QUEENIE’S IDEAS.
QUEENIE had slept but restlessly upon the night following Phil’s
unexpected return. She had been much excited by his sudden appearance,
and still more by the weighty sense of importance imposed upon her by
the necessity of keeping the secret.
Queenie loved a romance and a mystery better than anything in the world
besides; and the task of keeping Phil hidden away for several days, and
of secretly supplying him with food and all other necessaries, seemed to
be the most delightful and romantic occupation that could possibly be
desired.
She made many plans and revolved many ideas in her busy little brain as
she lay awake in bed that night.
Where was Phil to hide? Where would he be safest? Where could he be
certain of remaining undiscovered, and yet near enough for her to have
easy access to his hiding-place and be able to visit him at will without
attracting attention or suspicion by doing so?
For a long time this problem remained unsolved; but at last a gleam of
inspiration burst upon her.
“The ruin!” she cried, speaking aloud in her excitement, though luckily
there was no one near enough to hear. “The ruin, of course!—down in the
underground part. He will never be seen there, and I can carry him food
whenever I like. I often play in the ruin. Nurse will never think
anything about it if I go there every day.”
“The ruin” was the remains of an old tower that might once have been a
large building, but of which only a very small portion now remained.
Children always seem oddly attracted by anything in the way of a
tumble-down building, and all the young Arbuthnots were much delighted
with their ruin. Queenie thought it would be a lovely place to hide Phil
in, never considering in her youthful inexperience how exceedingly cold
and damp and uncomfortable would be the accommodation afforded by the
ancient cellar of the ruined habitation.
When she had settled all the details of her plan with great exactness,
she settled herself to sleep, and awoke in the morning brimful of zeal
and energy, longing for their satisfactory accomplishment.
At breakfast-time she watched her opportunity, and conveyed supplies
from the table to her own private cupboard, and restricted her own share
of the delicacies offered to the minimum, in order that Phil should have
plenty. Queenie’s nursery breakfast was a less simple affair than
Bertie’s, and she was able to set aside sufficient good things to feel
quite comfortable as to Phil’s morning repast.
Queenie did not go out till ten o’clock, as she always had to practise
her music and do some reading with her nurse between nine and ten.
To-day she found the task sadly irksome. She was so inattentive that
nurse had to speak to her again and again; and as for the tiresome
scales, they seemed as if they could not go right this morning, and
Queenie got so cross that she fairly belabored the poor old piano with
two angry little fists, making it give out the most discordant sounds.
“Really, Miss Queenie,” said nurse, looking up from her work in
surprise, “I cannot think what has come to you to-day.”
But there was no time to say more, or for Queenie to answer, for outside
the door was heard the sound of scampering steps—steps that could belong
to no one but a boy, and Queenie turned quite pale and jumped off the
music-stool with a little cry.
Next moment the door was burst open, and in rushed Phil like a
whirlwind.
“Phil!” cried Queenie, with accents of something like despair,—“Phil,
how could you? Don’t you know nurse is always here now?”
But Phil had caught her round the waist, and was executing one of his
impromptu war-dances.
“It’s all right, Queenie, all right! I’ve shown up and reported myself,
and made it up with everybody; and father says you may have a holiday in
honor of my triumphant return; so get your hat and come along. I’m dying
to go all over the place. I’ve not seen anything yet.”
Queenie was so utterly astonished by the turn matters had taken, and by
the overturning of all her cherished and carefully-laid plans, that she
remained quite silent, and let her nurse put on her out-door things
without uttering a single word. To tell the truth, Queenie was not quite
pleased at Phil’s conduct. She felt that he ought to have consulted her
before changing his mind so entirely, and she was a good deal
disappointed at being robbed of her share of the romantic drama she had
planned.
Phil, however, was in such capital spirits that he was a long time in
observing Queenie’s displeasure, and when he did find out the cause of
her annoyance, he detailed to her his morning’s adventure and the
arguments Bertie had brought forward against the proposed scheme.
But when Queenie heard that Bertie’s counsel had been, as it were,
preferred before her own, she felt even more annoyed than she had done
before, and tossed her little head with her grandest air.
“So Bertie is to be your lord and master, is he?” she asked, scornfully.
“Well, I did think you had more spirit than _that_.”
Phil laughed good-humoredly.
“He’s a nice little chap enough; and I’m glad I took his advice now. It
would have been jolly dull and uncomfortable hiding away, and perhaps
father would have been more angry than he is now. He’d most likely have
thought I was afraid, as Bertie said, and that would quite have spoiled
it.”
“You would not have been a bit dull or uncomfortable. I should have
hidden you in the ruin, and brought you everything you wanted, and
stayed with you ever so long. It would have been just like a game in
history; and now you’ve gone and spoilt everything, and it’s all
Bertie’s fault.”
“Well, this is much jollier anyhow,” cried Phil, who was of a more
practical turn than his little sister.
“Don’t you be cross, Queenie; that will spoil everything. Tell me who
Bertie is. I can’t think where he’s come from, and he doesn’t seem to
know himself.”
Queenie did not wish to quarrel with Phil, of whom she was very fond;
but she registered a mental vow to let Bertie know what she thought of
_him_, and to make him suffer for having been the cause of her
disappointment.
Phil’s question was answered in very scornful tones.
“Who is Bertie? I’m sure I don’t know, nor anybody else. He was washed
ashore one day, and lived at the Wickhams’ cottage for ever so many
days. David is his great friend, so I suppose he was a common boy
himself once. But the Squire has adopted him, and now he gives himself
airs, and sets up for being a gentleman. I don’t think much of him. I
shan’t play with him any more.”
Phil laughed. He was always amused when Queenie put on her airs, and
rather admired her for it, unless they were directed against himself.
However, he made her tell him all she knew about Bertie, and found the
curious story very interesting.
“Poor little chap!” he said, kindly; “it must be horrid to forget
everything like that. He’s a nice little fellow. I shall go and see him,
and tell him how I got on with my father. He’ll like to know that I
didn’t get much scolded. Will you come too?”
Queenie was not best pleased at this arrangement, but she preferred to
go rather than to be left behind, and so they climbed the fence together
and went boldly up to the front door to inquire for Bertie.
Bertie, however, was not at home. He had gone down to the shore,
Pritchard thought, and Phil thought he should like to go to the shore
too.
“He’s gone to see his precious David, I suppose,” said Queenie,
disdainfully. “He likes him better than he likes anybody else, and I
don’t admire his taste.”
“Why not?” asked Phil, who did not share his sister’s exclusive views.
“David is a fisherman’s son,” said the little lady, with some scorn.
“Well, he’s none the worse for that, I suppose.”
“I don’t know what you call the worse. I know _I_ shouldn’t care to play
with him.”
“Well, I don’t mind,” answered Phil. “I like playing with any boys, if
they’re jolly and all that; but of course you needn’t if you don’t
like.”
Queenie felt rather angry with Phil; but she did not say anything. She
began to wonder if after all it would be so very nice having him at home
all the summer. He had a way of unconsciously snubbing her that she did
not care for at all.
When they reached the sandhills they saw the two boys sitting on the
shore, as they often did, not talking much, but enjoying the feeling of
being together. Phil rushed forward with a whoop and a bound, and Bertie
sprang up to ask him all about what had passed; and as soon as the story
was told a regular game of play ensued between the boys, which brought
the light to Bertie’s eyes and the color to his cheeks, and seemed at
once to transform him into a new being.
Queenie stood a little apart, longing to join in the fun, but restrained
by two powerful reasons: first, she thought it beneath her dignity to
condescend to play with a poor little boy like David; and, in the
second, she did not mean to speak to Bertie until she had shown her
displeasure at his conduct in daring to advise Phil to a course of
action that had robbed her of much anticipated fun.
Bertie grew tired of the game before the elder boys, who were stronger
than he; and then he came and stood by Queenie, who looked, as he
thought, rather dull. Queenie did not look at him or speak to him; but
Bertie was very straightforward and simple-minded, and did not in the
least know that he was in the little lady’s black books.
“Why don’t you play too?” he asked.
“Why should I?”
“I thought you liked playing. You said yesterday you were always wishing
you had some boys to play with.”
Queenie’s chin went up into the air.
“_Some_ boys,” she answered, grandly. “I did not say _any_ boys.”
Bertie was a little puzzled by this rather fine distinction.
“Are we _any_ boys?” he asked.
“Rather like it, I think,” answered Queenie, a little put out by
Bertie’s simplicity.
“You wanted to play with me yesterday,” remarked Bertie. “I suppose you
are rather changeable, aren’t you?”
Queenie looked exceedingly angry.
“I suppose you are a very impertinent little boy, and don’t know your
manners.”
Bertie saw now that Queenie was angry. He began to think she was not
quite so nice as he had once thought. He judged it wise to change the
subject.
“Aren’t you very glad Phil has come home? I think he is _such_ a nice
boy!”
This praise of her favorite brother soothed Queenie’s ruffled feelings a
little. Moreover, she was finding it a little dull to be so cross. She
felt that she was spoiling her own fun, without being half as dignified
as she could wish.
“Yes, he is a _very_ nice boy,” she answered, with more warmth; “only I
think it is a great pity he did not hide away as we intended. It would
have been great fun; and I can’t think why you came and spoiled it all.”
Bertie looked a little shy, but he did not offer any excuse for his
conduct.
This silence encouraged Queenie, who continued, with judicial severity,—
“I think you were a very interfering little boy.”
Bertie was silent for some time, and then he said, slowly,—
“I didn’t mean to interfere. I only wanted him to go on being brave.”
“I should think he wouldn’t want _you_ to teach him that.”
“It didn’t sound very brave to hide away and make everybody frightened
and miserable. You would have been very unhappy if you had not known
where he was, and so would other people. I don’t think it brave to
frighten people and make them unhappy just because it’s fun.”
Queenie made no reply. She was not angry, yet she rather felt as if she
ought to be.
“What made you think of all that, Bertie?”
“I don’t know. It seemed to come into my head. I suppose somebody told
me once.”
“Are you brave?” asked Queenie, suddenly.
Bertie shook his head gravely.
“I don’t know. I want to be; but I don’t know if I am. I try.”
“How do you try?”
The color rose in the child’s face, and he turned his head a little away
whilst he made his answer.
“I try not to fret and be unhappy because—because I haven’t any home or
name or anything. I try to love God, and ask Him to make things come
right when He thinks best. I want to be good, and not to be impatient or
ungrateful or naughty. I can’t say it properly; but I do try.”
Bertie stopped short. He had not made his meaning at all clear, yet he
knew himself what he had in his mind.
Queenie was very much surprised at being talked to so seriously. She had
never in her life been troubled by thoughts such as these. It seemed to
her rather awful and unnatural.
“Bertie,” she said, rather severely, “are you saying all that because
you think it sounds fine?”
He looked very much surprised.
“All what?”
“Why, all that about God. You can’t really care about Him, you know.”
Bertie was silent. He knew that he did love God, and did believe that He
was taking care of him; but he did not in the least know how to say it
all to Queenie.
“Yes, I do,” he answered, after a long pause.
“How? I don’t understand.”
Bertie was silent again, and then said, slowly,—
“Perhaps, if you’d got nobody belonging to you, you would understand. I
can’t explain; only it just seems as if everything else had gone but
God. He is there always—and I’ve nobody now but Him.”
Bertie’s lips quivered, and Queenie was touched.
“Never mind, Bertie,” she said, quickly; “it will all come right some
day; and I’ll never tease you or be cross any more.”
A smile stole over Bertie’s face.
“That will be nice,” he said.
“And Phil is never cross. We’ll both help you to be happy. Only you must
not be _too_ good, you know, or we shall be frightened of you.”
Bertie’s face was bright again now. He did not quite understand
Queenie’s words, but he saw that she was friendly again.
“You shall come to see us soon,” she said. “Have you any lessons to do?”
“No; the doctor says I mustn’t do any yet; but I read in the Squire’s
study sometimes.”
“I wish I mightn’t do any either,” said Queenie, enviously; “but I don’t
suppose I shall do much, now Phil is at home, so we shall have plenty of
time to play together.”
Here Phil came rushing up, full of plans for future fun. David had said
that his father’s boat would soon be back now, and that then they could
go out rowing or sailing together. David knew all the creeks and islands
along the coast, the cliffs where the sea-gulls bred, and all the places
where fun was to be obtained.
Phil was utterly and entirely delighted, and as he went home he confided
to Queenie that running away from school was the best thing in the
world.
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