A PLAGUE OF FEATHERS.
[Illustration: Decorative A]
n hour or two later, Miss Clotilda, having completed her housekeeping
arrangements for the day, went up to Kathie's room to see what she was
about. Neville had gone off for a walk, as the rain was now slight, and
of course, as he said himself, 'for a boy it was different.'
'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda, as she reached Kathleen's door;
'I hope she isn't feeling dull, all alone.'
The door was locked.
'Kathie,' she called, 'it is I--aunty.'
A scattering inside, and then Kathleen's voice, sounding rather odd,
replied, 'In a moment, aunty. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish I'--
'What is the matter, Kathie? Open at once, my dear; you alarm me!' Miss
Clotilda exclaimed.
Thus adjured, Kathleen had no choice. She drew the bolt; Miss Clotilda
entered.
[Illustration: WHAT _WAS_ THE MATTER?]
What _was_ the matter? For an instant or two she was too bewildered to
tell. The room seemed filled with fluff; a sort of dust was in the air;
Kathie's own dress and hair looked as if they had been snowed upon;
every piece of furniture in the room was covered with what on closer
inspection proved to be feathers! And Kathleen herself, the image of
despair, stood in helpless distress.
'Oh, aunty,' she said, reminding one of the merchant in 'The Arabian
Nights,' when he had let the genii out of the bottle, 'I _can't_ get
them in again.' Poor Kathie--her genii were to be reckoned by thousands!
'What is it? What _have_ you been doing? Feathers!' exclaimed Miss
Clotilda, stooping to examine a whitey-grey heap on the floor, which,
disturbed even by her gentle movements, forthwith flew up in clouds,
choking and blinding her. '_Feathers_--my dear child!'
'Oh, aunty,' said Kathleen, bursting into tears, 'I never knew they were
such horrid things. It's my pillow, and one off Neville's bed, and two
off yours, and one off the big green-room bed, and--I got them all in
here;' and then amidst her sobs she went on to tell her aunt of the old
woman's story and the search it had suggested. 'I didn't mean to empty
the pillows, but they kept coming out so when I put my arm in to feel,
and I thought at last it would be easier to shake them all out and fill
the covers again, so that I couldn't have missed even a small piece of
paper. But it's no good; and oh, I've made such a mess!'
There was no denying this last fact. Miss Clotilda hurried Kathie out of
the room--for, as everybody knows, the fluff of feathers is really
injurious to the throat and lungs--and hurried Martha up to see what
could be done. It ended in a woman having to be sent for from the
village to re-imprison the flighty feathers in their cases; but even
after this was done, Kathleen could not sleep in her room that night.
'I am so sorry, aunty,' she said, so humbly that kind Miss Clotilda
could not but forgive her, though she made her promise for the future to
attempt no more 'searches' without consulting her elders.
'Of course I'll promise that and more than that,' said Kathie, as she
dried her eyes; 'I won't search _at all_ for that nasty will. I didn't
want to, only I thought Philippa would say I should have tried to find
it. But I'll just show her it's no use.'
And Neville was so sorry to see her distress that he did not even remind
her of _his_ having told her that searching the pillows would be no use;
which, in my opinion, was truly generous of him.
All troubles were, however, cast into the shade when the next morning
brought a letter from Mr. Wentworth, Philippa's uncle, most heartily
thanking Miss Clotilda for her kindness, and eagerly accepting her
invitation. Mr. Wentworth wrote that he had been quite distressed at the
idea of sending the poor child back to school, but till Miss Clotilda's
proposal came he had seen no help for it. He went on to say that he
would bring Philippa himself to Hafod if Miss Clotilda could send to
meet her there, but that he could only make the journey _at once_. If
'Thursday' were too soon for Philippa to come, would Miss Powys
telegraph to say so--in that case he feared the visit would have to be
put off till he could hear of an escort.
'Thursday!' Miss Clotilda exclaimed, 'that is to-morrow. Telegraph! It
is plain Mr. Wentworth does not know much of this part of the country.
There is no telegraph office nearer than Boyneth, and that is half-way
to Hafod.'
'But, aunty,' said Kathleen, looking up from the little scrap to herself
which Philippa had slipped into her uncle's letter, 'need you think of
telegraphing? Mayn't she come to-morrow? She is so happy--oh, aunty, do
read her dear little letter.'
Aunty did not need much persuasion.
'If we can get things ready, and if Mr. Mortimer can lend us his
waggonette,' she said hesitatingly. 'There is your room still upset, you
know, Kathie,' at which Kathleen grew very red; 'and I don't know'--
'Can't I go to Mr. Mortimer's and ask him?' said Neville. 'It isn't very
far, and I can find the way, I'm sure.'
'That might do,' said his aunt; 'and if the waggonette is not to be had,
perhaps he would lend us the pony-carriage. That would do for two,
besides the one driving.'
So it turned out. The waggonette was required to meet friends of the
Mortimers themselves, arriving to-morrow, but Miss Clotilda was welcome
to the pony-cart, and the strong pony which drew it would be quite able
for the two journeys, with a good rest between. And the little girl's
luggage might come up with that of the Mortimers' friends, and be left
at Ty-gwyn on the way.
There was only one drawback; Kathleen could not go to the station. Miss
Clotilda would drive, and Neville must go with her to open gates, etc.,
in case of need. And Kathleen must content herself for staying at home
by adorning Philippa's room with flowers, as Neville had suggested.
'Only, whatever you do, please leave the pillows alone my dear,' said
Miss Clotilda, as they drove off the next morning.
Kathie was quite cured of searching for the lost will, though not sorry
to be able to assure her eager little friend that she really _had_ done
so. The day passed quickly enough, however; for, to make up for the
trouble she had given the day before, she set herself to be particularly
useful to Martha. And by seven o'clock, the time at which the
pony-carriage might be _begun_ to be looked for--for Philippa was to
come by a much earlier train than the London express--Kathleen, having
helped to set the tea-table and bake the cakes, and having given the
last touch to Philippa's little room, was hopping about in front of the
house, looking very neat and nice in a clean white frock, her face and
eyes, indeed her whole little person, in a perfect glow of happy
expectation.
[Illustration]
Nor was her patience long put to the test. It was not more than twenty
minutes past seven when approaching wheels were to be heard. Kathie
scuttered back into the house; she wanted to be standing just within the
door, not outside, when they arrived; and in another half minute there
they were. Neville had jumped down and was helping out a little familiar
figure, while Miss Clotilda smiled brightly at the sight of the
children's delight.
'My dear old Phil!' 'My darling Kathie!' and for a moment or two hugs
and kisses had it all to themselves. Then Miss Clotilda got out, and
Neville got in again to drive the pony home, with many charges to be
quick.
'Tea is quite ready,' Kathie called after him; 'and I'm so hungry that I
can fancy what you must all be.'
'Take Philippa up to her room, Kathie,' said her aunt. 'Her luggage
won't be here for an hour or two, but you can lend her a pair of
slippers, I daresay.'
'Oh, mine would be far too big, aunty; but you may be sure Phil has got
a pair in her bag,' said Kathie, laughing. 'She's a regular old maid,
you know;' and she held up the bag in question for her aunt to see.
'Your room will just suit you, Phil,' she ran on; 'it's as tiny as
yourself and as neat as a pin.'
And Philippa's exclamations of delight when they entered it, well
rewarded Kathleen for all the trouble she had taken.
'Oh, Kathie,' said the little girl, 'what a _perfect_ place Ty-gwyn is!
and how kind and sweet your aunt is, and how good of you all to have me;
and oh, Kathie, have you hunted well for the will?'
'Don't speak of it--horrid thing!' said Kathleen with a grimace. 'Yes, I
have hunted for it--all to please you, Phil. I'll just tell you what I
did,' and she proceeded to relate the unfortunate experience with the
pillows.
Philippa was deeply interested.
'I don't think it's likely she hid it in a pillow,' she remarked. 'But I
have such a feeling that it is somewhere in the house. I am sorry you
don't mean to look any more, Kathie.'
'Oh well, don't talk about it any more just now,' said Kathleen. 'We
want to be as happy as ever we can be. If only the weather is fine, and
it does look better to-day,--oh, you don't know how it rained yesterday,
and the day before worse still,--we can go such lovely walks. You know
we're quite near the sea here--up there from that hill we can see it,'
and she pointed out of the window.
'Can we really?' said Philippa. 'How nice! I do think it is the
loveliest place I ever saw, Kathie. How I do wish it was going to be
your home for always!'
'Ah well! there's no use thinking of that,' said Kathleen, 'though of
course we can't help wishing it. It's worst for aunty--isn't she sweet,
Phil? Come now, are you ready? We'll just take a peep into my room on
the way down--isn't it a jolly room, the very next door to yours, do you
see? And afterwards I'll show you all the house--there are such lots of
rooms, and all so nice and queer. Don't you smell that nice
old-fashioned sort of scent, Phil? Like lavender and dried rose-leaves;
and it's partly the scent of the wood of the wainscoting, aunty says.'
'Yes,' said Philippa, sniffing about with her funny little nose; 'it's
very nice, and everything is so _beautifully_ clean, Kathie.
Grandmamma's house is very nice, but it hasn't the same sort of look and
feeling this dear old house has.'
'I am so glad you like it, dear,' said Kathie, very amiably. 'But we
must run down. I am sure you must be _very_ hungry.'
'I think I'm too happy to be very, very hungry,' said Philippa.
She managed, however, to do justice to the good things Martha had
prepared, and Miss Clotilda told her she would be very disappointed
indeed if three weeks at Ty-gwyn did not make her both fatter and
rosier.
'But she's looking much better than she did at school, aunty,' said
Kathleen. 'Last spring she was a miserable little object.'
'But that was because I was so very unhappy about mamma going away,'
said Philippa, getting rather red.
'Poor, dear child!' said Miss Clotilda. 'Ah, well! I can sympathise in
that. But you will be able to send your mother a very cheerful letter
from here, I hope.'
'Yes, indeed,' said the little girl. 'And I'm so glad now that we didn't
write last week to tell her of grandmamma being ill, and my having to go
back to school. Uncle and I talked it over, and we thought we might wait
till this week, and now she'll hear of grandmamma's being better and me
coming here, at the same time, so it won't make her unhappy.'
'Your uncle seems very kind indeed,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was quite
sorry for him to have to make such a long journey, and to go straight
back again.'
'Yes,' said Philippa. 'But, you see,' she went on, in her funny little
prim way, 'he wouldn't have felt happy to have left grandmamma longer
alone. He will be home by eleven to-night.'
This first evening was not a very long one, for after tea Philippa's box
arrived, and Kathleen had, of course, to go up-stairs with her little
friend to help her to unpack her things and put them away. And Miss
Clotilda told the children that they must go to bed early, as Philippa
would be tired.
'Have you been very tidy, Kathie, without me?' asked Philippa. 'I'm sure
you must often have wanted me to put your belongings neat, and to find
your pencils and gloves, and all the things you lose.'
'No; I've got on very well indeed, thank you, Miss Conceit,' said
Kathie, laughing. 'It's much easier here than at school. There's so much
more room, and one isn't so hurried.'
'Still, it would show a good deal if you were very untidy,' said
Philippa. 'The house does look so neat all over. Have you done any work,
Kathie? I am in such a fuss about what I can make to send to mamma for
her birthday. I've always made her something every year as long as I can
remember, and I wouldn't like to miss this year, the first I've been
away from her.'
'We'll have to think of something. Aunt Clotilda is very clever at
work,' said Kathie. 'You should see her darning.'
'Grandmamma was going to have helped me to get something pretty to work
for mamma, only then she got ill,' said Philippa. 'Uncle is going to
send out a box soon, so it needn't be a very little thing, not like for
going by post. I shall be so glad if your aunt can think of anything.'
'I'm sure she will,' said Kathleen.
But just then Martha tapped at the door with some hot water for 'the
young lady,' which was a broad hint that it was time for Philippa to go
to bed.
'Good-night, dear,' said Kathleen. 'I think it's going to be fine
to-morrow--the sky looks nice and reddy--and we shall be out nearly all
day. You like going long walks, don't you, dear?'
'Yes, of course I do; at least, if it isn't _too_ far. But we could
always have nice rests, couldn't we? It isn't like going out walks in
town, where one has to go on and on, however tired one is.'
'No, indeed. There are lovely places to rest. And, by-the-by, that
reminds me--but I won't keep you up, Phil. I'll tell you to-morrow.'
For suddenly there had flashed into Kathie's flighty head the
remembrance of the visit she had been eager to pay to the old farmer at
Dol-bach. It would be such a nice expedition for Philippa's first day.
'I'll ask aunty early to-morrow morning if we mayn't go,' she thought,
as she fell asleep.
But to-morrow morning brought fifty other ideas to volatile Kathie.
There were so many things to show Philippa; the house, and the garden,
and the poultry, and the dairy absorbed the morning, and in the
afternoon Miss Clotilda went out with them herself to show the little
guest some of the prettiest views, ending up by a visit to the beach.
'Isn't _this_ sea different to the beach at Bognor, Philippa?' said
Kathleen. 'All crowded with people, and Miss Fraser scolding, and no
hills or trees. Oh, I forgot! you hadn't been long enough at school to
have been at Bognor. That's a pleasure to come for next year. Oh dear!
how I wish'--
But she stopped herself, and said no more. Everybody knew _what_ she
wished, but they all knew too that there was no use in speaking about
it.
'Kathie,' said Neville, partly to change the conversation, 'what's
become of our visit to Dol-bach? You were in such a fuss about it two or
three days ago.'
'Oh,' said Kathie, 'I forgot. Aunty,' she went on, 'may we go there
to-morrow? If it's as fine as it is to-day, mightn't we take our dinner
with us, like the other day? And then we could go to Dol-bach on our way
home in the afternoon, and very likely they'd give us some milk, and
perhaps some cake.'
Aunty had no objection, and so it was settled.
By the next day Philippa had quite got over her tiredness, though Miss
Clotilda warned Neville and Kathleen that they must remember she was not
quite as strong as they. And the three children set off on their
expedition in high spirits.
'You don't want to see your old woman in the cottage near the creek, do
you, Kathie? Don't you think, perhaps, you should tell her about the
results of searching the pillows?' said Neville mischievously.
Kathleen looked at him indignantly.
'I think you are very unkind,' she said, 'and very mean. You know I
don't want to quarrel just as Philippa's come, and you're just taking
advantage of it.'
'Come now, Kathie,' said Neville good-humouredly. 'I don't think really
you need be so touchy.'
'I only did it to please _you_, Phil,' Kathie went on.
Philippa opened her eyes at this.
'To please me?' she repeated.
'Well, you know you said you were sure you'd find _it_ if you were in
the house, and I didn't want you to think I hadn't looked at all.'
'I didn't say I was sure I'd find it,' said Philippa. 'If I thought
that, I'd ask Miss Clotilda's leave to look now I am in the house. But I
_have_ a very queer feeling that it _is_ in the house; and last
night--now don't laugh at me, Kathie--I had such a queer dream.'
'Do tell it to us,' said both Neville and Kathleen.
But Philippa was a little out of breath with climbing.
'Let's wait till we sit down to eat our dinner, and then I'll tell it
you,' she said.
So they agreed to wait till then.