CHERRIES.
HETTY found Flo crying. Poor little thing, she had been the most
sunny-tempered creature before her accident, and even since then her
good temper and patience were wonderful. But she suffered a good deal
of pain, and there was often a little feverishness about her; and hers
was a trial which would have been felt by much older people—to lie
on the sofa all day long, unable to take any part in all the fun and
frolic of the others. And now the added grief of losing Hetty had made
the child a little cross.
"Oh, Miss Flo, what's the matter with you? I can stay with you all the
time; I need only run down to the kitchen once or twice."
"Oh, Hetty, Hetty! I'm very low to-day. I cannot help it, though I do
try sometimes. Now they're all gone to get new boots, and I can't help
wondering, shall I ever want new boots again any more?"
"Indeed you will, miss! If you're only careful to do just what the
doctor said, and never hurt yourself, I'm very sure you'll be quite
well some day. Have patience, my dearie, and don't make poor mamma
fret. Nothing frets her like seeing you like this. You were crying when
I went out, and you were crying when I came back, and it's bad for you,
dear, and not right, too. Come now; shall I read you a bit of some nice
story?"
"Presently. I'd rather talk a little first. When I've grumbled a bit,
I feel better; and you won't mind, will you, Hetty? Yes; I was crying
when you went out because mamma would not give me any cherries."
"And see now what I have in my pocket!" exclaimed Hetty; "and if I had
not forgotten all about them. I ran after the woman and got two lovely
bunches for you. Look, Miss Flo."
She produced the cherries, not very much improved by their sojourn in
her pocket; in fact, they were quite warm and a good deal crushed. But
Flo was not inclined to be critical.
"Oh, how kind! But mamma said—I do not think I ought to eat them,
Hetty. But it was very kind of you."
Now Hetty, you must remember, was under the impression that it was only
the expense that had prevented Mrs. Eyre from buying the cherries. She
had not heard her tell the child that she could not have them because
they always made her ill. And as to the idea that cherries, no matter
how unripe, or how knocked about in a warm pocket, could disagree with
any one, it was far indeed from Hetty's mind. She had been one of those
lucky children who can eat anything, green apples, sloes, bilberries,
or even bad cherries, and never feel a bit the worse.
"I don't think your mamma would mind," said she; "but I'll tell you
what we'll do. We'll just put them into Miss Lina's little basket, and
lay it here on the table till the mistress comes home."
"Take me in your arms, Hetty, and carry me up and down, just for a
minute."
Hetty did so, and then the child consented to be read to. Generally,
she was very particular about Hetty's pronunciation, and corrected
her frequently, like the old-fashioned scrap she was. This evening,
however, she listened in silence; she was looking hard at the cherries.
"There's the clock, Miss Flo. I must run and see after the cooking; but
I shall not be long."
She ran downstairs, and made what haste she could to return. But while
she was absent poor little Flo had contrived to reach the little
basket, and had eaten up every one of the cherries. She had been gazing
at them, and longing for them, and telling herself that mamma would not
let her have them, and that Hetty would give them to Edgar and Lina;
and I think it was the vision of the delicious cherries disappearing
down their throats, that finally conquered the poor child. She meant to
tell Hetty, but when she heard her coming, she was ashamed; and putting
the stalks and stones into the basket, she dropped it between the back
of her sofa and the wall. And poor "Heedless Hetty," coming in just
then, never missed the basket, nor thought about the cherries again,
until, when going to bed that night, she took from her pocket four big
brown pennies, and remembered why she had "broken into her sixpence,"
as she said to herself.
But if Flo had been fretful before, it was nothing to her crossness
now. Nothing pleased her; the book was stupid, the room was too hot,
Hetty was unkind; she cried every minute, and finally burst into a
howl, declaring that "she was too miserable to be good." Her cries
awoke the baby, who promptly added his voice to the uproar, and Hetty
was fairly at her wits' end, when a knock at the door announced the
return of the expedition to B— and silenced Flo.
"Oh, ma'am, I am glad you are come, for I'm half afraid that Miss Flo
is ill. I never saw her like this before."
"Does she complain of any pain?"
"No, ma'am; but she's very restless. She was crying out loud just now,
but when you knocked she stopped."
"I heard crying, but I thought it was the baby."
"'Twas both, ma'am; but when she left off, so did he."
"I'm afraid you've been frightened, Hetty. I hope there's nothing much
the matter. Flo has been rather cross all day. Run up, children, and
Hetty will take your things off."
She herself walked into the parlour, to see after Flo. The child was
very white, wearied out with crying. As soon as she saw her mother, she
said, "Don't kiss me, mamma, I've been bad."
"But, my wee woman, I kiss you because I love you."
"You would not kiss me if you knew how bad I've been."
"We will not talk of that yet. See, I have brought you something that
you like;" and she opened a paper bag and displayed half a dozen Naples
biscuits.
Flo turned her face to the wall and wept.
Mrs. Eyre was puzzled, but the child seemed so ill and feverish that
she judged it better to ask no questions. She began getting the room
ready for tea, and then took baby out of his cradle, wide awake now,
and as jolly as usual. Mr. Eyre came home, the other children came
downstairs, and they all sat down to tea. Hetty had set the tray on the
table, and was leaving the room, when Flo called to her.
"Hetty! Take me to bed. I want nothing to eat. I'm tired; please, may I
go to bed?"
"Oh, my child, just eat a little bit. Hetty, has she eaten anything
since we went out?"
"No, ma'am."
"Take me to bed!" cried Flo desperately. "I will go to bed. Mamma, give
Lina and Edgar the biscuits; do, mamma, please."
Hetty put her to bed; she was very silent, until she was tucked snugly
into her little white nest, when she said, "Good-night, Hetty. I am a
very unhappy person. After what has happened, no one will love me."
Hetty laughed, and kissed her. "That's a funny notion, Miss Flo. Why,
here's Zelica. After being asleep the whole evening, she is wide awake
now; I had better take her back to the parlour."
"No, no; give her to me. Oh, Zelica, I'm so glad that you won't
understand. Go away, now, Hetty, I want to think, and see if I can do
it."
"Do what, dear?—go to sleep, I hope. I will run up presently and see
how you get on."
Lina and little Edgar slept in the nursery, Flo in her mother's room.
When the children were in bed, Hetty stole in softly to look at Flo.
The child had fallen asleep, with tears on her cheeks and her pretty
eyelashes all wet. She moved restlessly, and made a little moan
occasionally. Hetty ran down to tell her mistress.
"Miss Flo is not sleeping easily at all, ma'am."
"I'll go up to her. Oh, John, what am I to do if Flo is ill, and Mrs.
Goodenough will not do a thing for me?"
"Did she tell you she would not, ma'am?" said Hetty quickly.
"I told her to-day that we could not manage to keep you, and that we
must manage as we did before you came; and she said it was only fair to
tell me that she could not help about the children; that she would do
her own work, and no more."
"I declare," said Mr. Eyre indignantly, "I should have given her
warning on the spot."
"She said much the same to me this morning, ma'am. And then I
thought—maybe if you let her go, and kept me. I went and asked mother,
and she's coming to-morrow to find out if Mrs. Goodenough is in
earnest. I know I'm not as good a servant, but I would do my best—I
would do anything, ma'am, to be with you and Miss Flo. I know what has
to be done, too—a stranger would give you more trouble, and I should be
here to carry Miss Flo, and all. Mother was quite satisfied. Oh, do let
me stay, ma'am!"
"It would be too much work for you, Hetty."
"Not it, ma'am. Not half as tiring as a day over mother's tubs! I'm
very strong—if you can overlook my heedless ways; and, oh! but I would
do my best."
"But, Mrs. Goodenough," began Mrs. Eyre, "she is old, and would not
easily get a place to suit her, and she has been with me a long time,
and—"
"Look here, Celia. I'll settle this in two sentences. Whether
Goodenough meant what she said or not, it is all the same. She has
never been an obliging servant; and it is for you, and not for her,
that I am going to care. Would you not rather have Hetty?"
"Oh, dear, yes, I should. I think Hetty and I could get on very well,
just for a time. It is only that Hetty will easily get a place, and—"
"Well, that's her own look-out. I'll see Mrs. Goodenough to-morrow
morning and tell her that she may go. In my opinion you'll be twice as
well off with Hetty. And I trust that this pinch is only for a time;
we'll get another Goodenough by-and-by."
"Well, Hetty, your master, you see, has made up his mind; and if I find
that your mother is content, you do not know how glad I shall be. I
really think it was making my poor little Flo ill, she was so sorry."
Hetty coloured and smiled, and looked so happy that one might have
thought she had just got great promotion.
Mr. Eyre said when she was gone, "That's a good girl, Celia. I never
liked Goodenough, selfish old cat! I hope she may end in the poorhouse!"
"Now you don't, John. Poor old woman!"
Down came Hetty again, full speed. "Oh, ma'am, Miss Flo does look so
bad!"
They all ran upstairs. Flo was twisting and moaning as if in pain, her
cheeks flushed and her lips white. She woke up in a moment and looked
frightened.
"Flo, dear, are you feeling ill? You were crying out in your sleep."
Flo turned her face away. "I don't want anything," she said.
They thought she was asleep again; and as it was now late, Mrs. Eyre
sent Hetty to bed, and said that she would sit up for a little while,
just to see how the child slept.
Hetty went to the nursery and began to undress. Then came the discovery
about the sixpence—a sixpence no longer.
"The cherries!" said she to herself, "what has become of them? Sure,
they couldn't make the child ill, even if she ate them—and we put them
in the basket. But I'll just run down and look. I never thought a few
cherries could make a child ill; but if they have, the mistress ought
to know."
She went down to the parlour. But she could not find the basket—that
she did not find the cherries need scarcely be said.
While she was searching about, Mrs. Eyre came down. "I thought I heard
you moving about—what made you come down again?"
"Well, ma'am, I'm looking for some cherries that I bought for Miss Flo,
and she would not eat them until you were here to give her leave. I put
them into Miss Lina's basket, but I can't find them."
"Cherries! why, Hetty, you know I refused to get any for her, just as
you were going out! They always make her ill, and those the woman had
were neither ripe nor freshly gathered."
"I did not know they made her ill, ma'am."
"I think you were in the room when I said so."
"Oh no, ma'am. You only said you could not give her any. I meant no
harm, but she told me she did not think she ought to eat them, so we
put them in the basket, but I do wonder where they are."
As she spoke, she stooped to look on the floor for the missing
treasure, and at once cried out, "There they are!" Pushing the sofa out
from the wall, she seized the basket. Alas! it was empty. Hetty grew
quite red.
"They may have fallen out," said Mrs. Eyre. "Look on the carpet."
Hetty went down on her knees, and searched about; but she was so long,
that at last Mrs. Eyre said, "What are you about, Hetty? Are the
cherries there, or not?"
Hetty got up. She held out on the palm of her hand thirteen cherry
stones and a little heap of stalks.
"Hetty, oh, Hetty, perhaps you ate them! When she would not, you know.
You do forget things, you see."
"What is keeping you, Celia?" said Mr. Eyre, walking in.
"Did you, Hetty?" repeated Mrs. Eyre.
"No, ma'am."
"Oh, John, that is what ails poor little Flo. Hetty went and gave her
a lot of cherries, though she heard me refuse to buy them for her. And
now she tells me she put them in this basket, because Flo refused to
eat them—but the cherries are gone."
"Ma'am, it was wrong of me to buy them for her, I suppose; but indeed I
did not hear you say that they'd make her ill, nor did I ever think it
possible. I did not know she took them, but now I'm sure it was while I
was in the kitchen, for the poor little dear, she wasn't like herself
all the rest of the time. But to think of me never missing them!"
"Well, Hetty, you have always told me the truth—I am sure you are
right. Oh, my poor little Flo! John, what had I better do?"
"Come up to her; we'll just wake her up for a moment, and give her some
of the medicine Dr. Haddon left for her. Say nothing, for she will tell
you in the morning, and that will be much better. As to you, Hetty,
mind this—you are never to give the child anything to eat, except what
your mistress provides. It was a very wrong and very careless thing to
do, and if the poor child is ill for a week, it is your doing. Go off
now to bed. Come, Celia."
Poor Hetty! That was a very miserable night.