"SPOILT," BUT "SWEET."
MILES' STORY—(continued).
OF course I could have got the catseye from Miss Adela by force, but I
knew my place better than to try anything of that sort. The only way
before me was to keep the door locked till somebody should come after
her.
It seemed a long while before anybody came. I suppose the servants
knew that Miss Adela was in the museum, and thought she would be all
right with me; and time passed slowly for I couldn't be busy. Miss
Adela had my chair, and my table with the lamp on it; and she wouldn't
speak any more. So she sat there, and I stood near the door. I was
just thinking that I'd try again to reason with her, and to get back
the catseye, when I saw her head give a little nod, and one arm slip
down over the other. That made me keep silence; for if she fell
asleep, I might get the catseye from her without her knowing.
Well, she straightened herself once or twice, as if she didn't mean
to be overcome by sleep; but gradually her head dropped over on one
side, and the little hand was opening slowly. So I came softly and
stood close by; and when it opened wider still, and the catseye
dropped out, I caught it on my palm without a sound, and she slept on.
Then I crept to the door, and unlocked it gently; and next I put back
the catseye into its right place, and stood over the unlocked case
to keep guard.
It wasn't five minutes, I suppose, before she woke. She looked round,
and gave a gape and a little laugh; and all at once she exclaimed,
"Oh, it's gone! Oh, where's my dear little catseye?"
"I've got it here, all right, Miss," I said.
"You've got it!" said she, flaming up. "What business have you with my
catseye? Give it back to me directly."
She stamped her foot as she spoke, and ran to where I stood. Of course
I was prepared; and when she tried with her little hands to lift the
glass lid, she couldn't stir it. One hand of mine on the frame was
more than enough for all her strength.
"I can't let you, Miss," I said. "Only just wait till Mr. Laurence
comes, and then you can ask him anything you like. I must take care
of it till then."
Miss Adela went as white as a sheet with passion: for she had a hasty
temper, and she hadn't learnt to govern herself, as even a child ought
to learn before eight years old. She stood quite still for a moment,
looking at me; and then without any warning, she dashed her right hand
through the glass, breaking it into bits, and seized the catseye.
I don't know what I said, I was so startled; or whether I said
anything; but the next instant I saw that her hand was badly cut,
for blood came streaming from it.
"O Miss Adela! how could you? And you've hurt yourself so!"
"I don't care! I've got it!" said she proudly.
[Illustration: "I can't let you, Miss," I said.]
That very moment the door opened, and Mr. Laurence walked in, followed
by Mr. Bertram; and didn't they both call out! I expected Miss Adela
to break out into accusations of me; and I thought I should surely
be blamed. But she didn't say a word at first, not even to answer
their questions. She seemed to have paid away her anger, and not to be
in a hurry to defend herself. Mr. Laurence sat down and took her on
his knee, and Mr. Bertram pitied the poor little hand, and together
they looked to see if any glass was sticking there. Then they tied it
up in Mr. Laurence's big silk pocket-handkerchief, seeming satisfied
that she wasn't so badly hurt as might have been; and Mr. Laurence
said—
"How did it happen, Adela?"
She gave a great sigh, and didn't speak, but put her head down on his
shoulder.
"Come, Addie; how was it?" said Mr. Bertram, giving her a kiss.
"You poor little mite, did you tumble with your hand against the
glass?"
"I think you'd better ask the museum-boy," said she; "and please
put this away." She held out the other hand with the catseye.
"My dear, how do you come to have that?" asked Mr. Laurence.
"I thought the case was locked."
"It wasn't properly locked," said she, in a shaky voice. "Ask the
museum-boy, please."
But I came a step forward, and said I'd ever so much rather Miss Adela
should tell.
Miss Adela burst into tears, and said she couldn't—her hand hurt her
so much; and indeed the silk handkerchief was showing red even then.
So Nurse was sent for in a hurry, and Mrs. Crane came too, and the
hand was bathed and seen after, and bound up afresh; and Miss Adela
looked very pale and pitiful. Then Nurse asked how it had happened,
and Mr. Laurence said gravely, "We don't know yet."
"Some mischief of that boy," I heard Crane mutter. "I told you, Nurse,
she oughtn't to be left alone with him so long."
"Miles, have you been to blame?" Mr. Laurence asked; and I saw he was
worried.
"No, sir; I don't think so," I said. "I tried to do for the best."
"He's sure to say that," Mrs. Crane put in. "If he wasn't to blame,
how ever could the poor little lamb get hurt like this?"
And then, to my surprise, Miss Adela herself spoke up bravely.
"The museum-boy isn't to blame," she said. "He's a brave boy, and he's
like that soldier in the story, and I was naughty, and I wanted the
catseye, and so he locked the door; and when I was asleep he got it
away from me. And then I was angry, and I put my hand through the
glass to get it again. And that's how I'm hurt, and it's every bit
my fault."
"I know who is brave now," I heard Mr. Bertram whisper; and Mr.
Laurence put his arms tightly round the child, and called her
"his little darling."
"But I was naughty, because I was in a temper," said she; "and I meant
to ask for that catseye, Grandpapa; and now I won't."
Mr. Laurence smiled at the idea. "No, my dear; something else,—not the
catseye," he said. "But you are a good child to tell me exactly what
has happened, and not to let Miles be blamed unjustly."
"Oh, I couldn't do that, of course," she said, holding up her head.
"It would be so horrid, you know. And of course I knew he was right,
though I did tell him he was impertinent,—didn't I, museum-boy?"
"My dear, call him 'Miles,'" said Mr. Laurence.
"Why,—he is a museum-boy, isn't he?" said she wilfully. "O Grandpapa!
do let me go into your study with you now, and you can tell me
stories. And Bertie must come too. And I don't want Nurse any more
till bed-time,—or Mrs. Crane."
And then, to my surprise, as she went by she gave me a smile, and
said, "I'm sorry I was naughty."
Well, she might be a little spoilt; but anyway she was sweet. I didn't
wonder when I saw how fond Mr. Bertram was of her, after that.