PUNISHMENT LAND.
Pauline did leave the room. She passed her sisters, who stared at her in
horrified amazement. She knew that their eyes were fixed upon her, but
she was doubtful if they pitied her or not. Just at that moment, however,
she did not care what their feelings were. She had a momentary sense of
pleasure on getting into the soft air. A gentle breeze fanned her hot
cheeks. She took her old sailor hat from a peg and ran fast into a
distant shrubbery. Miss Tredgold had said that she might take exercise in
the north walk. If there was a dreary, ugly part of the grounds, it might
be summed up in the north walk. The old garden wall was on one side of
it, and a tattered, ugly box-hedge on the other. Nothing was to be seen
as you walked between the hedge and the wall but the ground beneath your
feet and the sky above your head. There was no distant view of any sort.
In addition to this disadvantage, it was in winter an intensely cold
place, and in summer, notwithstanding its name, an intensely hot place.
No, Pauline would not go there. She would disobey. She would walk where
she liked; she would also talk to whom she liked.
She stood for a time leaning against a tree, her face scarlet with
emotion, her sailor hat flung on the ground. Presently she saw Penelope
coming towards her. She felt quite glad of this, for Penelope might
always be bribed. Pauline made up her mind to disobey thoroughly; she
would walk where she pleased; she would do what she liked; she would talk
to any one to whom she wished to talk. What was Penelope doing? She was
bending down and peering on the ground. Beyond doubt she was looking for
something.
"What is it, Pen?" called out her sister.
Penelope had not seen Pauline until now. She stood upright with a start,
gazed tranquilly at the girl in disgrace, and then, without uttering a
word, resumed her occupation of searching diligently on the ground.
Pauline's face put on its darkest scowl. Her heart gave a thump of wild
indignation. She went up to Penelope and shook her by the arm. Penelope,
still without speaking, managed to extricate herself. She moved a few
feet away. She then again looked full at Pauline, and, to the amazement
of the elder girl, her bold black eyes filled with tears. She took one
dirty, chubby hand and blew a kiss to Pauline.
Pauline felt suddenly deeply touched. She very nearly wept herself.
"Oh, dear Penny," she said, "how good you are! I didn't know you'd feel
for me. I can bear things better if I know you feel for me. You needn't
obey her, need you? See, I've got three-ha'pence in my pocket. I'll give
you the money and you can buy lollypops. I will really if only you will
say a few words to me now."
"I daren't," burst from Penelope's lips. "You have no right to tempt me.
I can't; I daren't. I am looking now for Aunt Sophy's thimble. She was
working here yesterday and she dropped it, she doesn't know where. She's
awful fond of it. She'll give me a penny if I find it. Don't ask me any
more. I've done very wrong to speak to you."
"So you have," said Pauline, who felt as angry as ever. "You have broken
Aunt Sophia's word--not your own, for you never said you wouldn't speak
to me. But go, if you are so honorable. Only please understand that I
hate every one of you, and I'm never going to obey Aunt Sophia."
Penelope only shook her little person, and presently wandered away into a
more distant part of the shrubbery. She went on searching and searching.
Pauline could see her bobbing her little fat person up and down.
"Even Penny," she thought, "is incorruptible. Well, I don't care. I won't
put up with this unjust punishment."
The dinner-gong sounded, and Pauline, notwithstanding her state of
disgrace, discovered that she was hungry.
"Why should I eat?" she said to herself. "I won't eat. Then perhaps I'll
die, and she'll be sorry. She'll be had up for manslaughter; she'll have
starved a girl to death. No, I won't eat a single thing. And even if I
don't die I shall be awfully ill, and she'll be in misery. Oh dear! why
did mother die and leave us? And why did dreadful Aunt Sophy come? Mother
was never cross; she was never hard. Oh mother! Oh mother!"
Pauline was now so miserable that she flung herself on the ground and
burst into passionate weeping. Her tears relieved the tension of her
heart, and she felt slightly better. Presently she raised her head, and
taking out her handkerchief, prepared to mop her eyes. As she did so she
was attracted by something that glittered not far off. She stretched out
her hand and drew Miss Tredgold's thimble from where it had rolled under
a tuft of dock-leaves. A sudden burst of pleasure escaped her lips as she
glanced at the thimble. She had not seen it before. It certainly was the
most beautiful thimble she had ever looked at. She put it on the tip of
her second finger and turned it round and round. The thimble itself was
made of solid gold; its base was formed of one beautifully cut sapphire,
and round the margin of the top of the thimble was a row of turquoises.
The gold was curiously and wonderfully chased, and the sapphire, which
formed the entire base of the thimble, shone in a way that dazzled
Pauline. She was much interested; she forgot that she was hungry, and
that she had entered into Punishment Land. It seemed to her that in her
possession of the thimble she had found the means of punishing Aunt
Sophia. This knowledge soothed her inexpressibly. She slipped the lovely
thimble into her pocket, and again a keen pang of downright healthy
hunger seized her. She knew that food would be awaiting her in the
schoolroom. Should she eat it, or should she go through the wicket-gate
and lose herself in the surrounding Forest?
Just at this moment a girl, who whistled as she walked, approached the
wicket-gate, opened it, and came in. She was dressed in smart summer
clothes; her hat was of a fashionable make, and a heavy fringe lay low on
her forehead. Pauline looked at her, and her heart gave a thump of
pleasure. Now, indeed, she could bear her punishment, and her revenge on
Miss Tredgold lay even at the door. For Nancy King, the girl whom she was
not allowed to speak to, had entered the grounds.
"Hullo, Paulie!" called out that young lady. "There you are! Well, I must
say you do look doleful. What's the matter now? Is the dear aristocrat
more aristocratic than ever?"
"Oh, don't, Nancy! I ought not to speak to you at all."
"So I've been told by the sweet soul herself," responded Nancy. "She
wrote me a letter which would have put another girl in such a rage that
she would never have touched any one of you again with a pair of tongs.
But that's not Nancy King. For when Nancy loves a person, she loves that
person through thick and thin, through weal and woe. I came to-day to try
to find one of you dear girls. I have found you. What is the matter with
you, Paulie? You do look bad."
"I'm very unhappy," said Pauline. "Oh Nancy! we sort of promised that we
wouldn't have anything more to do with you."
"But you can't keep your promise, can you, darling? So don't say any more
about it. Anyhow, promise or not, I'm going to kiss you now."
Nancy flung her arms tightly round Pauline's neck and printed several
loud, resounding kisses on each cheek; then she seated herself under an
oak tree, and motioned to Pauline to do likewise.
Pauline hesitated just for a moment; then scruples were forgotten, and
she sat on the ground close to Nancy's side.
"Tell me all about it," said Nancy. "Wipe your eyes and talk. Don't be
frightened; it's only poor old Nancy, the girl you have known since you
were that high. And I'm rich, Paulie pet, and although we're only
farmer-folk, we live in a much finer house than The Dales. And I'm going
to have a pony soon--a pony of my very own--and my habit is being made
for me at Southampton. I intend to follow the hounds next winter. Think
of that, little Paulie. You'll see me as I ride past. I'm supposed to
have a very good figure, and I shall look ripping in my habit. Well, but
that's not to the point, is it? You are in trouble, you poor little dear,
and your old Nancy must try and make matters better for you. I love you,
little Paulie. I'm fond of you all, but you are my special favorite. You
were always considered something like me--dark and dour when you liked,
but sunshiny when you liked also. Now, what is it, Paulie? Tell your own
Nancy."
"I'm very fond of you, Nancy," replied Pauline. "And I think," she
continued, "that it is perfectly horrid of Aunt Sophia to say that we are
not to know you."
"It's snobbish and mean and unlady-like," retorted Nancy; "but her saying
it doesn't make it a fact, for you do know me, and you will always have
to know me. And if she thinks, old spiteful! that I'm going to put up
with her nasty, low, mean, proud ways, she's fine and mistaken. I'm not,
and that's flat. So there, old spitfire! I shouldn't mind telling her so
to her face."
"But, on the whole, she has been kind to us," said Pauline, who had some
sense of justice in her composition, angry as she felt at the moment.
"Has she?" said Nancy. "Then let me tell you she has not a very nice way
of showing it. Now, Paulie, no more beating about the bush. What's up?
Your eyes are red; you have a great smear of ink on your forehead; and
your hands--my word! for so grand a young lady your hands aren't up to
much, my dear."
"I have got into trouble," said Pauline. "I didn't do my lessons properly
yesterday; I couldn't--I had a headache, and everything went wrong. So
this morning I could not say any of them when Aunt Sophia called me up,
and she put me into Punishment Land. You know, don't you, that I am soon
to have a birthday?"
"Oh, don't I?" interrupted Nancy. "Didn't a little bird whisper it to me,
and didn't that same little bird tell me exactly what somebody would like
somebody else to give her? And didn't that somebody else put her hand
into her pocket and send---- Oh, we won't say any more, but she did send
for something for somebody's birthday. Oh, yes, I know. You needn't tell
me about that birthday, Pauline Dale."
"You are good," said Pauline, completely touched. She wondered what
possible thing Nancy could have purchased for her. She had a wild desire
to know what it was. She determined then and there, in her foolish little
heart, that nothing would induce her to quarrel with Nancy.
"It is something that you like, and something that will spite her," said
the audacious Nancy. "I thought it all out, and I made up my mind to kill
two birds with one stone. Now to go on with the pretty little story. We
didn't please aunty, and we got into trouble. Proceed, Paulie pet."
"I didn't learn my lessons. I was cross, as I said, and headachy, and
Aunt Sophia said I was to be made an example of, and so she sent me to
Punishment Land for twenty-four hours."
"Oh, my dear! It sounds awful. What is it?"
"Why, none of my sisters are to speak to me, and I am only to walk in the
north walk."
"Is this the north walk?" asked Nancy, with a merry twinkle in her black
eyes.
"Of course it isn't. She may say what she likes, but I'm not going to
obey her. But the others won't speak to me. I can't make them. And I am
to take my meals by myself in the schoolroom, and I am to go to bed at
seven o'clock."
Pauline told her sad narrative in a most lugubrious manner, and she felt
almost offended at the conclusion when Nancy burst into a roar of
laughter.
"It's very unkind of you to laugh when I'm so unhappy," said Pauline.
"My dear, how can I help it? It is so ridiculous to treat a girl who is
practically almost grown up in such a baby fashion. Then I'd like to know
what authority she has over you."
"That's the worst of it, Nancy. Father has given her authority, and she
has it in writing. She's awfully clever, and she came round poor father,
and he had to do what she wanted because he couldn't help himself."
"Jolly mean, I call it," said Nancy. "My dear, you are pretty mad, I
suppose."
"Wouldn't you be if your father treated you like that?"
"My old dad! He knows better. I've had my swing since I was younger than
you, Paulie. Of course, at school I had to obey just a little. I wasn't
allowed to break all the rules, but I did smuggle in a good many
relaxations. The thing is, you can do what you like at school if only you
are not found out. Well, I was too clever to be found out. And now I am
grown up, eighteen last birthday, and I have taken a fancy to cling to my
old friends, even if they have a snobby, ridiculous old aunt to be rude
to me. My dear, what nonsense she did write!--all about your being of
such a good family, and that I wasn't in your station. I shall keep that
letter. I wouldn't lose it for twenty shillings. What have you to boast
of after all is said and done? A tumble-down house; horrid, shabby,
old-fashioned, old-maidy clothes; and never a decent meal to be had."
"But it isn't like that now," said Pauline, finding herself getting very
red and angry.
"Well, so much the better for you. And did I make the little mousy-pousy
angry? I won't, then, any more, for Nancy loves little mousy-pousy, and
would like to do what she could for her. You love me back, don't you,
mousy?"
"Yes, Nancy, I do love you, and I think it's a horrid shame that we're
not allowed to be with you. But, all the same, I'd rather you didn't call
me mousy."
"Oh dear, how dignified we are! I shall begin to believe in the ancient
family if this sort of thing continues. But now, my dear, the moment has
come to help you. The hour has arrived when your own Nancy, vulgar as she
is, can lend you a helping hand. Listen."
"What?" said Pauline.
"Jump up, Paulie; take my hand, and you and I together will walk out
through that wicket-gate, and go back through the dear old Forest to The
Hollies, and spend the day at my home. There are my boy cousins from
London, and my two friends, Rebecca and Amelia Perkins--jolly girls, I
can tell you. We shall have larks. What do you say, Paulie? A fine fright
she'll be in when she misses you. Serve her right, though."
"But I daren't come with you," said Pauline. "I'd love it more than
anything in the world; but I daren't. You mustn't ask me. You mustn't try
to tempt me, Nancy, for I daren't go."
"I didn't know you were so nervous."
"I am nervous about a thing like that. Wild as I have been, and untrained
all my life, I do not think I am out-and-out wicked. It would be wicked
to go away without leave. I'd be too wretched. Oh, I daren't think of
it!"
Nancy pursed up her lips while Pauline was speaking; then she gave vent
to a low, almost incredulous whistle. Finally she sprang to her feet.
"I am not the one to try and make you forget your scruples," she said.
"Suppose you do this. Suppose you come at seven o'clock to-night. Then
you will be safe. You may be wicked, but at least you will be safe.
She'll never look for you, nor think of you again, when once you have
gone up to bed. You have a room to yourself, have you not?"
Pauline nodded.
"I thought so. You will go to your room, lock the door, and she will
think it is all right. The others won't care to disturb you. If they do
they'll find the door locked."
"But I am forbidden to lock my room door."
"They will call to you, but you will not answer. They may be angry, but I
don't suppose your sisters will tell on you, and they will only suppose you
are sound asleep. Meanwhile you will be having a jolly good time; for I can
tell you we are going to have sport to-night at The Hollies--fireworks,
games, plans for the future, etc., etc. You can share my nice bed, and go
back quite early in the morning. I have a lot to talk over with you. I want
to arrange about our midnight picnic."
"But, Nancy, we can't have a midnight picnic."
"Can't we? I don't see that at all. I tell you what--we will have it; and
we'll have it on your birthday. Your birthday is in a week. That will be
just splendid. The moon will be at the full, and you must all of you
come. Do you suppose I'm going to be balked of my fun by a stupid old
woman? Ah! you little know me. My boy cousins, Jack and Tom, and my
friends, Becky and Amy, have made all arrangements. We are going to have
a time! Of course, if you are not there, you don't suppose our fun will
be stopped! You'll hear us laughing in the glades. You won't like that,
will you? But we needn't say any more until seven o'clock to-night."
"I don't think I'm coming."
"But you are, Paulie. No one will know, and you must have a bit of fun.
Perhaps I'll show you the present I'm going to give you on your birthday;
there's no saying what I may do; only you must come."
Nancy had been standing all this time. Pauline had been reclining on the
ground. Now she also rose to her feet.
"You excite me," she said. "I long to go, and yet I am afraid; it would
be so awfully wicked."
"It would be wicked if she was your mother, but she's not. And she has no
right to have any control over you. She just got round your silly old
father----"
"I won't have dad called silly!"
"Well, your learned and abstracted father. It all comes to much the same.
Now think the matter over. You needn't decide just this minute. I shall
come to the wicket-gate at half-past seven, and if you like to meet me,
why, you can; but if you are still too good, and your conscience is too
troublesome, and your scruples too keen, you need not come. I shall quite
understand. In that case, perhaps, I'd best not give you that lovely,
lovely present that I saved up so much money to buy."
Pauline clasped her hands and stepped away from Nancy. As she did so the
breeze caught her full gray skirt and caused it to blow against Nancy.
Nancy stretched out her hand and caught hold of Pauline's pocket.
"What is this hard thing?" she cried. "Have you got a nut in your
pocket?"
"No," said Pauline, instantly smiling and dimpling. "Oh, Nancy, such
fun!"
She dived into her pocket and produced Miss Tredgold's thimble.
"Oh, I say!" cried Nancy. "What a beauty! Who in the world gave you this
treasure, Paulie?"
"It isn't mine at all; it belongs to Aunt Sophia."
"You sly little thing! You took it from her?"
"No, I didn't. I'm not a thief. I saw it in the grass a few minutes ago
and picked it up. It had rolled just under that dock-leaf. Isn't it
sweet? I shall give it back to her after she has forgiven me to-morrow."
"What a charming, return-good-for-evil character you have suddenly
become, Pauline!"
As Nancy spoke she poised the thimble on her second finger. Her fingers
were small, white, and tapering. The thimble exactly fitted the narrow
tip on which it rested.
"I never saw anything so lovely," she cried. "Never mind, Paulie, about
to-morrow. Lend it to me. I'd give my eyes to show it to Becky."
"But why should I lend it to you? I must return it to Aunt Sophia."
"You surely won't give it back to her to-day."
"No, but to-morrow."
"Let to-morrow take care of itself. I want to show this thimble to Becky
and Amy. I have a reason. You won't refuse one who is so truly kind to
you, will you, little Paulie? And I tell you what: I know you are
starving, and you hate to go into the house for your food. I will bring
you a basketful of apples, chocolates, and a peach or two. We have lovely
peaches ripe in our garden now, although we are such common folk."
Pauline felt thirsty. Her hunger, too, was getting worse. She would have
given a good deal to have been able to refuse the horrid meals which
would be served to her in the schoolroom. Perhaps she could manage
without any other food if she had enough fruit.
"I should like some very much," she said. "Aunt Sophia has, as she calls
it, preserved the orchard. We are not allowed to go into it."
"Mean cat!" cried Nancy.
"So will you really send me a basket of fruit?"
"I will send Tom with it the instant I get home. He runs like the wind.
You may expect to find it waiting for you in half-an-hour."
"Thank you. And you will take great care of the thimble, won't you?"
"Of course I will, child. It is a beauty."
Without more ado Nancy slipped the thimble into her pocket, and then
nodding to Pauline, and telling her that she would wait for her at the
wicket-gate at half-past seven, she left her.
Nancy swung her body as she walked, and Pauline stood and watched her.
She thought that Nancy looked very grown-up and very stylish. To look
stylish seemed better than to look pretty in the eyes of the
inexperienced little girl. She could not help having a great admiration
for her friend.
"She is very brave, and so generous; and she knows such a lot of the
world!" thought poor Pauline. "It is a shame not to be allowed to see her
whenever one likes. And it would be just heavenly to go to her to-night,
instead of spending hungry hours awake in my horrid bedroom."