IN BURN CASTLE WOOD.
In concentrating her thoughts of revenge on Hester, Annie ceased to
trouble her head about Dora Russell. She considered Hester a crueler
enemy than Dora. Hester belonged to her own set, worked in her own class,
and would naturally, had things not turned out so unjustly, so unfairly,
have been her friend, and not her enemy. Dora had nothing to say to
Annie, and before Hester's advent into the school had scarcely noticed
her existence. Annie therefore concentrated all her powers on punishing
Hester. This gave her an aim and an occupation, and at first she felt
that her revenge might give her real pleasure.
Susan Drummond now shared Annie's bedroom, and Annie was rather startled
one evening to hear this phlegmatic young person burst out into a strong
tirade against Hester and Dora. Dora had managed, for some inexplicable
reason, to offend Susan, and Susan now looked to Annie for sympathy, and
boldly suggested that they should get up what she was pleased to called
"a lark" between them for the punishment of this very dignified young
lady.
Annie had never liked Susan, and she now stared at her, and said, in her
quick way:
"You won't catch me helping you in any of your larks. I've had trouble
enough on that score as it is."
Susan gazed at her stupidly, and a dull red spread over her face.
"But I thought you hated Dora and Hester," she said--"I'm sure they hate
you."
Annie was silent.
"You do hate them, don't you?" persisted Miss Drummond.
"It's nothing to you what I feel toward them, Susy," said Annie. "Please
don't disturb me with any more of your chatter; I am very sleepy, and you
are keeping me awake."
Thus silenced, Susan had to content herself by turning on her back, and
going into the land of dreams; but she was evidently a good deal
surprised and disappointed, and began to entertain a certain respect, and
even fear, of Annie which had been hitherto unknown to her.
Meanwhile Hester was very busy, very happy, and more satisfied--brighter
and better employed than she had ever been in her life before. Nan's love
satisfied the affectionate side of her nature, and all her intellect was
strained to the utmost to win honors in the coming struggle.
She had stuck firmly to her resolve to work for the English composition
prize, and she firmly made up her own mind to leave no stone unturned to
win it. What affection she possessed for Miss Russell was not at all of a
character to prevent her from thoroughly enjoying taking the prize out of
her hands. Her love for Dora had been fed by vanity, and was not at all
of a deep or noble character. She was some time carefully choosing the
subject of her theme, and at last she resolved to write a brief
historical description of the last days of Marie Antoinette. To write
properly on this subject she had to read up a great deal, and had to find
references in books which were not usually allowed as school-room
property. Mrs. Willis, however, always allowed the girls who were working
for the English composition prize to have access to her rather extensive
library, and here Hester was often to be found during play-hours. Two
evenings in the week were also taken up in preparation for the coming
plays, and as Hester was to take rather an important part in one, and a
small character in another, she was obliged to devote herself to getting
up her parts during the weekly half-holidays. Thus every moment was busy,
and, except at night, she had little time to devote herself to Nan.
Nan slept in a pretty crib in Hester's room, and each evening the young
girl knelt down by her sister's side, and gazed at her with love, which
was almost motherly, swelling in her breast.
All that was best of Hester was drawn out at these moments; something
greater than ambition--something far and away above school triumphs and
school jealousies spoke then in her heart of hearts. These moments found
her capable of being both sympathizing and forgiving; these moments
followed out in her daily life might have made Hester almost great. Now
was the time, with her eyes full of tears and her lips trembling with
emotion, for Annie Forest to have caught a glimpse of the divine in
Hester; the hardness, the pride, the haughty spirit were all laid aside,
and hers was the true child-heart as she knelt by the sleeping baby.
Hester prayed earnestly at these moments, and, in in truth, Nan did
better for her than any sermon; better for her than even Mrs. Willis'
best influences. Nan was as the voice of God to her sister.
Hester, in her very busy life, had no time to notice, however, a very
slight and almost imperceptible change in bright little Nan. In the
mornings she was in too great a hurry to pay much heed to the little
one's chatter; in the afternoons she had scarcely an instant to devote to
her, and when she saw her playing happily with the other children she was
quite content, and always supposed that when a spare half-hour did come
in her busy life, Nan would rush to her with the old ecstasy, and give
her the old devotion.
One day, toward the end of a very fine May, the girls were all to go for
a picnic to some woods about four miles away. They had looked forward for
several days to this relaxation, and were in the highest state of delight
and the wildest spirits. After an early dinner they were to drive in
several large wagonettes to the place of rendezvous, where they were to
be regaled with gypsy-tea, and were to have a few hours in the lovely
woods of Burn Castle, one of the show places of the neighborhood. Mrs.
Willis had invited the Misses Bruce to accompany them, and they were all
to leave the house punctually at two o'clock. The weather was wonderfully
fine and warm, and it was decided that all the children, even Nan, should
go.
Perhaps none of the girls looked forward to this day's pleasure with
greater joy than did Hester; she determined to make it a real holiday,
and a real time of relaxation. She would forget her English theme; she
would cease to worry herself about Marie Antoinette; she would cease to
repeat her part in the coming play; and she would devote herself
exclusively and determinately to Nan's pleasure. She pictured the little
one's raptures; she heard her gay shouts of joy, her ceaseless little
rippling chatter, her baby glee, and, above all things, her intense
happiness at being with her own Hetty for the greater part of a whole
day. Hester would ride her on her shoulder, would race with her; all her
usual companions would be as nothing to her on this occasion, she would
give herself up solely to Nan.
As she was dressing that morning she said a word or two to the child
about the coming treat.
"We'll light a fire in the wood, Nan, and hang a kettle over it, and make
tea--such good tea; won't it be nice?"
Nan clapped her hands. "And may I take out my little ummabella
(umbrella), case it might wain?" she asked anxiously.
Hester flew to her and kissed her.
"You funny darling!" she said. "Oh, we shall have such a day! You'll be
with your own Hetty all day long--your own Hetty; won't you be glad?"
"Me am," said Nan; "own Hetty, and own Annie; me am glad."
Hester scarcely heard the last words, for the prayer-gong sounded, and
she had to fly down stairs.
At dinner time the girls were discussing who would go with each, and all
were very merry and full of fun.
"Miss Danesbury will take the little children," said Miss Good. "Mrs.
Willis says that all the little ones are to be in Miss Danesbury's
charge."
"Oh, please," said Hester, suddenly, "may Nan come with me, Miss Good?
She'll be so disappointed if she doesn't, and I'll take such care of
her."
Miss Good nodded a careless acquiescence, and Hester proceeded with her
dinner, feeling thoroughly satisfied.
Immediately after dinner the girls flew to their rooms to prepare for
their expedition. Hastily opening a drawer, Hester pulled out a white
frock, white piqué pelisse, and washing hat for Nan--she meant her
darling to look as charming as possible.
"Oh, dear, Miss Danesbury should have brought her here by now," she said
to herself impatiently, and then, hearing the crunching of carriage
wheels on the drive, she flew to the bell and rang it.
In a few moments one of the maids appeared.
"Do you know where Miss Nan is, Alice? She is to go to Burn Castle with
me, and I want to dress her, for it is nearly time to go."
Alice looked a little surprised.
"If you please, miss," she said, "I think Miss Nan has just gone."
"What do you mean, Alice? Miss Good said especially she was to go with
me."
"I know nothing about that, miss; I only know that I saw Miss Forest
carrying her down stairs in her arms about three minutes ago, and they
went off in the wagonette with all the other little children and Miss
Danesbury."
Hester stood perfectly still, her color changed from red to white; for
full half a minute she was silent. Then, hearing voices from below
calling to her, she said in a cold, quiet tone:
"That will do, Alice; thank you for letting me know."
She turned to her drawer and put back Nan's white and pretty things, and
also replaced a new and very becoming shady hat which she had meant to
wear herself. In her old winter hat, and looking almost untidy for her,
she walked slowly down stairs and took her place in the wagonette which
was drawn up at the door.
Cecil Temple and one or two other girls whom Hester liked very much were
in the same wagonette, but she scarcely cared to talk to them, and only
joined in their laughter by a strong effort. She was deeply wounded, but
her keenest present desire was to hide any feelings of jealousy she had
toward Annie from the quick eyes of her schoolfellows.
"Why," suddenly exclaimed Julia Morris, a particularly unobservant girl,
"I thought you were going to bring that dear baby sister with you,
Hester. Oh, I do hope there is nothing the matter with her."
"Nan has gone on in the first wagonette with the little children," said
Hester as cheerfully as she could speak, but she colored slightly, and
saw that Cecil was regarding her attentively.
Susan Drummond exclaimed suddenly:
"I saw Annie Forest rushing down the stairs with little Nan, and Nan had
her arms round her neck, and was laughing merrily. You need not be
anxious about Nan, Hester; she was quite content to go with Annie."
"I did not say I was anxious," replied Hester in a cold voice. "How very
beautiful that avenue of beech trees is, Cecil!"
"But Annie heard Miss Good say that you were to take Nan," persisted
Julia Morris. "She could not but have noticed it, for you did flush up
so, Hester, and looked so eager. I never saw any one more in earnest
about a trifle in my life; it was impossible for Annie not to have
heard."
"The great thing is that Nan is happy," said Hester in a fretted voice.
"Do let us change the subject, girls."
Cecil instantly began talking about the coming plays, and soon the
conversation became of an absorbing character, and Hester's voice was
heard oftener than the others, and she laughed more frequently than her
companions.
For all this forced merriment, however, Cecil did not fail to observe
that when Hester got to the place of meeting at Burn Castle she looked
around her with a quick and eager glance. Then the color faded from her
face, and her eyes grew dim.
That look of pain on Hester's face was quite enough for kind-hearted
Cecil. She had thrown herself on the grass with an exclamation of
delight, but in an instant she was on her feet.
"Now, of course, the first thing is to find little Nan," she said;
"she'll be missing you dreadfully, Hetty."
Cecil held out her hand to Hester to run with her through the wood, but,
to her surprise, Hester drew back.
"I'm tired," she said; "I daresay we shall find Nan presently. She is
sure to be safe, as she is under Miss Danesbury's care."
Cecil made no remark, but set off by herself to find the little children.
Presently, standing on a little knoll, and putting her two hands round
her lips, so as to form a speaking trumpet, she shouted to Hester. Hester
came slowly and apparently unwillingly toward her, but when she got to
the foot of the knoll, Cecil flew down, and, taking her by the hand, ran
with her to the top.
"Oh, do come quick!" she exclaimed; "it is such a pretty sight."
Down in the valley about fifty yards away were the ten or twelve little
children who formed the infant portion of the school. Miss Danesbury was
sitting at some distance off quietly reading, and the children, decked
with flowers, and carrying tall grasses and reeds in their hands, were
flying round and round in a merry circle, while in their midst, and the
center attraction, stood Annie, whose hat was tossed aside, and whose
bright, curling hair was literally crowned with wild flowers. On Annie's
shoulder stood little Nan, carefully and beautifully poised, and round
Nan's wavy curls was a starry wreath of wood-anemones. Nan was shouting
gleefully and clapping her hands, while Annie balanced her slightest
movement with the greatest agility, and kept her little feet steady on
her shoulders with scarcely an effort. As the children ran round and
round Annie she waltzed gracefully backward and forward to meet them, and
they all sang snatches of nursery rhymes. When Cecil and Hester appeared
they had reached in their varied collection:
"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall."
Here Nan exclaimed, in her clear, high-pitched voice:
"Me no fall, Annie," and the small children on the ground clapped their
hands and blew kisses to her.
"Isn't it pretty? Isn't Annie sweet with children?" said Cecil, looking
round to Hester with all the admiration she felt for her friend shining
in her face. The expression, however, which Hester wore at that moment
really startled Cecil; she was absolutely colorless, and presently she
called aloud in a harsh, strained voice:
"Be careful of her! How wicked of you to put her like that on your
shoulder! She will fall--yes, I know she will fall; oh, do be careful!"
Hester's voice startled the children, who ceased singing and dancing;
Annie made a hasty step forward, and one little voice alone kept singing
out the words:
"Humpty-Dumpty got a great fall!"--
when there was a crash and a cry, and Nan, in some inexplicable way, had
fallen backward from Annie's shoulders.
In one instant Hester was in the midst of the group.
"Don't touch her," she said, as Annie flew to pick up the child, who,
falling with some force on her head, had been stunned; "don't touch
her--don't dare! It was your doing; you did it on purpose--you wished to
do it!"
"You are unjust," said Annie, in a low tone. "Nan was perfectly safe
until you startled her. Like all the rest you are unjust. Nan would have
come to no harm if you had not spoken."
Hester did not vouchsafe another word. She sat on the ground with the
unconscious and pretty little flower-crowned figure laid across her lap;
she was terrified, and thought in her inexperience that Nan must be dead.
At the first mention of the accident Cecil had flown to fetch some water,
and when she and Miss Danesbury applied it to little Nan's temples, she
presently sighed, and opened her brown eyes wide.
"I hope--I trust she is not much hurt," said Miss Danesbury; "but I think
it safest to take her home at once. Cecil, dear, can you do anything
about fetching a wagonette round to the stile at the entrance of the
wood? Now the puzzle is, who is to take care of the rest of the little
children? If only they were under Miss Good's care, I should breathe more
easily."
"I am going home with Nan," said Hester in a hard voice.
"Of course, my love; no one would think of parting you from your little
sister," said the governess, soothingly.
"If you please, Miss Danesbury," said Annie, whose face was quite as pale
as Hester's, and her eyes heavy as though she longed to cry, "will you
trust me with the little ones? If you do, I will promise to take them
straight to Miss Good, and to be most careful of them."
Miss Danesbury's gentle and kind face looked relieved.
"Thank you, Annie--of course I trust you, dear. Take the children at once
to the meeting-place under the great oak, and wait there until Miss Good
appears." Annie suddenly sprang forward, and threw her arms round Miss
Danesbury's neck.
"Miss Danesbury, you comfort me," she said, in a kind of stifled voice,
and then she ran off with the children.