The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honeyed spring,
And float amid the liquid noon,
Some lightly on the torrent skim,
Some show their gaily gilded trim,
Quick glancing to the sun.--GRAY
Though hours were early, the morning meal was not served till so late as
really to deserve the title of breakfast.
When the three sisters sat down at nine-o’clock, in mob caps, and
the two younger in white dresses, all had been up at least two hours.
Aurelia led forward little Eugene in a tailed red coat, long-breasted
buff waistcoat, buff tights and knitted stockings, with a deep frilled
collar under the flowing locks on his shoulders, in curls which
emulated a wig. She had been helping him to prepare “his tasks” from
the well-thumbed but strongly-bound books which had served poor Archie
before him. They were deposited on the window-seat to wait till the
bowls of bread and milk were discussed, since tea and coffee were only
a special afternoon treat not considered as wholesome for children; so
that Aurelia had only just been promoted to them, along with powder and
fan.
Harriet wore her favourite pistachio ribbon round her cap and as a
breast-knot, and her cheeks bore token of one of the various washes
with which she was always striving to regain the smoothness of her
complexion. Knowing what this betokened, an elder-sisterly instinct of
caution actuated Betty to remind her juniors of an engagement made with
Dame Jewel of the upland farm for the exchange of a setting of white
duck’s eggs for one of five-toed fowls, and to request them to carry the
basket.
Eugene danced on his chair and begged to be of the party; but Harriet
pouted, and asked why the “odd boy” could not be sent.
“Because, as you very well know, if he did not break, he would addle,
every egg in the basket.
“There can be no need to go to-day.”
“The speckled hen is clocking to brood, and she is the best mother in
the yard. Besides, it is time that the cowslip wine were made, and I
will give you some bread and cheese and gingerbread for noonchin, so
that you may fill your baskets in the meadows before they are laid up
for grass. Mrs. Jewel will give you a drink of milk.”
“O let me go, sister!” pleaded Eugene. “She gives us bread and honey!
And I want to hear the lapwings in the meadows cry pee-wit.”
“We shall have you falling into the river,” said Harriet, rather
fretfully.
“No, indeed! If you fall in, I will pull you out. Young maids should not
run about the country without a gentleman to take care of them. Should
they, sister?” cried the doughty seven years’ old champion.
“Who taught you that, sir?” asked Betty, trying to keep her countenance.
“I heard Mrs. Churchill say so to my papa,” returned the boy. “So now,
there’s a good sister. Do pray let me go!”
“If you say your tasks well, and will promise to be obedient to Harriet
and to keep away from the river, and not touch the basket of eggs.”
Eugene was ready for any number of promises; and Harriet, seeing there
was no escape for her, went off with Aurelia to put on their little
three-cornered muslin handkerchiefs and broad-brimmed straw hats, while
Eugene repeated his tasks, namely, a fragment of the catechism, half
a column of spelling from the _Universal Spelling-Book_, and (Betty’s
special pride) his portion of the _Orbis Sensualium Pictus_ of Johannes
Amos Comenius, the wonderful vocabulary, with still more wonderful
“cuts,” that was then the small boys path to Latinity.
The Eagle, _Aquila_, the King of Birds, _Rex Avium_, looketh at the Sun,
_intuetur Solem_, as indeed he could hardly avoid doing, since in the
“cut” the sun was within a hairsbreath of his beak, while his claws were
almost touching a crow (_Corvus_) perched on a dead horse, to exemplify
how _Aves Raptores_ fed on carrion.
Thanks to Aurelia’s private assistance, Eugene knew his lessons well
enough for his excitement not to make him stumble so often as to prevent
Betty’s pronouncing him a good boy, and dispensing with his copy,
sum, piece, and reading, until the evening. These last were very tough
affairs, the recitation being from Shakespeare, and the reading from the
_Spectator_. There were no children’s books, properly so called,
except the ballads, chap-books brought round by pedlers, often far from
edifying, and the plunge from the horn-book into general literature was,
to say the least of it, bracing.
The Delavie family was cultivated for the time. French had been brought
home as a familiar tongue, though _Telemaque_, Racine, and _Le Grand
Cyrus_ were the whole library in that language; and there was not
another within thirty miles. On two days in the week the sisters became
Mesdemoiselles Elisabeth, Henriette, and Aurelie, and conversed in
French over their spinning, seams, lace, or embroidery; nor was Aurelia
yet emancipated from reciting Racine on alternate days with Milton and
Shakespeare.
Betty could likewise talk German with the old Austrian maid, Nannerl,
who had followed the family from Vienna; but the accomplishment was not
esteemed, and the dialect was barbarous. From the time of her mother’s
death, Betty had been a strict and careful, though kind, ruler to her
sisters; and the long walk was a greater holiday to Aurelia than to
Eugene, releasing her from her book and work, whereas he would soon
have been trundling his hoop, and haunting the steps of Palmer, who was
gardener as well as valet, butler, and a good deal besides, and moreover
drilled his young master. Thus Eugene carried his head as erect as
any Grenadier in the service, and was a thorough little gentleman in
miniature; a perfect little beau, as his sisters loved to call the
darling of their hearts and hopes.
Even Harriet could not be cross to him, though she made Aurelia carry
the eggs, and indulged in sundry petulant whisks of the fan which she
carried by way of parasol. “Now, why does Betty do this?” she exclaimed,
as soon as they were out of hearing. “Is it to secure to herself the
whole enjoyment of your beau?”
“You forget,” said Aurelia. “You promised to fetch the eggs, when we met
Mrs. Jewel jogging home from market on her old blind white horse last
Saturday, because you said no eggs so shaken could ever be hatched.”
“You demure chit!” exclaimed Harriet; “would you make me believe that
you have no regrets for so charming a young gentleman, my Lady’s son and
our kinsman.”
“If he spoke to me I should not know how to answer. And then you would
blame my rudeness. Besides,” she added, with childish sagacity, “he can
be nothing but a fine London macaroni. Only think of the cowslips! A
whole morning to make cowslip balls,” she added with a little frisk. “I
would not give one for all the macaronies in England, with their powder
and their snuff-boxes. Faugh!”
“Ah, child, you will sing another note perhaps when it is too late,”
said her sister, with a sigh between envy and compassion.
It floated past Aurelia unheeded, as she danced up one side of a stile,
and sprang clear down into a green park, jumped Eugene down after her by
both hands, and exclaimed, “Harriet is in her vapours; come, let us have
a race!”
She was instantly careering along like a white butterfly in the
sunshine, flitting on as the child tried to catch her, among the snowy
hawthorn bushes, or sinking down for very joy and delight among the bank
of wild hyacinths. Life and free motion were joy and delight enough for
that happy being with her childish heart, and the serious business of
the day was all delight. There lay the rich meadows basking in the sun,
and covered with short grass just beginning its summer growth, but with
the cowslips standing high above it; hanging down their rich clusters of
soft, pure, delicately-scented bells, from their pinky stems over their
pale crinkled leaves, interspersed here and there with the deep purple
of the fool’s orchis, and the pale brown quiver-grass shaking out its
trembling awns on their invisible stems. No flower is more delightful
to gather than the cowslip, fragrant as the breath of a cow. And
Aurelia darted about, piling the golden heap in her basket with untiring
enjoyment; then, producing a tape, called on Harriet, who had been
working in a more leisurely fashion, to join her in making a cowslip
ball, and charged Eugene not to nip off the heads too short.
The sweet, soft, golden globe was made, and even Harriet felt the
delicious intoxication. The young things tossed it aloft, flung from
one to the other, caught it, caressed it, buried their faces in it, and
threw it back with shrieks of glee.
Suddenly Harriet checked her sister with a peremptory sign. She heard
horse-hoofs in the lane, divided from the field by a hedge of pollard
willows, so high that she had never thought of being overlooked, till
the cessation of the trotting sound struck her; and looking round she
saw that a horseman had halted at the gate, and was gazing at their
sports. It was from the distance of a field, but this was enough to
fill Harriet with dismay. She drew herself up in a moment, signing
peremptorily to Aurelia, who was flying about, her hat off, her one long
curl streaming behind as she darted hither and thither, evading Eugene
who was pursuing her.
As she paused, and Eugene clutched her dress with a shout of ecstasy,
Harriet came up, glancing severely toward the gate, and saying, as she
handed her sister the hat, “This comes of childishness! That we should
be seen thus! What a hoyden he will think you!” as the hoofs went on and
the red coat vanished.
“He! Who? Not the farmer?” said Aurelia. “This is not laid up for hay.”
“No indeed. I believe it is he,” said Harriet, mysteriously.
“He?” repeated Aurelia. “Not Mr. Arden, for he would be in black,” and
at Harriet’s disgusted gesture, “I beg your pardon, but I did not
know you had a new _he_. Oh! surely you are not thinking of the young
baronet?”
“I am sure it was his figure.”
“You did not see him yesterday?”
“No, but his air had too much distinction for any one from these parts.”
“Could you see what his air was from this distance? I should never have
guessed it, but you have more experience, being older. Come, Eugene,
another race!”
“No, I will have no more folly. I was too good-natured to allow it. I am
vexed beyond measure that he should have seen such rusticity.”
“Never mind, dear Harriet. Most likely it was no such person, for it
was not well-bred to sit staring at us; and if it were he, you were not
known to him.”
“You were.”
“Then he must have eyes as sharp as yours are for an air of distinction.
Having only seen me in my blue and primrose suit, how should he know me
in my present trim? Besides, I believe it was only young Dick Jewel in a
cast coat of Squire Humphrey’s.”
The charm of the cowslip gathering was broken. Eugene found himself
very hungry, and the noonchin was produced, after which the walk was
continued to the farm-house, where the young people were made very
welcome.
Farmers were, as a rule, more rustic than the present labourer, but they
lived a life of far less care, if of more toil, than their successors,
having ample means for their simple needs, and enjoying jocund plenty.
The clean kitchen, with the stone floor, the beaupot of maythorn on the
empty hearth, the shining walnut-wood table, the spinning-wheel, wooden
chairs, and forms, all looked cool and inviting, and the visitors were
regaled with home-made brown bread, delicious butter and honey, and a
choice of new milk, mead, and currant wine.
Dame Jewel, in a white frill under a black silken hood, a buff turnover
kerchief, stout stuff gown and white apron, was delighted to wait
on them; and Eugene’s bliss was complete among the young kittens and
puppies in baskets on opposite sides of the window, the chickens before
their coops, the ducklings like yellow balls on the grass, and the huge
family of little spotted piglings which, to the scandal of his sisters,
he declared the most delightful of all.
Their hostess knew nothing of the young baronet being in the
neighbourhood, and was by no means gratified by the intelligence.
“Lack-a-day! Miss Harriet, you don’t mean that the family is coming down
here! I don’t want none of them. ‘Tis bad times for the farmer when
any of that sort is nigh. They make nothing of galloping their horses a
hunting right through the crops, ay, and horsewhipping the farmer if he
do but say a word for the sweat of his brow.”
“O Mrs. Jewel!” cried Aurelia, in whose ear lingered the courteous
accents of her partner, “they would never behave themselves so.”
“Bless you, Miss Orreely, I’ll tell you what I’ve seen with my own eyes.
My own good man, the master here, with the horsewhip laid about his
shoulders at that very thornbush, by one of the fine gentlefolks,
just because he had mended the gap in the hedge they was used to ride
through, and my Lady sitting by in her laced scarlet habit on her fine
horse, smiling like a painted picture, and saying, ‘Thank you, sir,
the rascals need to learn not to interfere with our sport,’ all in that
gentle sounding low voice of hers, enough to drive one mad.”
“I thought Sir Jovian had been a kind master,” said Harriet.
“This was not Sir Jovian. Poor gentleman, he was not often out
a-hunting. This was one of the fine young rakish fellows from Lunnun
as were always swarming about my Lady, like bees over that maybush. Sir
Thomas Donne, I think they called him. They said he got killed by a wild
boar, hunting in foreign parts, afterwards, and serve him right! But
there! They would all do her bidding, whether for bad or good, so maybe
it was less his fault than hers. She is a bitter one, is my Lady, for
all she looks so sweet. And this her young barrowknight will be his own
mother’s son, and I don’t want none of ‘em down here. ‘Tis a good job we
have your good papa, the Major, to stand between her and us; I only wish
he had his own, for a rare good landlord he would be.”
The Dame’s vain wishes were cut short by shrieks from the poultry-yard,
where Eugene was discovered up to his ankles in the black ooze of the
horse-pond, waving a little stick in defiance of an angry gander, who
with white outspread wings, snake-like neck, bent and protruded, and
frightful screams and hisses, was no bad representation of his namesake
the dragon, especially to a child not much exceeding him in height.
The monster was put to rout, the champion dragged out of the pond,
breathlessly explaining that he only wanted to look at the goslings when
the stupid geese cackled and the gander wanted to fly at his eyes. “And
I didn’t see where I was going, for I had to keep him off, so I got into
the mud. Will sister be angry?” he concluded, ruefully surveying the
dainty little stockings and shoes coated with black mud.
But before the buckled shoon had been scraped, or the hosen washed and
dried, the cheerful memory of boyhood had convinced itself that the
enemy had been put to flight by his manful resistance; and he turned a
deaf ear to Aurelia’s suggestion that the affair had been retribution
for his constant oblivion of Comenius’ assertion that _auser gingrit,_
“the goose gagleth.”
They went home more soberly, having been directed by Mrs. Jewel to a
field bordered by a copse, where grew the most magnificent of Titania’s
pensioners tall, wearing splendid rubies in their coats; and in due
time the trio presented themselves at home, weary, but glowing with
the innocent excitement of their adventures. Harriet was the first
to proclaim that they had seen a horseman who must be Sir Amyas. “Had
sister seen him?”
“Only through the window of the kitchen where I was making puff paste.”
“He called then! Did my papa see him?”
“My father was in no condition to see any one, being under the hands and
razor of Palmer.”
“La! what a sad pity. Did he leave no message?”
“He left his compliments, and hoped his late partner was not fatigued.”
“Is he at the Great House? Will he call again?”
“He is on his way to make a visit in Monmouthshire, together with a
brother office, who is related to my Lady Herries, and finding that
their road led them within twenty miles of our town, the decided on
making a diversion to see her. It was only from her that Sir Amyas
understood how close he was to his mother’s property, for my Lady is
extremely jealous of her prerogative.”
“How did you hear all this, sister?”
“Sir George Herries rode over this afternoon and sat an hour with my
father, delighting him by averring that the young gentleman has his
mother’s charms of person, together with his father’s solidity of
principle and character, and that he will do honour to his name.”
“O, I hope he will come back by this route!” cried Harriet.
“Of that there is small likelihood,” said Betty. “His mother is nearly
certain to prevent it since she is sure to take umbrage at his having
visited the Great House without her permission.”