"WHAT'S IN A NAME?"
POOR Hetty! she thought herself the most unfortunate girl in the world.
How vexed her mother would be if she were sent home! And Matty would be
so sorry, and Dan would laugh. But worst of all, little Flo would miss
her; and she had become very fond of the frail, suffering child.
However, she got up very early, and put all her belongings into her
box, to be ready if she had to go. Then she crept softly downstairs,
and got through a great deal of work. She swept and dusted the parlour,
setting out the breakfast table; she lighted the kitchen fire, and set
on the kettle. In fact, when Mrs. Eyre came down, rather later than
usual, for she had been tired the night before, she found the greater
part of her usual Sunday morning's work done.
"Oh, thank you, Hetty. I slept so long this morning. I thought we
should be ever so late."
"Ma'am," said Hetty, "do you wish me to go away now?"
"Do you wish to go, Hetty?"
"No, ma'am," and Hetty began to cry; "but I am always forgetting
things. Mother says I'll never be worth a pin."
"What's all this about?" said another voice; and Hetty saw her master
in the doorway.
"Hetty is very sorry, John; and what do you think?"
"Well, I was very angry last night, but thinking it over, it seems to
me that we might give her another chance. She did it to make the child
happy, and I don't think she will forget again."
"Sir, I don't think I could, not about leaving Miss Flo; but as to the
pudding, I really couldn't say, because I am so dreadful heedless."
"We'll say nothing about the pudding this time," said he, laughing.
"But don't be content to be heedless—no one need do that. I am going
out for a turn, Celia; but I shall be in good time for breakfast, never
fear."
"Well, Hetty, that is settled, and I am glad to keep you. For you are
so kind to my poor little Flo that I should be very sorry to send you
home; but indeed you must try to be steadier, or one could never feel
any real trust in you."
"Indeed, it's a great misfortune," Hetty said dismally; "and it's very
good of you and master to try me again."
"Don't call it a misfortune, Hetty—it is more than that. If you loved
your Master and Saviour as you love Miss Flo—for indeed I know you do
love her—you would be as anxious to please Him as you are to please
my poor little girl. And then we should have no more forgetting or
carelessness, because such things are wrong, and grieve Him."
Mrs. Eyre went upstairs then, hoping that Hetty looked a little
thoughtful, and would ponder over what she had said. But Hetty could do
nothing but rejoice over her escape. So happy did she feel, that she
unconsciously began to sing.
Mr. Eyre, Lina, and Edgar went to morning service, and Hetty was to go
also; then she was to go home, and to return in time for her mistress
to go to evening service, Mr. Eyre remaining at home with the children.
He would be very glad to have Hetty's help, for generally the baby
refused to go to sleep on these occasions, and his crying made poor Flo
cross.
"Well, Hetty, I won't say but I'm glad to see you here again. I
declare, child, we've missed you a good bit," Mrs. Hardy remarked, when
the family reached home. "And how do you get on now?"
"Oh, I got on right well until yesterday. But I was dreadful yesterday,
mother." And Hetty proceeded to give a full account of her misfortunes.
"I thought they'd send me home at once; but they are so kind, and Miss
Flo is such a darling, it would just break my heart to leave her now."
"Well, you needn't cry over it now, Hetty. I daresay you blubbered
plenty at the time." At which there was a general laugh at Hetty's
expense. "But if you want to stay, you'll have to mind yourself. They
won't overlook many pranks like that. I wonder how they kept their
hands off you, I declare."
"Oh, they're not that sort at all," answered Hetty. "I'd better be
going now, maybe; but I couldn't be easy in my mind until I had told
you this."
"You won't be expected until five o'clock. I settled that with your
mistress. So sit down, and we'll have dinner. After dinner you can all
go and have a walk if you like."
"And mother'll take her nap," said Dan.
"Well, I want it, Dan. I'm not so young as you, and I work very hard."
After dinner the young people all went up to the common, but Dan and
Ned soon met some lads they knew, and deserted their sisters and the
little ones. The children played about, and Matty and Hetty had a nice
quiet talk. Hetty had much to tell, for the week spent with the Eyres
had been such a new life that it seemed as if she had been away from
home a month at least. Matty gave her lots of good advice, but she had
such a gentle, kind way of advising, that no one was ever annoyed by it.
"You know, Hetty," she said, "you are a Christian—you believe in the
Lord Jesus, and mean to serve Him. And you must mind what He says about
eye service—and it is eye service when you forget what has been said to
you the moment your mistress's eye is off you."
"But—I only wanted to please poor little Miss Flo."
"Hetty, dear, think more of pleasing Him than of pleasing Miss Flo. If
you'd thought for a moment, 'What would He tell me to do now?' you'd
have remembered that you were not to leave the child."
Hetty listened, and thought how good Matty was, and how much she wished
she was like her. But she had such a sad habit of only half attending
to what was said to her, that she did not really take in the sense of
her sister's words.
Hetty went home in good time, and took care of the baby so skilfully
that he never cried once.
For a while all went well. Hetty had got such a fright that she really
put her mind to her work, and when she did so, no girl could do
better than she. But presently the impression made by her Saturday's
adventure began to fade from her mind, which began to wander about
"wool-gathering," as of old. Her day-dreams were very innocent, being
principally concerned with that still unspent sixpence. The weather
was fine, and they were out on the common for several hours of each
day. Flo enjoyed this, and the fresh air made her sleepy, so that the
day did not seem so long. Moreover, the kitten was a great pleasure
to her. It was a frisky, jolly little kitten when awake, but it had
good capacities for sleep, so that Flo and her kitten took their naps
together in great comfort.
For some days Flora was in great anxiety about a name for the kitten,
which she called Kit provisionally. A name pretty enough for so pretty
a kitten was very hard to find—at least, so Flora thought.
Every one suggested names. Hetty thought Pinkie very pretty, and the
kitten had such a dear little pink nose; but Flo scouted the idea with
contempt. Mrs. Goodenough mentioned Fluffy, but that was regarded as
an insult to the kitten's personal appearance. Lina said that all cats
ought to be called Pussy. Flo was obliged to pretend not to hear this,
she thought it so silly. Mrs. Eyre thought Pet would do nicely, but it
did not satisfy Flo.
At last, waking up from a nice nap just in time for tea, Flora
announced that the kitten must be named that very night, or she would
begin to think that Kit was her real name. As the little creature, like
all Persian cats, was quite deaf, there did not seem to be much danger
of this.
"Now every one of you must think of a new name; none of those you have
said before. Think hard, now. I'll give you time."
She counted twenty, and then said, "Now, mamma, you first."
"Queen Elizabeth would be a very grand name."
"I'm very sorry, mamma, but it is too long. No one would ever say
Elizabeth, and I don't like Queen by itself. Now, Hetty, what's your
new name?"
"Miss Flo, I've told you every name I ever knew a cat to be called."
"But I don't want an old name. I wish for quite a new one."
"Well, would you like Darling, miss? My sister Annie had a kitten once
called Darling."
"It's a pretty name, but I wonder you will tell me names that have been
used before."
"I never knew a cat called My Lady, Flo," said her mother.
"Call her Nebunezzar," said Lina.
"Nebuchadnezzar, Lina! Don't be childish," Flo answered, with dignity.
"It must be My Lady, I suppose. Here comes papa! He shall choose."
On the case being stated to Mr. Eyre, he gravely replied, "Flo, your
cat is a Persian cat, or will be, if she lives; so she ought to have a
Persian name, and you can choose between Zelica and Nourmahal."
"Oh, papa! such lovely names! Say them again, please."
Mr. Eyre having done so, she said, "I choose Zelica, papa. For though I
could say Nourmahal, I don't think Lina would, and I don't see how it
could be shortened. Zelica! it is really a lovely name—you are sure it
is Persian, papa?"
"Quite sure, my dear. I found them for you in 'Lalla Rookh.' A Persian
story, you know."
"Come here, Kit. Your name, my own dear pet, is Zelica. Don't tell
me she can't hear me—see how she listens with her pretty blue eyes!
Zelica, my dear! Lina, can you say it? It is an easy word."
So the vexed question was happily settled, and Zelica had a bit of blue
ribbon tied round her neck, to mark the day. This gave Hetty plenty
to do, for Zelica evidently thought that the right thing was to get
the blue ribbon off as soon as possible, and to run away as fast as
she could with Hetty at her heels, and her little mistress's delighted
laugh sounding sweet and clear from the sofa. Then Flo tied the ribbon
on again, and the whole performance was repeated, until Mrs. Eyre could
not but admire Hetty's endless patience. But I suspect that Hetty
enjoyed the fun quite as much as Flo did, and as to the waste of time
that would have distressed busy Mrs. Eyre, Hetty cared nothing for
that. Indeed, I think myself that she was very well employed.
[Illustration]
One evening Mr. Eyre came home rather early, saying that he had a
headache, and felt very tired.
"Mr. Cartwright asked me to post this letter, Celia, but I felt so done
up that I took the tram the whole way. Could Hetty run to the post
office in Little Hayes for me?"
"Certainly she can."
"Here then, Hetty. It is of consequence, and you have only just time to
get it posted; so make no delay anywhere."
"But you may pay your mother a visit on your way back," added Mrs.
Eyre; "for you pass the door, you know."
Hetty took the letter and set off. She was quite close to the post
office, when unfortunately she espied a Punch and Judy show a little
way off, and it at once struck her that with two of Flo's dolls and
that squeaky voice she could amuse the child wonderfully. To acquire
the squeak, she stopped to listen, and thought no more of letter or
post till the show was over. Then she went on to the office—to find the
post box shut.
"Oh dear, dear what am I to do? and I'm sure I didn't stay five
minutes!"
"Five minutes!" echoed a woman who knew her. "Say twenty, Heedless
Hetty. Knock at the shutter there; maybe they'll take it."
Hetty groaned and timidly knocked at the cruel little green shutter
which covered the box, as well as a tiny window above it. After two or
three knocks it flew open, and a boy looked out—Fred Smith, a great
friend of Dan Hardy.
"Oh, Fred! do take in this letter! My master said it was of
consequence, and must go to-night, and I stopped to look at a Punch and
Judy—do take it."
"But the bag's gone!" cried Fred. "It's too late from this office
to-night. Never mind, Hetty, give it here, and I'll slip it into the
bag to-morrow morning, and then no one need know about Punch."
"But it would be deceit," said Hetty, drawing back, "and master might
get blamed. I must tell him. Good-bye, Fred; you mean it kindly, but I
couldn't do it—nor you wouldn't do it yourself; either."
"I'm afraid I would," Fred answered, with a half laugh.
"Oh, no! Sure it is just the same thing as a lie."
With these words Hetty turned and ran off. She passed her mother's door
without slackening her pace, and was soon at Adelaide Terrace. She
would have been a good deal surprised had she heard what Fred Smith
said as he watched her flying round the corner,—
"Well, that's a good girl, even if she is heedless. Dan's always
laughing at her, but I shall tell him on Sunday that she's a deal
better than either of us, and I'll do the like of that no more, for she
is right."
Mrs. Eyre opened the door for Hetty. "Come in quietly. I'm afraid your
master is not well. I never saw him so tired. He is half asleep."
"Oh, ma'am, what will you say to me? I was late with the letter!—too
late for the post!"
"Oh, Hetty, Hetty!"
"What is that?" cried Mr. Eyre from the parlour. "Do I hear you saying
that the letter was too late?"
"Yes, sir," said Hetty, in a trembling voice, but going forward to meet
him with the letter in her hand; "the bag was gone."
"You had plenty of time. What made you late?"
"It was a Punch and Judy, sir. I wanted to be able to do it for Miss
Flo, and so—"
"Very careless. I have not time to speak to you now, for that letter
must go, or Mr. Cartwright will be very angry. Where are my boots?
Celia, I must go into town with it."
"Oh, John! and you so tired!"
"Let me go, sir. I'll run every step of the way and I won't look at a
single thing. I know where to go. Sir, if you'll only trust me just
this once, I'll be very careful."
"No, no. You're really too scatterbrained," he said. He began pulling
on his boots, but stopped with a sigh.
"I can't," he said; "I have such a headache. Hetty, I must trust to you
after all. Here is money; take the tram if you can, but they only run
every quarter at this hour."
"I'll do my very best," cried Hetty. And she was out of the house
before any one could speak again.
A tram-car would start in ten minutes, the men told her, when she
reached the place where the line stopped. Hetty would not wait, but ran
on, going at such a pace that the car never overtook her. But she had
the satisfaction of being in time: Much consoled, she hurried home, to
find that her master had gone to bed, and that Mrs. Eyre was seriously
frightened about him.