'I'VE BROUGHT MY HOUSE WITH ME, LIKE A SNAIL'
The interest of listening to mamma's story had made me for the time
almost forget about Miss Trevor's present. But as we got close to the
Hut and saw George coming to meet us, it rushed back into my mind again.
'I say,' he called out, as he caught sight of us, 'it's past tea-time;
Hoskins wanted us to begin without waiting for you, but I wouldn't. She
said she was sure you were having it up there with those people,' and he
nodded his head in the direction of the big house.
'Oh no!' said mamma, 'I like tea at home best, my boy.'
And 'Oh no!' I joined in;' I was really in a hurry to get back, Dods,
for I have something very interesting to tell you. And you mustn't call
them "those people;" they are very nice indeed and _very_ kind. They're
going to send----'
'Wait till we are at tea to tell him all about it,' interrupted mamma.
'It will take some time, and I see Esme and Denzil peeping out
impatiently.'
Tea, you see, had become rather a settled sort of meal, even for mamma,
though she and Geordie and I had a sort of little dinner or supper, I
scarcely know which to call it, later in the evening. But _nursery_
meals had of course to be given up at the Hut, as there was no nursery
to have them in, so Esme and Denzil did not think five o'clock tea a
small affair by any means. And whether it was that the being so _very_
close to the sea had sharpened our appetites, or that Hoskins and
Margery between them made such very good 'plain cakes,' I can't say, but
I certainly don't remember ever having nicer teas or enjoying them more
than at the Hut.
'Well,' began Geordie, after we were all seated comfortably at the
table, 'what is the interesting thing you have to tell about, Ida? Has
it anything to do with the--our tenants,' he went on, with a tone of
satisfaction in his voice; 'I may call them _that_, for that's what they
are.'
'Yes, of course it has,' I said. 'You might have guessed that much
without being a--what is it you call a man witch--oh yes, a wizard, as
you knew mamma and I were there this afternoon, and I began to tell you
they were going to send us something. It's the jolliest thing you ever
saw, Dods--isn't it, mamma? Do help me to describe it.'
Between us we managed to do so pretty well, and I could see that Geordie
was really very pleased about it. But he was in one of those humours
that boys have more often than girls, I think--of not showing that he
was pleased--'contradictious,' Hoskins calls it, and of trying to poke
out something to find fault with or to object to.
'Hum, hum,' he kept murmuring; 'yes, oh yes, I know the sort of thing.
But there's one point you've forgotten, Ida, and mamma too, haven't
you?--where is this wonderful chair affair to be kept?' and he looked
round the table in a provoking sort of way. 'It won't _always_ be fine
dry weather, and certainly it wouldn't get in at the door here by your
description, even if we had any room for it to stand in.'
I suppose my face fell, and I think mamma, who is as quick as lightning
to understand one's little changes of feeling, was rather vexed with
Geordie, who is--or _was_ rather--he has got out of those half-teasing
ways wonderfully, now that he is older--tiresome sometimes, though he is
so good, for she said quickly--
'We shall find some place or plan something about it. Don't be afraid,
Ida dear. It is a beautiful present. Geordie will thoroughly appreciate
it when he sees it.'
'Is it big enough to hold both Denny and me together?' asked Esme.
'It's big enough to hide you, so that you couldn't be seen at all, you
small person,' said mamma laughing.
I felt sure mamma would plan something, so that we need not feel we had
got a white elephant in the shape of a garden chair. All the same,
Geordie's objection did worry me a little. I kept wondering, when I woke
in the night, where we _could_ keep Miss Trevor's present, and hoping
that we should not have to send it back after all.
I need not have done so, for when it arrived, as it did the next
morning, it was even more complete than we had known. It was enveloped
in a huge waterproof cover, looking like a miniature van or waggon, as
the gardener, sent with it, slowly pushed it along! And he explained
that, for eight months or so of the year, it would be quite safe
outside. For there were also rollers--I don't know exactly what to call
them--strips of wood you could roll _it_ on to, to keep the wheels from
the damp of the ground, if it _was_ damp, though, as the man said, when
he had told us all this and shown us how to slide the wheels into the
grooves, 'it's really never for to say damp or wet in the pine woods. If
it was wheeled into a good sheltered place, I'd undertake to say it'd be
safer and drier than inside most coach-houses or stables.'
He was an Eastercove man, I should explain, and of course he thought
there was no place in the world to compare with it!
There was another addition to the belongings of the chair, which we had
not known of, and that was a hot water tin which fitted into the
footstool, in the same neat, compact way which everything belonging to
it did. Really a very good thing, for of course any one sitting still
out-of-doors may get cold feet, even though it is not winter or wintry
weather.
Geordie stood with his hands in his pockets admiring it all, without a
fault to find; not that he wanted to find one, I feel sure. He was in a
much cheerier humour this morning, and perhaps he was feeling a little
sorry for having wet-blanketed my pleasure at all, the night before.
Mamma called us all away from our new toy at last. Geordie had to set
off to Mr. Lloyd's, and for me, alas! it was one of the days on which I
had to act governess to the little ones. I did not mind Denzil so much,
though he was--I don't mind if he sees this--I am afraid I must say he
still is, _very_ slow at lessons.
But he cannot help it, not altogether, anyway, and I do think he
generally does his best, and when you know that of any one, you can be
much less particular with them, can't you? Besides, once he _has_ 'taken
in' anything thoroughly, he does not forget it, which is a great comfort
to a teacher.
It was Esme who tried me the most. Such a flibbertigibbet (that is one
of Hoskins's queer words, and mamma does not like me to use them much,
but it is so expressive) you never saw. If you got her to give her
attention, or thought you had, and were feeling quite pleased and even
proud of it, as she sat there with her bright eyes fixed on the map,
we'll say, while you were pointing but how big Russia was, and how tiny
England seemed with the sea all round it, all of a sudden she would say
something like this--
'Ida, _did_ you see that girl just in front of the school-children in
church?' (Geography, I think, came on a Monday morning.) 'I couldn't
make out if the ribbon on her hat was green or blue, or both shaded
together.'
And then if I scolded her and begged her to think of her lessons and not
of people's hats in church, she would explain in the funniest way, that
thinking of the sea, which sometimes looks blue and sometimes green, and
sometimes you don't know which, had made her remember how puzzled she
had been about the girl's hat.
Upon which Denzil must come in with his remark, very wise and proper of
course--
'_I_ think,' he said, 'that Esme and nobody, shouldn't think about hats
and ribbins and things like that in church--never. _I_ think it'd be
much better if ladies and girls dressed all like each other, like men
and boys, when they go to church.'
'Oh, indeed,' said Esme; 'and who was it that was in a terrible fuss
about his tie not being knotted up the right way only last Sunday as
ever was, and----'
'Esme!' I exclaimed, horrified, 'where _did_ you learn anything so
vulgar--"last Sunday as ever was"? What would mamma say if she heard
you?'
'It was Margery that said it,' replied Esme, not the least put out; 'and
I thought it sounded rather nice, but I won't say it again if you'd
rather I didn't. _Is_ it nonsense, Ida, about men and boys never
thinking about their clothes? Geordie can't bear his best hat to be
touched, and I've noticed gentlemen, big ones, I mean like papa--looking
as cross as anything if they couldn't put their hats safe. _I_ think
they fuss more on Sundays in church than any other time.'
'Well, don't talk any more about it just now,' I said, 'or you will
never get your geography into your head.'
But it was already too late. There was very little use trying to call
back Esme's wandering wits once they had started off on an expedition of
their own, and I really began to fear I should have to tell mamma that I
was very little, if any, use as the child's governess.
About this too, as things turned out, I need not have worried. It is
curious how very seldom what we vex ourselves about before it happens
does come to pass! I suppose this should show us the harm and
uselessness of fancying troubles, or exaggerating them.
We were very busy and happy that afternoon, I remember, when George came
back from Kirke, in arranging the wonderful chair. We settled it near
the porch, and to please us, as it was really a very fine, almost warm
day, mamma said we might have tea there, and that she would sit in the
chair with Esme on the stool, and the little table hooked on for their
cups and plates. I made tea on a little table in the porch, and Dods and
Den handed it out. It was rather a squash, but we didn't mind. Mamma
looked so comfortable under the awning, which we had drawn out, as we
wanted to try everything; the only mistake was having the hot-water
bottle in the footstool filled; poor mamma was obliged to ask to have it
taken out, as she said she was afraid her feet were really nearly
getting boiled, and of course it was not cold enough weather to require
it.
After tea was over and the things taken away, mamma said she would stay
where she was for a little and finish a letter to papa, in which she
would tell him all about her movable 'boudoir,' as she called it. She
really seemed to have taken a great fancy to it, which I was very
pleased at, for of us all--though she never said or seemed to think
so--it was certainly mamma who had had to give up the most of what she
was accustomed to, when we came to live at the Hut.
Esme and Denzil ran down to the shore to play, and Dods and I strolled
round a little. I remember all about that evening, even without looking
up in my diary. I think I was telling him the story mamma had told me,
of when she was a little girl, and the bathing machine, and papa saving
her, and we had walked up a short way behind the house, to a part of the
path, or road--it was a road, though a small one--from where you could
see a bit of the drive from the lodge to the big house.
Suddenly something came in view--the queerest-looking thing you ever
saw, like a van, and yet not like one, more like a small omnibus, only
all over the top it was bumped out into all kinds of shapes, so that it
looked like a gypsy's basket waggon, with a cover over.
'What can that be?' I said to Geordie.
And we both stared hard, as the thing slowly made its way along.
'The Trevors must have queer things sent to them,' I said. 'It isn't the
railway van from the station, and yet, if it was travelling pedlars or
anything of that kind, they wouldn't have let it in at the gates.'
Geordie did not speak. He has better eyes than I--I have always been a
little near-sighted--and he stood there gazing before him with an odd
expression creeping over his face. He saw--what I did not--a head, or
part of one, poked out of the window at the back of the strange vehicle.
'Geordie,' I said at last, 'what are you staring at so? What _do_ you
think it is? Oh!' as I suddenly caught sight of a new feature in the
mystery, 'I do believe the thing is coming down _here_, and not going to
the big house at all.'
For there was a side road out of the drive just about the part that the
strange carriage or waggon had now got to, which led in our direction.
'Yes,' said Geordie, turning to me, and speaking very slowly and
distinctly, though there was a twinkle in his eyes, which rather spoilt
the solemnity of his tone, 'you are right, Ida. I will tell you what it
is--it is the _balloon_.'
Now indeed it was I who stared!
What could he mean?
Did balloons come in vans, and what had we to do with them? It was not
for a moment or two that I remembered our joke about Taisy,--that she
meant to astonish us by coming down in a balloon or something wonderful
and original of that kind, from her mysterious hints in her letter to
mamma.
And then I seemed to understand it all, almost better than Dods did. It
quite took my breath away.
'Come, come, Dods!' I cried, setting off as I spoke, 'let's run to meet
her. Oh, Taisy, Taisy, you funny girl! Oh, how delighted I am!'
We ran so fast that we reached the waggon almost before the driver and
horses--there were two--seemed fairly launched on the side road, and in
time to hear an eager voice from within calling out, 'All right,
straight on, now. There is plenty of room.'
It was Theresa of course, but just at first she did not see us. She was
leaning out on the other side to make the driver hear. But she turned,
fast enough, when our shouts reached her, though she did not jump down,
as we half expected.
[Illustration: 'I CAN'T VERY WELL GET OUT,' SHE SAID.]
'I can't very well get out,' she said. 'I'm so packed in, and there are
some breakable things. But I'll manage it in a minute. Yes, yes--it's I
myself! I've come to stay with you, though I have not been invited.
And--you'll understand directly, I've brought my house--or rather my
room--with me like a snail, so auntie can't turn me away again.'
She was so excited and delighted with herself, and we were so excited
and delighted too, that we could scarcely speak for laughing. We did not
let her get out; she _was_ so packed in, as she said, but we walked by
the door, she talking as hard as she could, for her vehicle was
lumbering along at a foot's pace.
'Yes,' she said, in answer to our eager questions; 'I've been travelling
like this since ten o'clock. No, not _quite_ like this--we did trot on
the high road. The waggonette----'
'Waggonette,' interrupted George, 'I should call it a--waggon and a
half!'
'Well, never mind about that. Call it an omnibus if you like. Anyway,
_it_ started yesterday, and spent the night at Wetherford. Granny wanted
me to come all the way to Kirke by train and to write to tell you, which
would have spoilt the fun. So I got her to let me '('to _let_ you
indeed, Miss Taisy,' thought I to myself, though I did not say so; 'I
know better. You said sweetly, "Granny, dear, I just must;" and she
said, "Well, well, my darling, if you must, you must, I suppose")--'to
let me come to Wetherford this morning with her maid, and to meet old
Dawson' (the driver) 'there, and come on as you see. I had hard work to
find room for myself inside, and I did begin to think we should never
get here! But the evenings are long now, and it's been a lovely day;
everything's dry and ready--bedding and all. There'll be plenty of time
to unpack, and Dawson is to stay the night at Kirke, and ride home on
one horse, leading the other.'
'And leaving the waggon,' I said, rather stupidly I must own; I think I
was really feeling rather bewildered with the excitement and laughing
and Taisy's flow of explanation.
She burst out laughing again at this.
'Of course,' she said. 'If I didn't keep my house, I might as well go
back again. But do let us hurry on to tell auntie all about it.'
I think in her heart of hearts poor Taisy was feeling a tiny atom
anxious as to what mamma would think of it all. But she need not have
done. Mamma understood her so well and trusted her good sense as well
as her affection, in spite of dear Taisy's _rather_ wild ways sometimes.
She--mamma, I mean--was sitting quietly where we had left her, reading,
in the new chair. And it was nice to see the bright look of pleasure
which came over her face when she realised that it was Taisy, really
Taisy, and not an 'optical illusion,' who stood before her and then
hugged and kissed her as no illusion could have done.
'But, my child,' said she, 'where----'
'Where are you going to put me?' interrupted our new guest; 'look,
auntie, look up and see,' and she pointed to the van, which was just
coming in sight again. 'I have brought my house with me.'
Mamma's face looked completely puzzled now.
'I will explain,' Theresa went on, and indeed George and I wanted this
part of it explained as much as mamma did. 'That lovely old thing that's
lumbering along is Granny's discarded luggage-waggonette. It hasn't been
used for centuries; it is really a small omnibus more than a waggonette.
I ferreted it out in one of the coach-houses, where I was poking about
with a vague idea that I might find something of the kind to make it
possible for me to come to you after all. And I got the coachman to help
me. We had it thoroughly dried and aired, and the seats at one side
taken out--and a friend of the coachman's, who is a clever carpenter,
has fitted it up. You will see. There is a table that slips down when
not wanted, and a frame in one corner to hold a basin and ewer, and
hooks for hanging things, and a tray like a deep drawer under the seat
that's to be the bed. Oh, it's lovely! and really as good as a cabin on
board ship,' and Taisy stopped to take breath.
'And did Aunt Emmeline know about it?' asked mamma.
'She gave me leave to do what I liked with the old thing,' said Taisy;
adding candidly, 'I did not tell her _what_ I was doing till it was all
ready. She thought I was fixing it up for photographing, I think. But in
the end she was nearly as excited about it as I was, and she gave me all
sorts of things--blankets and pillows and crockery and little curtains.
It's just stuffed with things--inside and out--though I brought as few
personal things--clothes, I mean--as possible, for I don't want to crowd
_you_ up, you see. I shall have room for everything when it's all
unpacked, you will see,' she added, with a touch of apology in her
voice.
'Dearest child,' said mamma, 'as if we would mind that, if _you_ were
comfortable.'
Taisy's eyes beamed.
'Comfortable,' she repeated; 'that is no word for what I am going to
be.'
'And how long may you stay?' asked Geordie.
'As long as you like to have me,' was the reply. 'Granny is expecting
her old friend to-morrow, and I _know_ they will be much happier without
me. I have a letter from Granny for you, auntie, explaining her plans.
But there's no hurry about that. I want to begin unpacking. And what a
lovely arrangement all this is!' she went on admiringly, touching the
arm of mamma's chair as she spoke, 'nearly as beautiful as my waggon!'
Then the history of Miss Trevor's present had to be related, and all its
wonderful perfections exhibited. And then Hoskins appeared with a cup of
fresh tea for Miss Theresa, which she offered with a face all over
smiles, for Taisy was a great favourite of hers. And 'Miss Theresa'
drank the tea, and devoured bread and butter and cake in a most
gratifying way; and then she _had_ to run through the Hut, and see all
that we had done to it.
So that, after all, it was rather late before we got to the unpacking of
the waggon, though Hoskins and Margery and Dawson had already done a
good deal.