AT THE SEA-SIDE.
THE next morning Flo seemed poorly, but not really ill. Mrs. Eyre kept
her in bed, and the child lay there quietly, and looked very sad.
"Mamma," she said, "when you're not busy, come to me."
"I can stay with you now if you like."
Flo looked up at her piteously.
"I've done a very wrong thing," said she.
"Yes, dear. Tell me all about it."
"Hetty brought me a present of two bunches of cherries. She did not
know that I ought not to eat them; she put them away in Lina's basket.
While she was reading I kept wishing for them, and when she went to
the kitchen I took the basket off the table. They looked so nice I ate
them. They were not very nice; they were sour, and not cool—but I ate
them. They gave me a very bad pain; and I was glad of that. Oh, I've
been just like Eve. Poor Eve, I am more sorry for her now! But Hetty
did not do wrong, mamma; it was all me."
"I did think my little girl could be trusted," said Mrs. Eyre.
"So did I, mamma," was the unexpected reply, which very nearly
surprised Mrs. Eyre into a laugh. "But I did it. Will you never trust
me again, mamma?"
"Soon, I hope; but you will have to earn it, Flo. Do not cry, my dear,
I know you are sorry, and I am glad you told me yourself. You are not
strong, like Lina, so I shall not punish you, and I hope you will try
to be sorry quietly, for if you cry and fret you will make yourself
ill. And try, dear, to see where you began to do wrong. Eating the
cherries was not the beginning, was it now?"
"No; I was cross all day, and I murmured, mamma, nearly all day, and
never tried to stop; and then I kept wishing, wishing for the cherries."
"And if you had tried to leave off being cross and fretful it would not
have been so hard, because, you know, you often have done that. God
would have helped you."
"Will He forgive me, mamma?"
"Yes, love; shall we ask Him to do so now?"
"Oh yes! please do."
Mrs. Eyre knelt by the little crib, and prayed in simple, reverent
words, Flo listening with tears in her eyes.
"Amen, and won't you give me a kiss, mamma?"
I need hardly say that the kiss was given. Happy little Flo! To be so
taught, and so forgiven.
Mrs. Eyre then went down to the kitchen, and being rather a cowardly
little woman, I must confess that she dreaded the impending interview
with Mrs. Goodenough, who had been informed by Mr. Eyre that after this
week her services would be no longer required, as he would not allow
a servant to be kept who refused to give Mrs. Eyre such help as she
needed with the children.
Mrs. Goodenough's feelings had been so much hurt that she had then and
there demanded her week's wages, and another week, instead of a week's
warning, and Mr. Eyre, knowing how his wife would rejoice to find her
gone, paid her, and let her depart.
"I suppose," said she, standing in the hall, "the mistress means to
keep Hetty Hardy, which I wish her joy of it. But as to slaving on
to the end of the week, when you've dismissed me as if I hadn't been
a month in the house, that I will not do; my things are all in their
places, and the mistress knows that I'm honest—no need for counting the
half-dozen pots and pans, I suppose, so I'll just go at once."
"You certainly shall," replied Mr. Eyre, opening the hall door, "and
without another word if you please."
So Mrs. Goodenough departed, and Hetty reigned in her stead. She was
busy in the kitchen, when her mother arrived.
"Oh, mother I'm sorry now that you had the trouble of coming, for Mrs.
Goodenough went away of herself. She told the mistress that she would
give no help with the children, and the master put her out; and I think
I'm to stay."
"You think! and what's wrong with you now, Hetty? I thought you'd be
delighted to have it settled—is it settled?"
"I hope so. Come down to the kitchen, mother, and I'll tell you all
about it."
"I declare!" said Mrs. Hardy, when she had heard the story, "I don't
know whether to laugh or cry. The notion! why, child, don't you see
that it was a very impertinent thing for you to do? To go buying a
penn'orth of cherries for the child because you fancied her mother
couldn't. I wonder when you're going to have a morsel of sense—I do
indeed! Well, I must find out if Mrs. Eyre is going to overlook it, for
I declare I don't expect it. Where is she?"
"She'll be here in a minute, mother."
Hetty went on with her work, dropping tears into the kitchen utensils,
and sighing in a heartbreaking manner; her mother watched her with some
amusement. At last Mrs. Eyre came down.
"Where is Mrs. Goodenough?" said she, looking round.
"The master bid me tell you, ma'am, she's gone. She wouldn't stay even
to wash up the things. He hadn't time to wait for you to come down."
Mrs. Eyre's manner became very much more cheerful.
"Oh, Mrs. Hardy, I didn't see you. Good morning."
"The same to you, ma'am. I just waited to ask—because it's pleasanter
to have things settled—do you think you can put up any longer with
this oaf of a girl? Such a piece of impertinence I never heard of. I'm
downright ashamed of her, that's what I am."
"Hetty did not mean it for impertinence. She is very thoughtless, but
she is very truthful. I am sure she will never do such a thing again. I
will see how we get on, if you are quite satisfied to have it so."
"Quite pleased and satisfied, ma'am—and—There you go, Hetty!
Boo—hoo—like a baby! First, for fear you are to go, and now for joy
that you're to stay. I haven't a bit of patience with you, and that's
the solemn truth. Good morning, Mrs. Eyre—when she's done blubbering,
she'll put away the rest of those things, I hope."
Mrs. Eyre went upstairs with her.
"You are too hard upon Hetty," said she.
"Ma'am, that's just because you are too soft with her. If you gave her
a raking good scolding when she makes a fool of herself; she'd be all
the better of it."
Mrs. Hardy was so far right, that it was quite as well for Hetty that
she began her new undertaking in a slightly subdued spirit. Between
that, and the fact that she hardly ever had a spare minute, she got on
very well. Of course she made mistakes, and sometimes forgot to do this
or that; but on the whole she did well, and was a great comfort to her
busy little mistress. And Flo, who was taken out every fine day, began
to improve slowly, but perceptibly.
Mrs. Eyre, who did not expect too much from a girl of fifteen, was
satisfied with Hetty, and even Mrs. Hardy began to think that all her
"raking fine scoldings" were taking effect, and "making a woman of the
girl" at last.
The only person who felt disappointed was Mrs. Goodenough, who had
confidently expected to be recalled on account of Hetty's blunders,
and who had not found it easy to get a comfortable place. However, no
one can be very sorry for her, as she deserved to be disappointed. Her
mistress had always been most kind and considerate, and I pronounce
Mrs. Goodenough a selfish old woman.
In about six months the Eyres had paid off the few debts incurred
during Mr. Eyre's illness, and, moreover, he got a very welcome and
unexpected rise in his salary. One of the partners in the great firm
died, and his son was a man of larger views and more generous feelings
than any of the other persons concerned. He was quite shocked to find
how hard and grasping the firm had always been to their clerks and
salesmen, and with much trouble he succeeded in bringing about a better
state of things.
The very first thing that Mr. Eyre insisted on was, that some one
should be hired in Mrs. Goodenough's place, for he thought that both
his wife and Hetty had rather too much to do. And who do you think came
begging to be engaged but the excellent Goodenough herself? And in a
very subdued and anxious state of mind, I assure you.
Mr. Eyre laughed when he heard that she was to come back, and said
that his wife was a silly little woman. Mrs. Goodenough was very civil
to Hetty, but she had by no means forgiven her for having offered to
remain in her place, and the girl had no friend in the old woman from
that time.
Another benefit conferred on those in the employment of Miller &
Cartwright by the new Mr. Miller, who had come home to take his share
in the management, was an annual holiday. Mr. Eyre was informed that
he might take a fortnight in July, and that Mr. Miller would fill his
place for the time. And judge of the delight of the children when they
were told that they were to spend most of the time at R—, a small
village on the coast of —shire, chosen because it would be an easy
journey for Flo. Hetty was to go with them, and Mrs. Goodenough was to
give the house a thorough cleaning during their absence.
When the much-expected day arrived, Flo insisted on taking Zelica with
her, saying that Mrs. Goodenough did not love Zelica, and would not
make her happy. As no one could contradict this statement, Zelica was
shut into her basket, and became one of the travellers.
Only a little while ago, to keep Zelica in the basket would have been
one person's work; but her kitten days were over, and though she could
enjoy a game of play still, she no longer wanted to be playing all
day long. She lay contentedly in her basket, peeping out through the
wickerwork with a supercilious air, as is the manner of cats. Flo lay
on the cushions with her head on Hetty's lap, and Zelica's basket held
in her arms. Lina and Edgar danced about in great glee—Flo had to tell
them more than once that they were "childish."
At last they reached R—, and Hetty carried Flo to the pleasant lodgings
that Mr. Eyre had engaged. The child was too tired to care even to
see the sea; as Lina was wild to do. But next day she was rested,
and her delight was very great. When the tide was low, there was a
beautiful beach, where she could lie on a soft shawl, and actually
pick up pebbles and shells for herself. Then, when the tide was high,
there was a zigzag path up the low cliff, and near the top there was
a hut, with a broad seat all made of sods, green and fresh; and here
Hetty and Flo spent many happy hours, while the others rambled about.
Zelica condescended to go with them to the hut; down on the beach
she would not go, as her delicate paws got wet with salt water. Poor
Hetty! That wooden hut haunted her dreams for many a night, for it was
here that she got a lesson which went far towards curing her of her
thoughtlessness.
The days passed very happily. Mrs. Eyre and the three children bathed
and rambled about. Even Baby Johnnie could walk now; they got sunburned
and freckled, and loaves of bread disappeared before them as if by
magic. Mr. Eyre, too, began to look brown and strong, and even Flo's
little cheeks got a pale pink touch. As to the other members of the
family, Hetty and Zelica, they could hardly look better than they
always did.
Their pleasant stay was drawing to an end, when one day Mr. Eyre
announced that he was off for a long solitary walk, as he wished to go
farther and by rougher paths than any one else was equal to. Before he
went, he carried Flo up to the hut on the cliff, Hetty following, laden
with her workbasket, Flo's pillow and shawls and a second basket, which
contained the cat. Also Hetty brought a charming story, which Flo had
heard many times, but now wished to hear again.
"There you are, little woman," said Mr. Eyre, laying the child down on
the scat, where Hetty proceeded to make her comfortable. "I declare,
Hetty, I think she is a little bit heavier, and she surely looks
better."
"That she does, sir. We'll have her dancing country dances before long."
"That's what you always say, Hetty. But I'm not sure that I want to
dance country dances. I would rather go out walking on the common with
the rest."
"That will be a pleasant day, little Flo. Now, good-bye. I shall be
back in time to help you down the path, Hetty, so you may wait for me
if the day does not change; and I don't think it will do that."
"I wonder is it always fine here?" said Flo, as she watched her father
going up the steep path.
"Oh, no, Miss Flo! They have their share of rain and storm, no doubt.
Don't you remember the old fisherman, who told you how his boat was
lost, and his grandson was—"
"Don't, Hetty! Oh, I dreamed of it! Do let me forget it. I hope it will
be fine all the time we're here. The sea is so nice. Does not that long
bright streak look as if we could walk on it? I want to think of it
like this always."
"So we will, Miss Flo. I don't suppose there are any storms in the
summer."
With such conversation, Hetty working all the time, they passed the
morning. Then Flo had some biscuits and milk, and Zelica, having had
her share of milk, got back into her snug basket, and went fast asleep.
Hetty began to read "Whiter than Snow," which I think she must have
known of by heart. And Flo listened until the murmur of the sea mingled
with the well-known words, and Hetty's voice sounded far-off and
indistinct. After that, Flo was asleep.
Hetty covered her more completely, and then stitched away at the
brown holland pinafore she was making. Presently a shrimp-girl, whose
acquaintance she had made on the beach, came up the path with a sackful
of these little creatures on her back. Hetty threw down her work and
went out to talk to her. The girl was glad to rest, and to have a chat,
and Flo slept peacefully, so that it did not matter.
"Well, I must be going," said the girl at last. "I have eight miles to
walk to sell my shrimps to-day. Such a take as we had! And Joe Mallard
gave up fishing early, and went and sold all his in the village; so
no one would look at mine. Here, miss, I'll give you some if you have
anything to put them in."
Hetty produced the paper bag in which Flo's biscuits had been packed,
and the shrimp-girl filled it generously.
"That's for yourself, mind. You must boil them till they're red.
Good-bye now; I must lose no more time."
"Good-bye, and thank you kindly," said Hetty, going back to her work.
But she did not work long. The pleasant shade of the hut—the wide
outlook over the deep blue sea, dotted all over with fishing boats,
tempted her to gaze. Laying down her work on her knees, she gazed, and
dreamed, and idled. How much time she passed in this occupation she had
no idea—if one can call it an occupation.
At last Flo stirred in her sleep, and Hetty roused herself. She changed
the position of the pillow a little, and the child was soon in a deep
sleep again.
But now Hetty perceived that Zelica was gone. The basket was open, and
empty. Hetty tried to remember when she saw her last. She had been
there when the shrimp-girl came—and Hetty thought she had seen her when
she returned to the hut.
"She'll have gone back to the lodgings—but I will take a look round;
the child won't wake this hour."
She went out and looked up and down the path. Coming back, she
perceived that Zelica, who was not a perfectly honest cat,—poor Flo
always thought it was because she had seen her mistress take the
cherries!—had been at the bag of shrimps. She had poked a hole in the
thin, wet paper, and Hetty concluded that she had stolen a shrimp, and
run off to try if she liked it.
"She can't be far-off," muttered Hetty, taking a look at Flo, who was
lying quite quiet. "I'll just run up the path a bit. She'll have gone
that way, the little thief! She won't go home with her stolen shrimp."