AN EXCITING NIGHT.
Had Aunt Pike had even the faintest suspicion of what was to happen
during her absence he would have given up her party then and there and
have remained at home, even though Anna was to receive a prize and to
recite.
But, fortunately for her peace of mind, she suspected nothing, and they
both went off quite cheerful and excited through the cold and mist of
the December evening to the scene of the triumph of Anna's genius--
Anna with her head enveloped in shawls, her feet in goloshes, her muslin
skirts covered with a mackintosh and a fur-lined cloak.
When it came to the moment of departure she felt so sorry for those left
behind that she could not help expressing it. "I wish you could have
come too, and had some of the fun," she said excitedly.
"Do you?" said Betty bluntly. "Well, I don't. So you needn't feel
unhappy about it. We would rather have 'bread and scrape,' or nothing
at all, at home. We shall enjoy ourselves, you may be quite sure.
Don't worry about us," which was wickedness on Betty's part, for she
knew that Anna always suspected that they enjoyed themselves more
without her, and resented it.
And there was no denying that Anna's suspicions were correct.
Before she and her proud mamma had reached the gates of Hillside, Kitty
and Betty had stripped off the detested stockings, and were arraying
themselves in their last summer's muslin frocks, intending to be quite
as partified as Anna; and Kitty tied her hair with a red ribbon, and
Betty's with a blue one to match her turquoise locket, and down they
went to the feast.
Jabez had not yet arrived, but he was momentarily expected. Dan was
already there in his new "Eton's," with a sprig of mistletoe in his
button-hole. Tony was in his best white sailor suit, and Fanny and
Grace had holly in their caps, and wore their Jubilee medals. The table
was loaded with cakes and pasties, and "splits" with cream and jam on
them; and then, just as they were getting tired of waiting, Jabez
arrived. He was in his best suit, and was very shy, very embarrassed,
yet very pleased at having been invited.
"Simmeth like old times, don't it!" he gasped, seating himself on the
extreme edge of the hard chair nearest the door, a chair and a position
no one ever dreamed of occupying at any ordinary time.
To Kitty, who always felt shy if others were, it was as little like old
times as could be, for every one seemed borne down with an unnatural
politeness and quiet, and of them all Jabez suffered most. He had never
been asked to a party before, not a full-dress party, and he found it
embarrassing. But Dan came to the rescue, and with his jokes and his
laughs and his funny stories soon made them all feel more at ease, so
that by the time the first cups of tea were drunk, and the dish of
"splits" emptied, the ice had been melted and all was going well.
"Jabez," said Dan, turning to him with a very solemn face, "it is you we
have to thank for this feast."
Jabez stared, bewildered. "I don't take your meaning, sir," he answered
in a puzzled voice. "Tedn't nothing to do with me. I am the invited
guest, I am, and proud so to be. I only wishes I'd a-got a bit of a
place fitty for to ask 'ee and the young leddies to come to, sir."
"Never mind, Jabez; we can wait. Perhaps you'll have one soon," said
Dan consolingly, and he glanced knowingly round the table, letting his
eye rest for a moment longer on Fanny than any one else. "By another
Christmas we may--dear me, I think this room must be very hot," he
remarked, breaking off abruptly to look at Fanny's rosy cheeks. But
Fanny rather tartly told him to "go on with his tea and never mind
nothing 'bout hot rooms, nor anything else that didn't concern him," and
quite unabashed he turned to Jabez again.
"You see," he explained, "if you hadn't gone to father that day I shied
the wood at you, we shouldn't have had Aunt Pike here, and Fanny
wouldn't have asked us out here to tea because Aunt Pike was out,
because, you see, she wouldn't be here to go out, and we couldn't be
glad about her going, for we shouldn't know anything about it to be glad
about, and so there wouldn't be anything special to ask us here for, and
so--"
"Master Dan," cried Jabez piteously, "if you don't stop to once, the
little bit of brain I've got'll be addled! Iss, my word, addled beyond
recovery, and me a poor man with my living to get."
"It do put me in mind of my old granny," said Grace, laughing, "when
poor grandfather died, and she was getting her bit of mourning. 'Well,'
she saith, 'if my poor dear Samuel had died a week sooner or later, and
Miss Peek had put her clearance sale back or fore a week, I should have
missed that there remlet of merino and lost a good bargain, whereas now
it'll always be a pleasure to me to look at and feel I saved two
shillings on it.'"
"Now, Fanny," cried Dan, "a story from you, please."
Fanny demurred a little, of course. People never like to be told to
tell stories. They prefer to drift naturally into them, without a lot
of people waiting expectantly for what they are going to say.
But Fanny had such stores of tales of ghosts, fairies, witches, and
other thrilling subjects, that she never failed to fascinate her
listeners. She did so now, when once she had begun, until they were all
almost afraid to look round the dim kitchen, and Jabez wished, though he
would not have owned it, that he had not got that walk home in the dark.
Then they burnt nuts, and melted lead in an iron spoon and poured it
into tumblers of cold water, and Fanny's took the shape of the masts and
rigging of a ship, though Jabez declared it wasn't nothing of the sort,
but was more like clothes-postens with the lines stretched to them, yes,
and the very clothes themselves hanging to them. All but Jabez, though,
preferred to think it a ship; it was more exciting. Grace's lead formed
tents of all sizes, and Grace seemed quite pleased.
Of Kitty's they could make nothing at all.
"That looks to me like a rolling-pin lying at the bottom," cried Dan
excitedly, "and a beautiful palace, almost like a fairy palace, and--but
I don't know what all those little pieces can be meant for. I think it
must mean that you are going to be a cook in a large house--a palace,
perhaps."
"I fink those are fairies," chimed in Tony thoughtfully, "and that's a
fairy palace, and--and--"
"And the rolling-pin is me in the midst of it all," cried Kitty,
throwing her arm round her little brother. "Tony, you are a dear; you
always say something nice."
"I shouldn't think it very nice to be called a rolling-pin," said Betty.
"But do tell me what mine is, Kitty!"
"I really can't," said Kitty, after they had each gazed at it solemnly.
"I can't tell whether it is meant for a ship, or an iceberg, or a tent.
Perhaps it is all three, and means that you are going to travel,
Bettikins."
"Oh yes," said Betty, "I shouldn't be surprised. I mean to travel when
I am grown up, and I always feel that I shall do something some day."
"I feel I shall do something to-night if I don't get something to eat
soon," interrupted Dan, in a tone intended to touch Fanny's heart.
"It is half-past eight, and tea has been over for more than two hours."
"Well," said Jabez, as the tumblers and the mysterious lead figures were
whisked away, "'tis just as well nobody couldn't attempt to tell what
mine was, for I wouldn't 'ave 'urt anybody's ingenooity with trying to.
If 'twasn't a blacksmith's shop, 'twas a vegetable stall; and if
'twasn't that, 'twasn't nothing; and things when they'm like that is
best left alone, it's my belief."
"P'r'aps it was the table with supper laid on it," suggested Kitty.
"P'r'aps 'twas, Miss Kitty; but I'm sorry for us all if 'twas, for the
dishes, if dishes they was, was empty, and that wouldn't suit us at the
present minute."
But it exactly depicted the state of the dishes half an hour later, for,
as Fanny said when they wanted the kitchen cleared for games, "there
wasn't nothing to clear but empty things."
By that time all stiffness had worn away, every one was in the highest
spirits, and the games went on furiously, so furiously that the striking
of the hall clock and the town clock were overlooked, and the first
thing that recalled them to themselves was a loud ringing of the
front-door bell.
For one second they stood looking at each other in utter dismay, then--"
The back stairs," whispered Dan. "Fly, children, scoot, and hop into
bed as you are.--Jabez--"
But Jabez had already vanished through the back door and had shut
himself in Prue's stable. Up the back stairs the children scuttled,
shoes in hand, and melted away into their various rooms without a sound.
Kitty stayed a moment with Tony to help him into bed, and as she crept
out of his room the sound of voices in the hall reached her.
"Grace needn't have hurried so to let them in," she thought. "She could
at least have pretended she was asleep and didn't hear the knock, and so
have given us a few minutes more." But Grace's promptness was such that
Kitty had barely time to draw her nightgown on over her frock and creep
into her bed before she heard her aunt's footsteps on the stairs.
Mrs. Pike went first to Tony's room, and Kitty, leaning up, listened in
a perfect tremor of nervousness for what might follow. Tony was no good
at pretending, but, as good luck would have it, there was no need of
make-believe on his part, for he had been so tired he had fallen fast
asleep as soon as he had cuddled down under the bedclothes, and Mrs.
Pike, after just a glance, came away quite satisfied. Then Kitty heard
her approaching their room.
"Oh!" she thought with dismay, "she is bringing Anna with her;" for
Mrs. Pike was talking to some one in a low voice. "What bad luck; Anna
sees through everything. I wonder if Betty hears too. If she doesn't
she is sure to jump. Betty! Betty!" she called, as loud as she dared,
but the next moment the door opened and Aunt Pike entered with a candle
in her hand, and followed by Anna.
"Dear, dear," she said, as she tripped over something, "how untidy!
What is it, Anna?"
Anna stooped and picked up one of Betty's discarded gray stockings.
For once Betty's untidiness served them a good turn. Seeing the
stockings on the floor, it never occurred to Aunt Pike but that they had
both undressed and got into bed in the usual fashion. The first thing,
though, that caught Anna's eye was the red bow in Kitty's hair.
"I--I didn't know--" she began, then glanced quickly at Betty's head,
where the blue bow showed up against the pillow, but instead of
remarking on it she suddenly grew silent. Kitty marvelled, for she had
remembered their hair ribbons almost at the same moment as Anna had
caught sight of them, and it was all she could do not to put up her hand
and grab hers off. With the remembrance she almost gave up hope of
escaping detection, and wished devoutly that they had stayed downstairs
and faced the consequences; for to be found out now, hiding in bed in
this fashion, made a discreditable matter of what was really not a very
bad one. But, to her increasing amazement, Anna said nothing, not even
when Aunt Pike said, "I must speak to Katherine in the morning. She has
either neglected to brush her hair at all, or she is very extravagant in
tying it up for the night with a good piece of ribbon. Now come away,
darling; it is quite time you were in bed. I am sure you must be quite
exhausted. You know I did tell you I thought you would not be able to
show them your prize to-night."
"Prize!" gasped Betty, sitting up in bed as soon as ever their visitors'
backs were turned. "Has she _really_ got a prize? I didn't think it
could be true when Aunt Pike said she would get one. Anyhow, I wonder
she isn't ashamed to show it, for she knows it would have been yours if
she hadn't behaved so disgustingly. But Anna is never ashamed of what
she does, no matter how bad it is."
"Oh yes, she is," said Kitty thoughtfully. "I think she is dreadfully
ashamed sometimes of some things, and very sorry."
"Then why doesn't she say so?" snapped Betty crossly.
"I believe she doesn't know how to. She is shy, or--or something; but I
do believe she would like to be able to." And she thought of the abject
way in which Anna had followed her about for days after that affair at
Hillside, and had tried to do things for her; and in her heart she knew
that it was Anna's curious way of expressing her gratitude to her for
not exposing her meanness. "I believe," she went on musingly, "that if
she could undo all that--that fuss in any other way than by owning up,
that she would; but there isn't any other way, and she hasn't got pluck
enough to do it in the right one. I believe she would rather die than
have Aunt Pike know how she behaved. Oh dear, I do wish I hadn't to get
up again and undress."
"So do I," agreed Betty. "I really can't brush my hair to-night, I am
_so_ sleepy."
"I wouldn't," said Kitty, who had a little habit of saying the most
comfortable thing. "Give it an extra brushing to-morrow; that will do."
"Very well," agreed Betty, "I will remember," and in another moment was
fast asleep.
Kitty lay down and drew the bedclothes cosily about her until a few dark
curls and a scarlet bow were all that were visible, but go to sleep she
could not. Thoughts went racing through her brain in the most
distracting manner--thoughts of the school and all the unpleasant ending
of her short connection with it; thoughts of Anna and her mother, and
Anna's want of courage.
"I believe she isn't really a bad sort," mused Kitty, "and yet--and yet
she does do such mean things, and doesn't seem to see that they are
mean; and she thinks that the only way to please people is to say nasty
things of some one else to them; and then, of course, one feels that to
other people she says the same of oneself. One can't help it. I do
wish she was different. I believe I could like her if she was."
Presently her thoughts merged into dreams, but such unpleasant ones that
she was quite glad to awaken from them; and so, constantly dozing and
half-waking, and dozing again, the hours wore on until at last she awoke
really wide awake, with a very strong and alarming feeling that
something was amiss, or that something unusual was happening. She had
not the faintest idea what it could be, and though she sat up in bed and
listened, she could not see or hear anything. The house seemed quiet
and still, and yet there were sounds--curious, mysterious sounds that
ceased while she listened for them, and left her wondering if she were
still dreaming, or if her ears were playing her tricks. Her first fear
was that there might be something the matter with Tony; then she thought
of Dan.
"I must go and see," she thought, and slipped very gently out of bed and
into her dressing-gown. When she was outside the door she paused to
listen. Yes, there certainly were sounds, and they came from Dan's
room, sounds of whispering and movements, and--yes, there was a curious
smell. "I believe it is fire!" she gasped, and ran down the corridor.
Dan's room was nearly at the end of it, and faced the staircase.
Tony's was a tiny room between the girls' and Dan's, while Anna's room
was beyond Dan's again. Kitty looked in at Tony, and found him safe,
and sleeping comfortably; then she hurried on. Dan's door was slightly
ajar, and there was a dim light within; here also was the curious smell
which had greeted Kitty's nose, only stronger, and here also was Anna,
in her gray dressing-gown, sitting on the floor, and apparently hugging
herself in an agony of pain. "What has happened? What is the matter?
Dan, tell me!"
At the first sound of her voice Dan wheeled round, and Anna started up
with a scream.
"How you did startle me!" cried Dan in a hoarse whisper. "But I'm
awfully glad you've come." Dan's face was perfectly white, and he was
trembling visibly. "Kitty, what _can_ I do? I have been such a--such a
fool; worse than a fool. Look!" holding up a paper partly burnt, and
pointing to a scorched mark on the curtain.
"Oh!" gasped Kitty. "O Dan, how did it happen? What were you doing?
Reading in bed? You might have been burnt to death."
"I should have been--we all should have been, and the house burnt down,
if it hadn't been for Anna," groaned Dan. "It'll teach me never to read
in bed again. I thought I was quite wide awake too. But look at Anna;
do try and do something for her. She has burnt her hands horribly, and
I didn't know what to put on them. What can I do? Kitty, do do
something; she is in frightful pain, and she was so plucky."
Even in her great pain Anna looked up gratified by this praise.
Kitty gently lifted her hands and looked at them, then laid them down
again with a little shocked cry, for the whole of the palms and the
fingers were covered with burns.
"Oh you poor, poor thing!" she cried.--"Dan, do creep down to the
surgery, and bring up the bottle of carron oil. You will find it on the
floor by the window. Father always keeps it there.--O Anna," putting
her arms round her cousin's quivering shoulders, "how you must be
suffering! I am _so_ sorry. I wish I could bear it for you."
Anna was almost beyond speaking, but she laid her head back against
Kitty's arm with a sigh of relief. "O Kitty, I am so glad to have done
something for you--that's all I think of. I don't mind the pain.
You have done so much for me, and I--I wanted to make it up to you
somehow."
"Don't you ever think of that again," said Kitty solemnly. "You have
saved Dan's life, perhaps all our lives, and that wipes out everything.
But oh! poor Dan, won't he be in a scrape to-morrow when this is all
found out!"
"But it won't be found out," said Anna. "We can easily get rid of the
paper, and the mark on the curtain won't show unless one looks for it;
and, you see, it won't be taken down till the winter is over, and
then--"
"But your hands," cried Kitty. "How can we explain about your burns?"
"Oh--h," said Anna slowly, as she tried to think of some plan, "I will
just say it is an accident--I needn't explain."
"But I shall," said Kitty firmly. "I am not going to have any
deceitfulness. We will all stand together, but you aren't going to
suffer for Dan. Dan wouldn't stand it, and I should be ashamed of him
if he did."
Anna did not answer, and Kitty thought she had won. Dan returned with
the oil, and from his own drawer produced a generous supply of torn
handkerchiefs.
"How did you find out about the fire?" questioned Kitty, as she bound up
the poor hands as skilfully as she knew how. Her "skill" would have
made a surgeon or a nurse smile, but the result was soothing and
comforting.
"I woke up suddenly and thought I smelt burning; then I was sure I did,
and I got out and opened my door and saw a bright light shining under
Dan's door." Here Anna had the grace to blush, for she remembered
another occasion when she had seen a light shining under a door, and had
_not_ flown in a frenzy of fear to save those inside. "I crept down the
passage, and then I knew that the smell of burning was coming from Dan's
room. I knocked, but he didn't answer, and the light grew so bright
that I got frightened, and I rushed in and snatched the paper out of his
hand, and beat out the flames." Her face, which had been very flushed,
was now deadly white. "I think I will go back to bed now," she said
faintly, "I am dreadfully tired."
And dreadfully tired she was too, thoroughly exhausted and overcome.
Kitty helped her to her room and tucked her in her bed, and as she was
bending over her, Anna raised her usually restless eyes to her very
pleadingly.
"Kitty, you must let me have my own way, or I shan't feel that I've done
anything towards--towards wiping out--you know what I mean."
"I know," said Kitty. "We won't talk any more about it to-night.
We will wait until to-morrow. Good-night, Anna," and for the first time
in her life she kissed Anna willingly.