THE WASP
‘Whom He hath blessed and called His own,
He tries them early, look and tone,
Bent brow and throbbing heart,
Tries them with pain.’
THE next week Lily had the pleasure of fitting out Faith Longley for her
place at Mrs. Weston’s. She rejoiced at this opportunity of patronising
her, because in her secret soul she felt that she might have done her a
little injustice in choosing her own favourite Esther in her stead.
Esther’s popularity at the New Court, however, made Lilias confident in
her own judgment; the servants liked her because she was quick and
obliging, Mr. Mohun said she looked very neat, Phyllis liked her because
a mischance to her frock was not so brave an offence with her as with
Rachel, and Ada was growing very fond of her, because she was in the
habit of bestowing great admiration on her golden curls as she arranged
them, and both little girls were glad not to be compelled to put away the
playthings they took out.
Maurice and Reginald had agreed to defer their onslaught on the wasps
till Lord Rotherwood’s arrival, and the war was now limited to attacks on
foraging parties. Reginald most carefully marked every nest about the
garden and farm, and, on his cousin’s arrival on Saturday evening, began
eagerly to give him a list of their localities. Lord Rotherwood was as
ardent in the cause as even Reginald could desire, and would have
instantly set out with him to reconnoitre had not the evening been rainy.
Then turning to Claude, he said, ‘But I have not told you what brought me
here; I came to persuade you to make an expedition with me up the Rhine;
I set off next week; I would not write about it, because I knew you would
only say you should like it very much, but—some but, that meant it was a
great deal too much trouble.’
‘How fast the plan has risen up,’ said Claude, ‘I heard nothing of it
when I was with you.’
‘Oh! it only came into my head last week, but I do not see what there is
to wait for, second thoughts are never best.’
‘Oh! Claude, how delightful,’ said Lily.
Claude stirred his tea meditatively, and did not speak.
‘It is too much trouble, I perceive,’ said Lord Rotherwood; ‘just as I
told you.’
‘Not exactly,’ said Claude.
Lord Rotherwood now detailed his plan to his uncle, who said with a
propitious smile, ‘Well, Claude, what do you think of it?
‘Mind you catch a firefly for me,’ said Maurice.
‘Why don’t you answer, Claude?’ said Lilias; ‘only imagine seeing
Undine’s Castle!’
‘Eh, Claude?’ said his father.
‘It would be very pleasant,’ said Claude, slowly, ‘but—’
‘What?’ said Mr. Mohun.
‘Only a but,’ said the Marquis. ‘I hope he will have disposed of it by
the morning; I start next Tuesday week; I would not go later for the
universe; we shall be just in time for the summer in its beauty, and to
have a peep at Switzerland. We shall not have time for Mont Blanc,
without rattling faster than any man in his senses would do. I do not
mean to leave any place till I have thoroughly seen twice over everything
worth seeing that it contains.’
‘Then perhaps you will get as far as Antwerp, and spend the rest of the
holidays between the Cathedral and Paul Potter’s bull. No, I shall have
nothing to say to you at that rate,’ said Claude.
‘Depend upon it, it will be you that will wish to stand still when I had
rather be on the move,’ said the Marquis.
‘Then you had better leave me behind. I have no intention of being
hurried over the world, and never having my own way,’ said Claude, trying
to look surly.
‘I am sure I should not mind travelling twice over the world to see
Cologne Cathedral, or the field of Waterloo,’ said Lily.
‘Let me only show him my route,’ said Lord Rotherwood. ‘Redgie, look in
my greatcoat pocket in the hall for Murray’s Handbook, will you?’
‘Go and get it, Phyl,’ said Reginald, who was astride on the window-sill,
peeling a stick.
Away darted Lord Rotherwood to fetch it himself, but Phyllis was before
him; her merry laugh was heard, as he chased her round the hall to get
possession of his book, throwing down two or three cloaks to intercept
her path. Mr. Mohun took the opportunity of his absence to tell Claude
that he need not refuse on the score of expense.
‘Thank you,’ was all Claude’s answer.
Lord Rotherwood returned, and after punishing the discourteous Reginald
by raising him up by his ears, he proceeded to give a full description of
the delights of his expedition, the girls joining heartily with him in
declaring it as well arranged as possible, and bringing all their
knowledge of German travels to bear upon it. Claude sometimes put in a
word, but never as if he cared much about the matter, and he was not to
be persuaded to give any decided answer as to whether he would accompany
the Marquis.
The next morning at breakfast Lord Rotherwood returned to the charge, but
Claude seemed even more inclined to refuse than the day before. Lilias
could not divine what was the matter with him, and lingered long after
her sisters had gone to school, to hear what answer he would make; and
when Mr. Mohun looked at his watch, and asked her if she knew how late it
was, she rose from the breakfast-table with a sigh, and thought while she
was putting on her bonnet how much less agreeable the school had been
since the schism in the parish. And besides, now that Faith and Esther,
and one or two others of her best scholars, had gone away from school,
there seemed to be no one of any intelligence or knowledge left in the
class, except Marianne Weston, who knew too much for the others, and one
or two clever inattentive little girls: Lily almost disliked teaching
them.
Phyllis and Adeline were in Miss Weston’s class, and much did they
delight in her teaching. There was a quiet earnestness in her manner
which attracted her pupils, and fixed their attention, so as scarcely to
allow the careless room for irreverence, while mere cleverness seemed
almost to lose its advantage in learning what can only truly be entered
into by those whose conduct agrees with their knowledge.
Phyllis never dreamt that she could be happy while standing still and
learning, till Miss Weston began to teach at the Sunday school.
Obedience at school taught her to acquire habits of reverent attention,
which gradually conquered the idleness and weariness which had once
possessed her at church. First, she learnt to be interested in the
Historical Lessons, then never to lose her place in the Psalms, then to
think about and follow some of the Prayers; by this time she was far from
feeling any fatigue at all on week-days; she had succeeded in restraining
any contortions to relieve herself from the irksomeness of sitting still,
and had her thoughts in tolerable order through the greater part of the
Sunday service, and now it was her great wish, unknown to any one, to
abstain from a single yawn through the whole service, including the
sermon!
Her place (chosen for her by Eleanor when first she had begun to go to
Church, as far as possible from Reginald) was at the end of the seat,
between her papa and the wall. This morning, as she put her arm on the
book-board, while rising from kneeling, she felt a sudden thrill of sharp
pain smear her left elbow, which made her start violently, and would have
caused a scream, had she not been in church. She saw a wasp fall on the
ground, and was just about to put her foot on it, when she recollected
where she was. She had never in her life intentionally killed anything,
and this was no time to begin in that place, and when she was angry. The
pain was severe—more so perhaps than any she had felt before—and very
much frightened, she pulled her papa’s coat to draw his attention. But
her first pull was so slight that he did not feel it, and before she gave
a second she remembered that she could not make him hear what was the
matter, without more noise than was proper. No, she must stay where she
was, and try to bear the pain, and she knew that if she did try, help
would be given her. She proceeded to find out the Psalm and join her
voice with the others, though her heart was beating very fast, her
forehead was contracted, and she could not help keeping her right hand
clasped round her arm, and sometimes shifting from one foot to the other.
The sharpness of the pain soon went off; she was able to attend to the
Lessons, and hoped it would soon be quite well; but as soon as she began
to think about it, it began to ache and throb, and seemed each moment to
be growing hotter. The sermon especially tried her patience, her cheeks
were burning, she felt sick and hardly able to hold up her head, yet she
would not lean it against the wall, because she had often been told not
to do so. She was exceedingly alarmed to find that her arm had swelled
so much that she could hardly bend it, and it had received the impression
of the gathers of her sleeve; she thought no sermon had ever been so
long, but she sat quite still and upright, as she could not have done,
had she not trained herself unconsciously by her efforts to leave off the
trick of kicking her heels together. She did not speak till she was in
the churchyard, and then she made Emily look at her arm.
‘My poor child, it is frightful,’ said Emily, ‘what is the matter?’
‘A wasp stung me just before the Psalms,’ said Phyllis, ‘and it goes on
swelling and swelling, and it does pant!’
‘What is the matter?’ asked Mr. Mohun.
‘Papa, just look,’ said Emily, ‘a wasp stung this dear child quite early
in the service, and she has been bearing it all this time in silence.
Why did you not show me, Phyl?’
‘Because it was in church,’ said the little girl.
‘Why, Phyllis, you are a very Spartan,’ said Lord Rotherwood.
‘Something better than a Spartan,’ said Mr. Mohun. ‘Does it give you
much pain now, my dear?’
‘Not so bad as in church,’ said Phyllis, ‘only I am very tired, and it is
so hot.’
‘We will help you home, then,’ said Mr. Mohun. As he took her up in his
arms, Phyllis laughed, thanked him, replied to various inquiries from her
sisters and the Westons—laughed again at sundry jokes from her brothers,
then became silent, and was almost asleep, with her head on her papa’s
shoulder, by the time they reached the hall-door. She thought it very
strange to be laid down on the sofa in the drawing-room, and to find
every one attending to her. Mrs. Weston bathed her forehead with
lavender-water, and Lily cut open the sleeve of her frock; Jane fetched
all manner of remedies, and Emily pitied her. She was rather frightened:
she thought such a fuss would not be made about her unless she was very
ill; she was faint and tired, and was glad when Mrs. Weston proposed that
they should all come away, and leave her to go to sleep quietly.
Marianne was so absorbed in admiration of Phyllis that she did not speak
one word all the way from church to the New Court, and stood in silence
watching the operations upon her friend, till Mrs. Weston sent every one
away.
Adeline rather envied Phyllis; she would willingly have endured the pain
to be made of so much importance, and said to be better than a Spartan,
which must doubtless be something very fine indeed!
Phyllis was waked by the bells ringing for the afternoon service; Mrs.
Weston was sitting by her, reading, Claude came to inquire for her, and
to tell her that as she had lost her early dinner, she was to join the
rest of the party at six. To her great surprise she felt quite well and
fresh, and her arm was much better; Mrs. Weston pinned up her sleeve, and
she set off with her to church, wondering whether Ada would remember to
tell her what she had missed that afternoon at school. Those whose
approbation was valuable, honoured Phyllis for her conduct, but she did
not perceive it, or seek for it; she did not look like a heroine while
running about and playing with Reginald and the dogs in the evening, but
her papa had told her she was a good child, Claude had given her one of
his kindest smiles, and she was happy. Even when Esther was looking at
the mark left by the sting, and telling her that she was sure Miss
Marianne Weston would have not been half so good, her simple, humble
spirit came to her aid, and she answered, ‘I’ll tell you what, Esther,
Marianne would have behaved much better, for she is older, and never
fidgets, and she would not have been angry like me, and just going to
kill the wasp.’