Molly awoke early on the following morning, and early informed the rest
of the household that the weather was satisfactory. She flew into Ruth's
room with the hot water, to wake her and set her mind at rest on a
subject of such engrossing interest; she imparted it repeatedly to
Charles through his key-hole, until a low incoherent muttering convinced
her that he also was rejoicing in the good news. She took all the dolls
out of the baskets in which Ruth's careful hands had packed them the
evening before, in the recognized manner in which dolls travel without
detriment to their toilets, namely, head downward, with their
orange-top-boots turned upward to the sky. In short, Molly busied
herself in the usual ways in which an only child finds employment.
It really was a glorious day. Except in Molly's eyes it was almost too
good a day for a school-feast; too good a day, Ruth thought, as she
looked out, to be spent entirely in playing at endless games of "Sally
Water" and "Oranges and Lemons," and in pouring out sweet tea in a tent.
She remembered a certain sketch at Arleigh, an old deserted house in the
neighborhood, which she had long wished to make. What a day for a
sketch! But she shut her eyes to the temptation of the evil one, and
went out into the garden, where Molly's little brown hands were
devastating the beds for the approaching festival, and Molly's shrill
voice was piping through the fresh morning air.
There had been rain in the night, and to-day the earth had all her
diamonds on, just sent down reset from heaven. The trees came out
resplendent, unable to keep their leaves still for very vanity, and
dropping gems out of their settings at every rustle. No one had been
forgotten. Every tiniest shrub and plant had its little tiara to show;
rare jewels, cut by a Master Hand, which at man's rude touch, or, for
that matter, Molly's either, slid away to tears.
"You don't mean to say, Molly," said Charles, later in the day, when all
the dolls had been passed in review before him, and he had criticised
each, "that you are going to leave me all day by myself? What shall I do
between luncheon and tea-time, when I have fed the guinea-pigs and
watered the 'blue-belia,' as you call it--Where has that imp disappeared
to now? I think," with a glance at Ruth, who was replacing the cotton
wool on the doll's faces, "I really think, though I own I fancied I had
a previous engagement, that I shall be obliged to come to the
school-feast too."
"Don't," said Ruth, looking up suddenly from her work with gray serious
eyes. "Be advised. No man who respects himself makes himself common by
attending village school-feasts and attempting to pour out tea, which he
is never allowed to do in private life."
"I could hand buns," suggested Charles. "You take a gloomy view of your
fellow-creatures, Miss Deyncourt. I see you underrate my powers with
plates of buns."
"Far from it. I only wished to keep you from quitting your proper
sphere."
"What, may I ask, is my proper sphere?"
"Not to come to school-feasts at all; or, if you feel that is beyond
you, only to arrive when you are too late to be of any use; to stand
about with a hunting-crop in your hand--for, of course, you will come on
horseback--and then, after refreshing all of us workers by a few
well-chosen remarks, to go away again at an easy canter."
"I think I could do that, if it would give pleasure; and I am most
grateful to you for pointing out my proper course to me. I have observed
it is the prerogative of woman in general not only to be absolutely
convinced as to her own line of action, but also to be able to point out
that of man to his obtuser perceptions."
"I believe you are perfectly right," said Ruth, becoming serious. "If
men, especially prime-ministers, were to apply to almost any woman I
know (except, of course, myself) for advice as to the administration of
the realm or their own family affairs, I have not the slightest doubt
that not one of them would be sent empty away, but would be furnished
instantly with a complete guide-book as to his future movements on this
side the grave."
"Oh, some people don't stop there," said Charles. "Aunt Mary, in my
young days, used to think nothing of the grave if I had displeased her.
She still revels in a future court of justice, and an eternal
cat-o'-nine tails beyond the tomb. Well, Molly, so here you are, back
again! What's the last news?"
The news was the extraordinary arrival of five new kittens, which,
according to Molly, the old stable cat had just discovered in a loft,
and took the keenest personal interest in. Charles was dragged away,
only half acquiescent, to help in a decision that must instantly be come
to, as to which of the two spotted or the three plain ones should be
kept.
It was a day of delight to Molly. She had the responsibility and honor
of driving Ruth and the dolls in her own donkey-cart to the scene of
action, where the school children, and some of the idlest or most
good-natured of Mrs. Alwynn's friends, were even then assembling, and
where Mrs. Alwynn herself was already dashing from point to point,
buzzing like a large "bumble" bee.
As the donkey-cart crawled up a gray figure darted out of the tent, and
flew to meet them from afar. Dare, who had been on the lookout for them
for some time, offered to lift out Molly, helped out Ruth, held the
baskets, wished to unharness the donkey, let the wheel go over his
patent leather shoe, and in short made himself excessively agreeable, if
not in Ruth's, at least in Molly's eyes, who straightway entered into
conversation with him, and invited him to call upon herself and the
guinea-pigs at Atherstone at an early date.
Then ensued the usual scene at festivities of this description. Tea was
poured out like water (very like warm water), buns, cakes, and bread and
butter were eaten, were crumbled, were put in pockets, were stamped
underfoot. Large open tarts, covered with thin sticks of pastry, called
by the boys "the tarts with the grubs on 'em," disappeared apace, being
constantly replaced by others made in the same image, from which the
protecting but adhesive newspaper had to be judiciously peeled. When the
last limit of the last child had been reached, the real work of the day
began--the games. Under a blazing sun, for the space of two hours,
"Sally Water" or "Nuts in May" must be played, with an occasional change
to "Oranges and Lemons."
Ruth, who had before been staying with the Alwynns at the time of their
school-feast, hardened her heart, and began that immoral but popular
game of "Sally Water."
"Sally, Sally Water, come sprinkle your pan;
Rise up a husband, a handsome young man.
Rise, Sally, rise, and don't look sad,
You shall have a husband, good or bad."
The last line showing how closely the state of feeling of village
society, as regards the wedded state, resembles the view taken of it in
the highest circles.
Other games were already in full swing. Mrs. Alwynn, flushed and shrill,
was organizing an infant troop. A good-natured curate was laying up for
himself treasure elsewhere, by a present expenditure of half-pence
secreted in a tub of bran. Dare, not to be behind-hand, took to swinging
little girls with desperate and heated good-nature. His bright smile and
genial brown face soon gained the confidence of the children; and then
he swung them as they had never been swung before. It was positively the
first time that some of the girls had ever seen their heels above their
heads. And his powers of endurance were so great. First his coat and
then his waistcoat were cast aside as he warmed to his work, until at
last he dragged the sleeve of his shirt out of the socket, and had to
retire into private life behind a tree, in company with Mrs. Eccles and
a needle and thread. But he reappeared again, and was soon swept into a
game of cricket that was being got up among the elder boys; bowled the
school-master; batted brilliantly and with considerable flourish for a
few moments, only to knock his own wickets down with what seemed
singular want of care; and then fielded with cat-like activity and an
entire oblivion of the game, receiving a swift ball on his own person,
only to choke, coil himself up, and recover his equanimity and the ball
in a moment.
All things come to an end, and at last the Slumberleigh church clock
struck four, and Ruth could sink giddily onto a bench, and push back
the few remaining hair-pins that were left to her, and feebly endeavor,
with a pin eagerly extracted by Dare from the back of his neck, to join
the gaping ruin of torn gathers in her dress, so daintily fresh two
hours ago, so dilapidated now.
"There they come!" said Mrs. Alwynn, indignantly, who was fanning
herself with her pocket-handkerchief, which stout women ought to be
forbidden by law to do. "There are Mrs. Thursby and Mabel. Just like
them, arriving when the games are all over! And, dear me! who is that
with them? Why, it is Sir Charles Danvers. I had no idea he was staying
with them. Brown particularly told me they had not brought back any
friend with them yesterday. Dear me! How odd! And Brown--"
"Sir Charles Danvers is staying at Atherstone," said Ruth.
"At Atherstone, is he? Well, my dear, this is the first I have heard of
it, if he is. I don't see what there is to make a secret of in _that_.
Most natural he should be staying there, I should have thought. And, if
that's one of Mabel's new gowns, all I can say is that yours is quite as
nice, Ruth, though I know it is from last year, and those full fronts as
fashionable as ever."
As Mr. and Mrs. Alwynn went forward to meet the Thursbys, Charles
strolled up to Ruth, and planted himself deliberately in front of her.
"You observe that I am here?" he said.
"I do."
"At the proper time?"
"At the proper time."
"And in my sphere? I have tampered with no buns, you will remark, and
teapots have been far from me."
"I am exceedingly rejoiced my little word in season has been of such
use."
"It has, Miss Deyncourt. The remark you made this morning I considered
honest, though poor, and I laid it to heart accordingly. But," with a
change of tone, "you look tired to death. You have been out in the sun
too long. I am going off now. I only came because I met the Thursbys,
and they dragged me here. Come home with me through the woods. You have
no idea how agreeable I am in the open air. It will be shady all the
way, and not half so fatiguing as being shaken in Molly's donkey-cart."
"In the donkey-cart I must return, however, if I die on the way," said
Ruth, with a tired smile. "I can't leave Molly. Besides, all is not
over yet. The races and prizes take time; and when at last they are
dismissed, a slice of--"
"No, Miss Deyncourt, _no_! Not more food!"
"A slice of cake will be applied _externally_ to each of the children,
which rite brings the festivities to a close. There! I see the dolls are
being carried out. I must go;" and a moment later Ruth and Molly and
Dare, who had been hovering near, were busily unpacking and shaking out
the dolls; and Charles, after a little desultory conversation with Mabel
Thursby, strolled away, with his hands behind his back and his nose in
the air in the manner habitual to him.
And so the day wore itself out at last; and after a hymn had been
shrieked the children were dismissed, and Ruth and Molly at length drove
away.
"Hasn't it been delicious?" said Molly. "And my doll was chosen first.
Lucy Bigg, with the rash on her face, got it. I wish little Sarah had
had it. I do love Sarah so very much; but Sarah had yours, Ruth, with
the real pocket and the handkerchief in it. That will be a surprise for
her when she gets home. And that new gentleman was so kind about the
teapots, wasn't he? He always filled mine first. He's coming to see me
very soon, and to bring a curious black dog that he has of his very own,
called--"
"Stop, Molly," said Ruth, as the donkey's head was being sawed round
towards the blazing high-road; "let us go home through the woods. I know
it is longer, but I can't stand any more sun and dust to-day."
"You do look tired," said Molly, "and your lips are quite white. My lips
turned white once, before I had the measles, and I felt very curious
inside, and then spots came all over. You don't feel like spots, do you,
Cousin Ruth? We will go back by the woods, and I'll open the gates, and
you shall hold the reins. I dare say Balaam will like it better too."
Molly had called her donkey Balaam, partly owing to a misapprehension of
Scripture narrative, and partly owing to the assurance of Charles, when
in sudden misgiving she had consulted him on the point, that Balaam
_had_ been an ass.
Balaam's reluctant underjaw was accordingly turned in the direction of
the woods, and, little thinking the drive might prove an eventful one,
Ruth and Molly set off at that easy amble which a well-fed pampered
donkey will occasionally indulge in.