Weeks and months glided on. Spring, with its soft, tender, green, and
many blossoms, was spreading life and gladness over the earth, and Leila
thought Woodlands a second Eden. The conservatory bloomed with plants of
the richest fragrance, and the balcony was gay with flowers of the
brightest hue; various beautiful creepers, with the sweet-scented
honeysuckle, forming arches over head; and Leila herself looked as fresh
and blooming as the flowers, and as joyful as the skylark, as it soared
with its glad song into the blue vault of Heaven. She was never weary of
admiring the beautiful scenery by which she was surrounded, for early
habit had made the beauties of nature to her as a continual feast.
Several of her birds were now in full song, and she spent many of her
spare minutes in the conservatory. The precious seeds had come up all
but one, and she had now three thriving plants of Clara’s flower.
Charles had not returned at Easter to mark their progress--he had gone
into a distant country to visit an uncle, a brother of Mr. Herbert’s,
but by Midsummer he would surely visit home, and she hoped they would be
in full flower by that time, which would be for him a still greater
pleasure. Leila had, besides all this, other interests to occupy her.
She frequently visited the school with her Aunt Stanley and her cousins,
and assisted the younger girls in the preparation of their tasks, and
she paid frequent visits to Peggy Dobie’s cottage, and to the village,
where she made herself acquainted with all the wishes and wants of its
various inmates. The Saturdays were generally spent by Selina and
Matilda at Woodlands, when, during part of the morning, they assisted
Leila in giving instruction to many of the village children in church
music, for though Selina’s voice was not yet strong, her knowledge in
music made her a most useful assistant. They also now took daily walks
with Mrs. Roberts in the fields, and generally returned loaded with wild
flowers. Leila had become most successful in drying flowers so as to
preserve their bright colours. The field flowers, assisted by her papa,
she arranged in books in botanical order; but with the flowers from the
conservatory and the garden she often ornamented screens, producing a
wonderfully fine effect, superior to any painting, fixing them on with
gum, and grouping them together in a most beautiful manner. Matilda
often tried to imitate Leila in this, but she did not succeed, her
flowers always lost their bright tints, they grew white, or they grew
black, but they never grew beautiful; the stalks never would bend
gracefully, they would always stick straight up; the gum would always go
on in patches, never smoothly, and she complained that though she put on
a great deal of gum, some of the leaves would not stick at all, so she
generally ended by getting into a rage, and dashing her hair pencil all
over the paper.
“Do tell me, Leila, how you manage so well,” she said one morning, as
she stood admiring a couple of fine screens which Leila had just
finished for Mrs. Herbert. “Those different coloured geraniums seem to
me to look brighter even than when they were in the conservatory; and
how gracefully the stalks are bent, and the flowers hanging down so
nicely, just as if they were still growing; and those leaves and ferns
are of such a beautiful green, and look so well mixed with the bright
colour of the flowers. My green leaves always turn a dull yellow, or
brown, or something abominable; and as to the blue convolvulus, that
provokes me more than any thing. Look at yours, they are as bright as
when they grew in the garden, and when I try to dry them, the colour
goes away altogether, and they get to be a dirty white. I cannot get any
thing to do well but yellow buttercups, and that is such a common
flower. All this provokes me so, I have no patience for it. No one will
ever give me a sovereign for the poor,[B] for a couple of screens, as
they did to you, and I wish so much that they would.”
[B] A fact.
“But you know,” Leila answered, “that was only because it was a sale of
ladies’ work for the poor. My screens were not worth that.”
“I don’t know; they were most beautiful, and I heard every one saying
so, for I stood near the counter where they were that I might hear them
praised; and when that gentleman with the nice face took them up and the
lady told them they were done by a little girl, he said that little girl
deserved to be encouraged, and he paid down the sovereign in a minute.
Oh! I was so glad; but though I cannot earn a sovereign, I might earn
something if you would only tell me what I must do to dry them as you
do.”
“Yes, I will tell you every thing I can; but I think the great matter is
being very patient.”
“But, Cousin Leila, I am sure you are not very patient.”
“Yes, I know that; papa often says I am too impetuous.”
“Well,” Matilda observed, “and does not that just mean that you have no
patience?”
Leila coloured. “I suppose it does,” she said; “but in some things I
have patience, I am always very patient about flowers; to be sure, that
is not wonderful, for in the island they were like friends to me. I used
to visit them two or three times in the day to see how they were getting
on, and to talk to them, as if they were alive, and I often knew the
hour of the day by their opening and shutting.”
“And do any of the flowers here open and shut at certain hours?” Matilda
inquired.
“Yes, some of them do; but I don’t know the flowers here so well; one
kind of evening primrose opens its flowers every day a quarter of an
hour before sunset; and the chickweed, which you see me so often
gathering for my birds, seems to me to open both leaves and flowers
every morning at nine o’clock, and closes its flowers again for some
time at twelve, and will not open them at all if it rains; then in the
evening it always seems to be making itself comfortable for the night,
for the leaves all down the stalk shut up to cover the young shoots,
just as if it were putting a great many night-caps on them to keep them
warm.”
“How very curious,” Matilda said; “but, Leila, we are forgetting that
you were to tell me more about drying flowers. I know I need never try
to gain a sovereign like you; but if I could even gain half-a-crown or
even a shilling sometimes, it would be such a comfort, for I am always
getting into such scrapes about my money for the poor; somehow it always
melts away; both you and Selina contrive to save a little every week.”
“But I have more pocket-money than you have.”
“Yes, you have; but still I know I ought to save something, and often I
cannot; it is all the fault of those trumpery shops. When I go to
Richmond there are so many pretty things which I wish for; and then I am
so often hungry and must have some bunns, you know,--how do you manage
so well?”
“I don’t manage very well--I often buy bunns also; but when I wish for
pretty things which cost much, I remember that Nurse says ‘I should turn
away mine eyes from beholding vanity,’ and then I try not to look at
them, but very often I do. You know the other day when I saw that
beautiful basket I did not turn away. I looked at it so long, and then I
took it in my hand and turned it round and round, and thought it so
beautiful, that I could not resist buying it. And now I don’t like it at
all; for it cost so much that I shall not be able to save any of my
pocket-money this week.”
“Well, that was wrong, to be sure, and just what I should have done
myself; but don’t be melancholy about it now, for you have always money
beforehand, so it does not much signify for one week; so do tell me how
I am to earn half-a-crown, and how I am to dry flowers in a most
beautiful manner; you say patience is the chief thing. Will patience
make them keep their colour? now do tell me that.”
“Yes,” Leila answered, “it will; and I will tell you how. Very often
when it clears up after rain, and the flowers look very bright, you wish
to gather them for drying--I always tell you that it is a bad time, but
still you often try to do it--and they get quite dim and discoloured,
and you are obliged to throw them away. Now when I wish to dry them, I
wait till it has been quite fair for several days, and when it is bright
and sunny, and there is no damp in the air, I gather the flowers. I
always choose those that are very bright and fully blown, but before
they have begun to fade in the slightest degree. If they have a decayed
speck no bigger than the head of a pin, do not gather them, for they
will not be bright when dried.”
“And what more do you do?”
“I put them between folds of close smooth writing-paper, never into
blotting-paper.”
“But Lydia told me it should be blotting-paper.”
“No, I have tried that; but the blotting-paper seems to suck the colour
out of them. Well, I place those papers between the leaves of a book,
and tie it tight up with a ribbon, and put it under a weight; if it is a
very tender flower, such as the blue convolvulus, for instance, then you
must not put a very heavy weight, the weight must be in proportion to
the tenderness of the flower. Next day I change the papers that there
may be no damp about them, for nothing spoils their colour so much as
damp. Now all this, you see, takes patience; for sometimes I have to
change the papers more than once.”
“Yes,” Matilda observed, “and such patience, that I am sure I shall
never be able to do it. And this is all then?”
“No; in putting the flowers into dry bits of paper you must do it very
gently, that they may lie quite smooth; for much of their beauty depends
on their looking smooth, and not shrivelled up in any way; and I forgot
to tell you that sometimes before putting them in at all, I bend the
stalks a little to make them lie gracefully. The stalks of the geraniums
are so stiff and straight, that I am obliged to take off the
flower-heads, and put them in papers by themselves, and then I flatten
the stalks and bend them a little before I begin to dry them. The ferns,
which you like so much, grow so gracefully, that I seldom have to bend
them at all, but just to lay them on paper as they grow. The young ferns
of a bright tender green do best: indeed, all green leaves should be
dried when they first come out, before they have got to be a deep
colour, for green is a very difficult colour to dry well; most yellow
flowers do very well, the yellow crocus keeps very bright; indeed, some
scarlet and rose-coloured geraniums dry beautifully, and other scarlets
won’t dry at all,--you must just get acquainted with those that do well,
and with those that don’t.”
Matilda groaned. “My hopes are quite dying away; half-a-crown!--I don’t
think I shall be able to earn sixpence even;--but it is sunny and bright
now, we might go into the garden, and you could gather some of the
flowers which do best, and show me how you lay them on the paper--I
think I have seen you working away with a long pin; but if I were to
take a pin in my hand, I should be sure to run it through the flowers
if they would not lie the right way, for I should be so provoked.
“Well, that is why I say that the chief thing is patience; you would
quite spoil the flower if you even scratched it with the pin. I take the
pin to help me to guide the leaves to lie right; for sometimes when I
lay down the branch on the paper, all the leaves get crowded together,
and I have to separate them, and sometimes to pluck off one or two.”
“It is most horribly difficult, I can see that; however, let us go into
the garden; perhaps, if I see you do it, I might still try.”
“But, Matilda, it won’t do to gather flowers to dry to-day; you forget
that it rained in the night, and that this morning even there was a
slight shower.”
Matilda shrugged her shoulders. “What a business! better give it up
altogether, and especially if I am to bear in mind every time it rains.
When the rain is over, I am too glad to forget it,--who ever thinks of
rain when the sun is shining? not _I_--I always feel sure it is never to
rain again; and so all my little plans for goodness must be given up,
and I must just go on buying bunns till I am older, and then perhaps I
shall not be so hungry, and shall not care for them so much.”
Leila smiled but shook her head. “Now don’t talk in that way, Matilda,
for you know very well it is not right, and you do not mean to go on
spending all your money on bunns; you could not be happy if you did; you
only say so to make me laugh; but come, let us go into the garden, and I
can show you what flowers do best for drying, and then when it is fine
we can gather them, and I will help you to put them in paper. I am sure
_you_ also could make money by it.”
“Oh, you are a darling!” Matilda exclaimed; “and again my hopes are
rising, _rising_--sixpence--a shilling--half-a-crown. Oh! there will be
no counting the money I shall make. I shall have quite too much for the
poor, and be able to treat you all with bunns into the bargain; now that
is what I call generous.”
They found Mrs. Roberts and Alfred in the garden, Alfred flying at full
speed as if in pursuit of something. “Don’t stop me, Matilda, don’t. Now
it is going to settle on that rosebush--no, it is not--yes, it is
hovering--now don’t move, don’t make a noise; now I have him;”--and he
held up a large dragon-fly between his fingers.
Matilda screamed. “Oh! let him go, Alfred--do let him go--he will sting
you; only see how he is putting out that long frightful sting. I see his
sting quite plain.”
“No, Matilda, you need not be afraid, he cannot hurt me, for he has no
sting. Mrs. Roberts told me that was a vulgar error.”
“Did you tell Alfred that?” Matilda inquired, turning to Mrs. Roberts;
“but how can that be when I see it? and he is pushing it out every
moment in a most frightful manner; only look, Mrs. Roberts.”
“Yes, I see what you mean, Matilda; but that movement in its body is
only the effort the poor dragon-fly is making to escape; it is a
perfectly harmless insect, for it has no instrument with which it can
sting.”
“Then if you are quite sure of that,” Matilda said, eagerly, “I should
like to look at him nearer. Stop, Alfred, and let me see. Oh! what a
beautiful creature he is, and with four such lovely wings; when the sun
shines upon them they seem to change colour like mother-of-pearl. Now
that I know he has no sting I think him a perfect beauty, and before I
used to run away from a dragon-fly as if it had been a wild beast; and
they do look rather fierce though they are beautiful, for they have such
a way of darting down so suddenly. Sometimes I have watched them flying
across the pond at the bottom of the garden, and they dart down so low,
they seem as if they were dropping into the water.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Roberts observed, “that is because they chiefly live upon
water insects; with those large eyes they can discern their prey at a
great distance, and then dart down upon it; but it is a bold insect and
a voracious one also, and I have seen it sometimes attack a butterfly
fully as large as itself and tear it to pieces. It lives, however,
chiefly on small water insects, and seizes upon them as they skim along
the surface of the water; but another reason why one so often sees
dragon-flies in the neighbourhood of ponds and ditches is, that the
dragon-fly itself passes its young state in the water, and those small
ones which you have often seen near ponds are those which have just left
their former state and become winged insects.”
“Yes, I know all about that,” Alfred said; “Mrs. Roberts told me about
the larva and about the pupa skin, like a little box, that they crawl
out of, and then fly off; it was very interesting. Now I will let this
one fly away, and show you what she has made for me, I hid it behind
that big flower-pot till I required it again; see, it is a little net of
coarse muslin, sewed round this circle of wire, and I fixed the pole to
it myself; it is for fishing in the pond for larva. Mrs. Roberts, might
we go now and try for some, and then you could tell Cousin Leila and
Matilda more about it?”
[Illustration: LEILA AT HOME, Page 202.]
Mrs. Roberts gave a willing assent, and to the pond they all proceeded.
“Now, Alfred,” Matilda said, “do give me the net; I daresay you have had
it for a long time to-day, and I should like so much to fish for larva,
for I want so much to know what larva is.”
Alfred looked a little disappointed, but yielded up the net, saying
only, “Now, Matilda, do take care of it, please, for it will be easily
broken.”
“Never fear, little man, you are so easily frightened; do you think I
don’t know how to take care of a fishing-net? Now stand aside a little
and you shall see.” She plunged it vigorously into the pond, the net
filled with mud, she could scarcely draw it out again; little Alfred
became very red, and was near getting into a passion, but a look from
Mrs. Roberts, as she pronounced his name, restrained him; he took the
net from Matilda, and having washed it out carefully, put it into
Leila’s hands, saying, “Now it is your turn, Cousin Leila, to try for
larva.”
Leila did try, but she was not much more successful than Matilda, the
net still came up half filled with mud, for she plunged it down too
hastily; besides, the water had been much disturbed.
Matilda clapped her hands. “How glad I am!” she exclaimed.
Mrs. Roberts looked towards her; but a look, however impressive, was
seldom sufficient for Matilda.
“Yes,” she continued, “I am glad; for it is a comfort to me that though
Cousin Leila is so patient about flowers, she is not in the least
patient about larva.”
Leila coloured, but said nothing.
Matilda looked at her for a moment, then throwing her arms round her
neck, she said,--“Oh! I am a wretch to vex you, and just at the very
moment too when you have been so kind to me about the flowers; but kiss
me, Leila, and don’t let us think any more about it; there, Alfred, do
you wash out the net again, and dip it in the right way, and let us see
the larva and talk about it.”
Alfred obeyed, and having gone to the other side of the pond where the
water had not been disturbed, he dipped the net very gently in, and soon
brought up a large muddy-looking insect.
Mrs. Roberts looked at it attentively. “You have been in good luck,
Alfred,” she said, “for you have got the larva of the great dragon-fly,
the very same species you caught in the garden. This species is fond of
concealing itself in the mud, and lies in wait there till it pounces on
any insect that comes in its way.”
“But it seems to move so slowly,” Matilda observed, “that I should think
that if the other insects were the least bit clever, they could easily
get out of its way. They must stand still, silly things, to be
devoured.”
“No, Matilda, you are deciding too hastily. The poor insects are in much
greater danger than you are aware of. This slow-looking gentleman has a
most curious apparatus at his command that you are not yet acquainted
with. He has very large jaws which are covered with a kind of mask. Look
at this horny substance which covers its face.”
“So much the better that it does cover its face,” Matilda said; “for I
am sure it must be a frightfully ugly one. But what more does it do?”
“When it pleases it can let down this mask, which has claws at the end,
similar, though on so small a scale, to the claws of a lobster. When it
sees its prey within reach, it darts out these claws, and in a moment
conveys the poor insect to its mouth. Then it has a way of bringing the
insects nearer to itself. Do you see those five sharp little points at
the tail? it has the power of drawing in and pushing out the water by
opening and shutting them; this produces a slight current in the water,
which floats the small insects within its reach.”
“It is a cunning, cruel wretch,” Matilda said, “and I don’t understand
how such a horrid creature as that can ever become that beautiful
harmless dragon-fly; but did you ever see it in its pupa state? does it
begin to grow good then?”
“Why, as to that, Matilda, it moves and eats in its pupa state just as
it does now. I am afraid you would not think there was much improvement;
but it is from instinct, not cruelty, that it makes use of those means
to procure food. You forget that we too take the life of many animals to
procure our food, and often, I am afraid, in an unjustifiably cruel
manner. But you ask me if I have ever seen the dragon-fly in its pupa
state. I did once, and it was very curious indeed.”
“Do tell us about it; how I wish I could see it too. I hope it was not
so ugly as this larva creature.”
“It certainly was more curious than beautiful; it was attached to the
branch of a shrub, and at first it seemed to me as an insect with two
bodies, with the head and eyes of a dragon-fly.”
“What a monster,” Matilda exclaimed, “worse even than the larva.”
“No; on looking at it more attentively, I saw it was on the point of
escaping from its pupa case, so I sat down and watched it for some time.
Its wings were folded up on its back in a wonderfully small space. At
first they looked quite short, but as it cleared itself from its pupa
skin, the wings gradually expanded; it seemed, however, too weak to fly.
It slowly crawled to another branch of the shrub, and there remained, as
if resting from its labours.”
“And did you not see it fly?”
“No; I was obliged soon after to leave the garden, and when I returned
it was gone, probably enjoying in the air its new state of existence.
The pupa case alone remained, and was not the least broken or injured by
the dragon-fly having made its escape. It looked quite transparent; on
trying to remove it, I found it was attached to the branch by two little
claws which projected from that part of the case which covered each
leg.”
“Oh, how beautiful, and how wonderful!” Leila exclaimed, her whole
countenance beaming with intelligence.
Matilda, while Mrs. Roberts was giving them this account, had looked at
Leila once or twice with some anxiety; their eyes now met; Leila’s sunny
smile quite reassured Matilda, and she whispered in her ear, “You dear
one, you are more beautiful to me than a hundred dragon-flies; and I am
so glad that you have not wings, and that you cannot fly away from me.”
“Now, Alfred,” Mrs. Roberts said, “put by your net carefully.”
“May I not fish just once more, and try for the larva of the gnats and
caddis worms which you promised to tell me about?”
“No, not to-day; at another time you shall do so.”
Mrs. Roberts took Alfred by the hand and turned towards the house, while
Leila and Matilda took their way to the flower beds; Matilda with most
sanguine anticipations of the money she was about to make.