her
good intentions. She was soon out on the high-road. There was a crisp,
white frost on the grass, but the middle of the road was not at all slippy.
The pony went at a good pace, and soon carried her a couple of miles away
from home. All this time Terry thought of nothing but the enjoyment of her
ride, and of that basket of eggs she was going to carry home to Gran'ma.
Presently the moon set, and there was scarcely a glimmer of daylight, but
a great deal of frosty fog. Up to this Terry had been allowing the highway
to carry her anywhere it pleased, but now at last she came to four
cross-roads, all seeming to lead into fogland, and she stopped short.
[Illustration]
"Now I wonder where is Connolly's farm!" she said; but the pony only tossed
his head and shook his ears, and was not able to help her.
"I was quite sure it was just about here, because Nursey said 'down at
Connolly's farm', and her head shook in this direction. I thought I saw it
quite plainly when she was speaking. It ought to be here, and yet I can't
see it. This is down, for it has been a little bit downhilly all the way.
I'm sure I could see it if the fog would only get away. There! it is
getting a little more daylight, and I'll just take this road because it
still seems to be going down."
She started off again; but as she went the fog grew thicker and thicker,
and Terry soon became aware that it was freezing hard. The pony began to
stumble, and several times he nearly fell, for Terry found it hard to hold
him up with her little frost-bitten fingers. She worked bravely, but felt
that the road was indeed downhill, and all the more difficult in its
present state of slipperiness. Still there was no house in sight, and so
thick was the fog that unless the door of the farmhouse had been just at
hand, it would not have been visible to her.
The road grew worse and worse to the pony's feet, and at last he made a
great stumble and went crash down on his knees on some sharp stones. Terry
went over his head, but fortunately alighted sitting on the frozen grass
by the roadside.
She was soon on her feet, and so was the pony, but the poor little animal
was bleeding at the knees, and Terry knew that she must not mount him
again. She broke the ice on a pool and bathed his wounds with her
handkerchief. She was crying as she wiped away the blood.
"Oh, Jocko, Jocko, I'm so sorry I hurt you! I never thought of such a thing
as the frost or the fog! Oh dear, what shall I do to make you well, and how
shall I get you home? And oh, Jocko, we haven't got any eggs!"
Kisses and pats on his nose may have been comforting to Jocko, but he could
not give his little mistress any assurance on the subject.
"If I could even see the way to get home!" said Terry; "but it seems as if
the whole world were full of nothing but wool and feathers! And I can't
guess which was the side I came by."
She tore her handkerchief in two and made a wet bandage for each of Jocko's
knees, and then she could do no more, and sat down by him on the roadside
to wait till the fog should clear up a little. Her teeth began to chatter
with cold, and she felt altogether miserable.
"And I meant to be so good, and I thought it would go so well--and oh,
those eggs! How can one ever know what things are going to turn into?"
Suddenly she heard a rumbling sound which she knew must be a cart coming
along the road, though she could not see it. She moved the pony and herself
carefully in against the bank on the roadside, so that they might not be
run over, and then waited anxiously to see what would come out of the fog.
Very soon a horse's head appeared, then his body, and afterwards the cart
he was drawing, and the frosty-red face of the driver who was sitting on a
load of turf on the cart.
"Hullo!" shouted the man. "What on airth are you doin' there in the dyke,
little missy?"
"Oh," cried Terry, "I've broken my pony's knees, and I can't ride him, and
I couldn't see the way to Connolly's farm, and even if I did now I don't
know how to get there with Jocko!"
"Connolly's farm! Would it be Mike Connolly Mac you would be lookin' for?"
"Oh, I suppose it is!" said Terry. "I only just heard it called Connolly's
farm. And Nurse said it was down somewhere, and I came out to look for
fresh eggs to give Gran'ma a surprise for breakfast."
"And now what would be your name, little lady, an' who would be your
gran'ma?"
"My name is Terencia Mary, and my grandmama is Madam Trimleston," said
Terry.
The man gave a whistle of surprise.
"Faith and Missus Nancy might look afther ye betther," he said. "I know
her, and I'll give her a piece of my mind. To send a child like you out for
eggs, ridin' on glassy roads, and in such a fog as this!"
"Oh, she didn't send me! I came myself, and she didn't know anything about
it. I took the pony myself, to give them a surprise."
"Then I think you behaved very bad, miss, an' you deserved to be knocked
about. But the pony did no wrong, and you've hurted him!"
"Bad again!" groaned Terry; "and I felt so good. You are not a kind man,"
she added, looking at him with big tears in her blue eyes. "I'm not going
to ask you to do anything for me. Only, if you would just tell me where
Connolly's farm is perhaps I can get there if the fog would only go. I can
walk Jocko there, and Connolly will take care of him."
"I declare, but you have the pluck for a brigade of soldiers," said the
carter. "But come now, missy, I'm not goin' to lave you in the lurch
thataway. And first an' foremost Connolly's farm is away over yonder, two
miles from Trimleston House in the opposite direction; you took the wrong
road from the first."
"Oh!" groaned Terry; "and must I go home straight with Jocko's knees
broken, and without the eggs?"
"An' thankful you ought to be to get there," said the carter, "you an' the
pony, without any bones broken. But how do you think you're goin' to get
home itself, now, missy?"
"You're the unkindest person I ever knew," said Terry. "I didn't think
there was so unkind a man in the world. Everyone was always kind to me
before."
"It's my notion that they've been too kind to you, little missy. However,
not to be the unkindest in the world, I'll make a try to bring you home
myself. I'll just tie the pony to the back of the cart an' he'll follow,
and you get up here beside myself, and we'll face back to Trimleston."
"But you were going the other way. You'll be late for your own business,"
cried Terry.
"Never mind, missy; business'll have to wait. We can't lave a young lady
and a pony with cut knees foundherin' on the roadside," said the carter.
And so the pony was tied to the cart, and Terry was hoisted to a seat on
the turf beside the carter.
At any other time she would have asked to be allowed to take the reins and
drive the cart, but just now she felt too cold and miserable and crushed,
too unhappy about Jocko, and too utterly defeated in the matter of the
eggs, to do anything but huddle up in her nook among the turf sods and
struggle against a threatened burst of weeping.
[Illustration]
The carter drove on slowly, in silence, looking back now and again to see
that the pony was all right, but taking no further notice of Terry. The fog
was beginning to lift a little, so that one could see here and there a bit
of the roof of a little house, or a thorn bush. At last the carter said:
"Well, missy, what about thim eggs? Were they raly for Gran'ma's
breakfast?"
"Oh, don't talk about them!" cried Terry. "It's the worst of the whole
thing. I thought it wasn't wrong because she misses her eggs so much, and
our hens won't lay, and Nurse said they had some at Connolly's farm--and oh
dear!"
Terry here gave way to her despair, and burst into sobbing and weeping.
"Well now, little missy, cheer up! I wouldn't say but what we might find a
couple of eggs here in one of the houses as we go along."
"Oh, could we? I've got money to pay for them. And it wouldn't be half so
bad if I could only be in time with the eggs for Gran'ma's breakfast."
"Aisy now, aisy!" said the carter as he drew up opposite to a little gray
stone house where some hens were picking about the doorway. "I would bet a
sack of potatoes to a bag of meal that one o' thim very hins is afther
layin' an egg, by the cluck of her!"
He shouted and whistled, and a woman came to the door.
"Do you happen to have any new-laid eggs about the place, ma'am?" asked the
carter.
"Why then, I have three," said the woman, "nice an' warm from the nest.
Would ye be wantin' thim?"
"Oh yes, please!" cried Terry, and pulled out her little purse. "Do pay for
them, thank you," she said to the carter, "and please give her plenty of
money, for I am so glad to get them!"
"Well now, missy, why would ye be trustin' me with this?" said the man,
taking the purse. "Sure maybe I'd be robbin' you."
"Oh no, you wouldn't!" said Terry; "you're a great deal kinder than I
thought you were at first."
The purchase was made. There was no basket, and Terry was glad that she had
three nice, soft pockets in her coat, into each of which she put an egg.
After that the cart jogged on more quickly than before, as the fog had
lifted so far as that Terry could see all around her.
"I see someone awfully like Turly; just there in the distance," said Terry.
"Do you see, Mr.--"
"My name's Reilly," said the carter.
"Thank you, Mr. Reilly. I'm dreadfully afraid it's Turly!"
"Who is Turly, and why are you afraid it's him?"
"Turly is my brother, Turlough Trimleston. I'm afraid because he oughtn't
to be out riding on a donkey this foggy morning."
"No more nor his sister riding on a pony. I hope he hasn't broken the
donkey's knees," said Reilly.
"I hope not. I don't think so, or he wouldn't be riding it. It really is
Turly, and he won't be at home to tell Nurse what has become of me.--Oh,
Turly, Turly, why did you come after me when I told you not to?"
"I said I would come," said Turly.
Reilly had pulled up while Turly was being interviewed. The little boy sat
on a bare-backed donkey, himself looking rather at loose ends, with
evidences of having dressed himself hastily without any finishing-up from
Nurse Nancy.
"How did you ever do it, Turly?"
"How did you do it?" said Turly. "Of course I just walked into the stable
and looked about for a horse. I tried to sit on them all, but I couldn't,
for they were too wide. Then I spied the donkey. There was no saddle for
him, so I took him as he was. And how did you like Connolly's farm, Terry?
And is this Connolly?"
"Oh dear no, Turly! This is Mr. Reilly. Jocko and I were lost in the fog,
and we didn't get at all near Connolly's. And Mr. Reilly found us and got
me some eggs. But oh, Turly, poor Jocko's knees are cut, for he slipped in
the frost and I let him down."
"Never mind! They'll come all right again," said Turly. "Lally will look
after him."
"We may as well hurry up then," said Reilly, "if I'm ever to get on the
road again with my load of turf."
Then they began to move on again, the cart with Terry and Reilly, and Turly
riding the bare-backed donkey behind, side by side with Jocko, who seemed
very glad of their company.
As they turned off the high-road they saw Nurse Nancy standing at the foot
of the avenue, evidently looking out for them in great anxiety. The cart
stopped before her.
"Oh, you terrible childher! You dreadful little girl! I wonder I am alive
since six o'clock this morning!"
"You were sound asleep then, Nursey. I heard you snoring. And you won't
call it dreadful when you see the eggs. The only terrible thing is Jocko's
knees. I'm awfully sorry about that, indeed I am. I'd rather it had been my
own knees!" cried Terry, running to the back of the cart to examine poor
Jocko's injuries.
"The pony's knees!" shrieked Nurse, throwing up her hands and her eyes in
despair.
"I tell you Lally will make him all right!" said Turly. "Ponies and men
don't make a row over a scratch as women do!"
"If Lally cures him I'll give him all my pocket-money for a year," said
Terry, wiping her own eyes and patting Jocko's nose. "Oh, here is Mr.
Lally! Do you think you can cure poor Jocko's knees, Mr. Lally?"
"So you're at your thricks again, Miss Terry! Sorra ever such a young lady
was born in this mortial world before!" said Lally. "Now what will your
gran'ma be sayin' to you this time, Miss Terry?"
"Oh, Gran'ma! I hope she hasn't had her breakfast yet, Nursey. Just look at
the lovely fresh eggs Mr. Reilly got me!"
"An' I scourin' the counthry all round about Connolly's farm lookin' for
ye!" said Michael Lally indignantly, as he examined Jocko's knees.
"And have they really got plenty of eggs at Connolly's?" cried Terry. "For
only three will not last very long, you know."
"Here, Missus Nancy, for all the sakes will you take your childher out o'
my road?" cried Lally. "A nice scoldin' I'll be gettin' over again from
Madam when she hears of it."
"Oh no, she won't! Not when she get's her egg, and I tell her about it,"
said Terry.
And then Reilly gathered up his reins, laughing, and went rattling his cart
of turf down the road. Lally led away the pony, and Nancy and the children
returned to the house.