AN ASTUTE TELL-PIE
But not even the presence of Mr. Stubbs, who was held in great awe by
his sons and daughters, and was most emphatically what is known as
"master in his own house," was sufficient to restore the redoubtable
Flossie to her usual careless, happy-go-lucky, giggling sauciness.
She went down and took her seat at table, speaking only when spoken to,
but nevertheless contriving to eat an uncommonly good meal. And Tom
entertained her with an account of his excursion to the Dials; and
although Flossie had spent the last three hours in a passion of
jealousy, envy, and unhappiness too great for alleviation, even when it
came in the shape of caramels, nougat, and fondants, yet she could not
resist the temptation of hearing all that Tom had to say, and of
arranging to go round to the stables with him to see his new pets when
lunch should be over.
And presently she was graciously pleased to accept the caramels and
nougat and the fondants. But for some hours she did not forgive
Sarah--"Princess Sarah" she unceasingly called her, although solemnly
warned by May that "Ma" had already heard of the name, and that if "Pa"
heard it the consequences would indeed be dreadful.
"Ah, I suppose Miss Tell-pie has been making up to Ma this morning!"
suggested Flossie, with a frightful sneer.
"Nothing of the kind!" returned May quickly, but in her most
condescending tone; "it was quite another person. Sarah has never said
a word, not even when she was asked. But, any way, Ma did hear it, and
she's very angry about it. And Ma says if Pa gets to know about it
he'll be fearfully angry, for Sarah's ma was his favourite sister. And
so you'd better just mind what you're doing, Miss Flossie!"
"I do hate that Miss Clark!" Flossie remarked.
"Miss Clark!" exclaimed May. "Why, whatever for?"
"Nasty, mean, spiteful tell-pie!" Flossie explained.
"It _wasn't_ Miss Clark. I tell you Ma got to hear about it."
"Who was it then?"
"Ah, that I can't tell you; but, any way, Ma got to hear of it, and she
told me to put a stop to it, and so you'd better be careful, that's
all."
And never for a moment did Flossie suspect that some blades are so sharp
that they can cut two ways, and that her informant was quite as clever
at carrying tales to one side as to the other. Ah! but blundering,
boisterous Flossie was not nearly so astute as Mrs. Stubbs's right
hand--May.
When they had come from Bridgehampton Mrs. Stubbs had only brought her
own box and one which contained Sarah's modest wardrobe with them. Her
father's pictures and the precious Amati, with one or two bits of old
carved oak, a chair, a table, a little chest, and a stool, with one or
two bits of armour and a few pieces of very good china, were all packed
and sent off by goods train.
They arrived that afternoon, and Mrs. Stubbs had them all unpacked, and
declared her intention of putting them into the little bedroom which,
after they came back from Brighton, should be Sarah's own.
"They're lovely things, and belong to the child herself, and it's right
she should have them kept for 'er, you know, Stubbs."
"Quite right, quite right," returned Mr. Stubbs promptly, and turning to
see the effect of his wife's consideration on Sarah, whose character he
was studying earnestly and diligently for the purpose of finding out
whether any taint of what he called her "fine gentleman father" was
about her.
But Sarah was quite oblivious. She had got hold of her beloved violin,
from which she had never been parted before in all her life, and was
dusting it jealously with her little pocket-handkerchief.
Mrs. Stubbs saw the look and understood it
"The child didn't 'ear," she explained; and having attracted Sarah's
attention, told her what her plans were for her future comfort. "You'll
like that, won't you?" she ended.
Sarah's reply was as astounding as it was prompt. "Oh, no, dear Auntie,
not at all," she said earnestly.
"And why not?" Mrs. Stubbs inquired, while her husband stared as if he
thought the world might be coming to an end.
"Why, Auntie, didn't you say your own self how beautiful they were, and
how well they would set off a hall? I'd much rather you'd put them
downstairs than in a bedroom, for you would see them every time you went
in and out, and that _would_ please me."
"There's unselfishness for you!" Mrs. Stubbs cried.
"No, Auntie. I don't think it is," said Sarah in her sweet, humble
voice. "It's nothing so grand as unselfishness; it's just because I
love you."
"Kiss me, my woman," cried Mrs. Stubbs with rapture.
"And come and kiss _me_," said Mr. Stubbs. "You're a good girl, Sarah,
your mother's own daughter. She was right, my lass, to stick to the
husband she loved and married, though I never thought so till this
moment."
"Oh, Uncle!" Sarah gasped, for to hear him speak so of the mother she
had never seen, but whom she had been taught to love from her babyhood,
was joy almost greater than her child's heart could bear.
"There, there! If aught goes wrong, come to me," Mr. Stubbs murmured.
"And if you always speak to your aunt as you've done to-day, I shall
think your pore father must have been a fine fellow, or you'd never be
what you are."
Oh, Sarah was so happy! After all, what could, what _did_ it matter if
Flossie and Tom did call her Princess Sarah of Nowhere? Why, just
nothing at all--nothing at all.
"Uncle," she said, after a moment or two, "may I play you something on
my violin?"
"Yes," he answered.
"That," remarked Mrs. Stubbs, as Sarah opened the piano and began to
tune up in a way which made her uncle open his eyes with astonishment,
"is the fiddle Sarah says is worth five hundred pounds."
"Like enough. Some of 'em are," he answered.
And then Sarah played a German _lied_ and a Hungarian dance; then "Home,
Sweet Home."
"Well," said Mrs. Stubbs, looking at him, when she ceased, "what do you
think of it?"
"I think she's--a genius," answered Mr. Stubbs.