COUSIN BECKY TELLS A SECRET
"Where can the child be?"
Mr. Marsh glanced around the room in bewilderment as he put the
question; then, a smile of intense amusement broke across his
countenance as there came in answer a series of sharp knocks from the
interior of the clock case. The boys burst out laughing and rushed
forward to release the prisoner, who stood revealed, a moment later,
with crimson cheeks, and eyes which shone through a mist of tears.
"Why didn't you come before?" she demanded, looking reproachfully at
her brother and her cousin. "You should have looked for me till you
found me, you cruel, cruel, boys!"
"Oh, I say, Polly, you needn't round on us like that," remonstrated
Edgar. "We've done nothing. Couldn't you get out?"
"No. Do you think I should have stayed here so long if I could have
helped it? I couldn't open the door from the inside, and—and oh, I
thought I should be suffocated! Help me out, one of you, please; I'm so
stiff I can scarcely move."
Mr. Marsh put the boys aside and lifted the little girl out of the
clock case. He was very kind, brushed the dust from her frock, and said
he hoped she had not been very frightened. Polly looked at him somewhat
shyly—she had never seen much of her uncle—and her lips quivered. She
felt shaky and unnerved; but she was not going to acknowledge how
alarmed she had been, so she made answer evasively—
"There was nothing to be frightened at really, only—only I thought
there might be spiders and earwigs there, and it seemed such a long,
long time to wait."
"Well, I'm glad we've found you at last," remarked Roger, "for it's
getting late."
"What time is it?" asked Polly. "I'm afraid I stopped the clock," she
said in an apologetic tone to her uncle, "but I don't think it's hurt;
there wasn't room for the pendulum to swing when I was in the case."
"Oh, I don't suppose it's hurt," he responded. "I will set it going
presently."
He took out his watch and looked at it.
"It's nearly seven," he said.
"Then it's time for us to go home," sighed Polly dolefully, "and—and I
haven't had any tea."
"Dear me, no, of course not!" exclaimed her uncle, as, overcome with
self-pity, the little girl's tears began to flow. "Edgar, call your
mother and tell her Polly's found. How long were you shut up in the
clock case, my dear?" he asked commiseratingly as his son went to do
his bidding.
"I don't know," she answered, "ages and ages!"
"About three hours," said Roger after some moments' reflection as his
uncle looked at him inquiringly.
"So long as that!" exclaimed Mr. Marsh. "Poor child, poor little girl!
Never mind, Polly, you'll feel better after you've had tea. Cheer up,
my dear."
A few minutes later Mrs. Marsh appeared upon the scene and took
possession of her niece. She was very kind and led her upstairs to her
own room, where Polly bathed the tear stains from her hot cheeks and
brushed her hair, after which she accompanied her aunt downstairs and
made an excellent tea. Then Mr. Marsh entered the room followed by the
boys, and handed her a beautiful bunch of hot-house flowers to take
home with her.
"Oh, thank you, Uncle John!" cried the little girl gratefully. "They
are lovely! Oh, how stupid I was to shut myself up in the clock case
like that, when I might have had such a nice time!"
"Never mind," said Mr. Marsh good-naturedly; "you shall come again, eh,
Janie?" he asked, appealing to his wife.
"Of course," she agreed. "How would you like to spend a day with me
when my visitors are gone, Polly?"
"Alone?" questioned the little girl dubiously. Then, as Mrs. Marsh
smilingly assented, she inquired impulsively, "Should I go for a drive
with you in your carriage, Aunt Janie?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Oh, I should like that! I never drove in a carriage with a pair of
horses in my life. But—" she paused for a moment in hesitation, then
added, "but I think, if you don't mind, I would rather you invited
mother instead."
"Why?" queried Mrs. Marsh, very surprised.
"Because it would be such a treat for mother to have a drive. You know
she is not very strong, and she cannot walk far because she so soon
gets tired."
"But I thought your mother did not care about going out," Mrs. Marsh
observed. "She is always such a home bird. I am sure I have often
advised her to go out more."
"Well, you see, she has a good bit of house work to do, and after that
she's very tired, and that's why she stays at home," Polly explained
in a matter-of-fact tone. "I daresay you would be tired yourself, Aunt
Janie, if you had to do all the things mother does."
"I daresay. And now Cousin Becky has taken up her abode with you your
poor mother must be busier than ever," Mrs. Marsh remarked with a
slight frown, and a note of dissatisfaction in her voice.
"Oh no!" Polly responded quickly. "There you're quite wrong, Aunt
Janie. Cousin Becky helps mother a great deal in the house, she doesn't
make any extra work."
"I'm glad to hear it. Well, Polly, remember it is understood that you
are to come and spend a day with me soon, and I will take you for a
nice long drive in the country."
"Thank you, Aunt Janie," the little girl replied earnestly and
gratefully, her face alight with a pleased smile.
"Polly, we ought to be going," said Roger. "You know mother said we
were not to stay to be in the way about dinner-time, and it's past
half-past seven."
"Dinner is not till eight to-night as we have several expected
visitors," Mrs. Marsh said as she kissed her little niece and nephew
good-bye, preparatory to going upstairs to dress.
"Fancy not having dinner till nearly supper-time!" cried Polly, opening
her eyes very wide. "I don't think I should like that!"
"Come, Polly," whispered her brother as she seemed disposed to linger,
"Uncle John's going to send us home in the dog-cart, and it's waiting
at the front door."
"Oh, how splendid!" exclaimed Polly. "How kind of you, Uncle John!"
Roger was no less delighted than his sister at the prospect of the
drive home. He took his place on the back seat of the vehicle, whilst
Polly occupied the seat by the groom in front, her bunch of flowers
in her lap; and the spirited horse between the shafts set off at a
swinging pace. Polly, who had regained her usual spirits by this time,
sat bolt upright, feeling herself a person of some importance to be
thus driven home in state, and amused herself on the way by bowing
gravely and impressively to various pedestrians, many of whom she only
knew very slightly. As they turned the corner of Princess Street,
the little girl caught sight of her mother and Cousin Becky at the
sitting-room window. She waved her hand to them, and smiled and nodded
as the dog-cart drew up.
"Wait a minute, missie," advised the groom as Polly made a movement to
get down, "and I'll help you."
"Oh, you needn't trouble, thank you," she responded hastily, as she
noticed her brother was already on the pavement, "I can manage quite
well by myself."
Forthwith she rose from the seat and turned round to descend backwards,
holding to the dog-cart with one hand, whilst with the other she
grasped her flowers; but her legs proved not quite long enough to
reach the step of the carriage, and the horse suddenly moving, she
lost her balance and was flung into the gutter. She picked herself up
immediately, however, and, declaring herself unhurt, went hurriedly
into the house, still grasping her flowers, which she was glad to
see were but little injured, and very conscious that her undignified
descent from the carriage had been witnessed by several pairs of eyes
from neighbouring windows.
"Oh, Polly dear, are you hurt?" cried Mrs. Trent, meeting her little
daughter at the front door and drawing her into the sitting-room. She
regarded her with some anxiety as she spoke.
"No," Polly answered promptly, "that is, not much. I've knocked my
elbow, but it's nothing. The stupid horse moved."
"You should have let the groom help you down, my dear."
"He wanted to but she wouldn't allow him," Roger said, overhearing his
mother's remark as he came into the room.
"Have you had a pleasant afternoon?" inquired Cousin Becky, after she
and Mrs. Trent had admired the bunch of beautiful flowers.
"Polly had a very pleasant afternoon," Roger replied, laughing, "and
where do you think she spent it? Why, shut up in a clock!" And he
proceeded to tell the tale of his sister's misadventure, which was
heard with considerable amusement.
"It's all very fine to laugh," Polly said, somewhat tearfully, "but it
was a terribly long while to be shut up in the dark with spiders and
earwigs, when I might have been having such a fine time, too! And I did
get so hungry! Uncle John was very kind, and Aunt Janie made me eat a
big tea, afterwards; I think they were really sorry for me, they didn't
laugh at me like the boys."
As the little girl had expected, she was not allowed to forget that
afternoon's adventure, for it was far too good a joke to be easily
dropped; but she was endowed with a sense of humour, and did not much
mind having the laugh turned against herself.
In the course of a few days Roger returned to school and a short while
later, Polly learnt that Mrs. Marsh's visitors had left the Rookery,
whereupon she began to speculate when she would be invited to spend the
day with her aunt which that lady had mentioned. But the looked-for
invitation did not arrive, and Polly was, at length, reluctantly
obliged to conclude that it was not coming at all.
"Aunt Janie could not have really intended to ask me," she thought
bitterly, "she cannot have forgotten what she said. She is very, very
unkind."
She did not mention her disappointment to her mother, but she spoke of
it to Cousin Becky, who listened and sympathised with her.
"Aunt Janie's a nasty, selfish thing!" cried Polly hotly.
"My dear, my dear—" began Cousin Becky expostulatingly, but the
indignant little girl continued in the same vehement tone—
"She is, Cousin Becky. I saw her driving by herself in the town
yesterday, and—and if you had a nice carriage with plenty of room in
it, wouldn't you want to give drives to people who never hardly have
any fun? I know you would, and so would mother, or anyone who wasn't
dreadfully selfish!"
"My dear, your aunt does not think. I am sure she never guesses how
much you have set your heart on driving with her—"
"No, and she doesn't care!" broke in Polly passionately. "Oh, how I
should like to be rich! It's miserable being poor."
"Do you want money so much, Polly?" the old lady questioned. "Tell me
what you would do if you had a lot of money."
"Oh, I'd do heaps of things! I'd give some to father, first of all,
because he lost all his, you know; and then I'd buy some new gowns
for mother—pretty ones, like Aunt Jane's; and Roger should have more
pocket-money—he gets so much less than most of the Grammar School boys;
and we'd all go away by the sea for a holiday—that would be best of
all! Uncle John and Aunt Janie and Edgar go to the sea-side every year,
but we never do; and last year, when mother was poorly, the doctor said
a thorough change would do her more real good than anything, but she
couldn't have it. Father was so sorry about it; and he wanted to tell
Aunt Janie what the doctor said, but mother wouldn't let him."
"Polly, can you keep a secret?" asked Cousin Becky.
"Oh yes, I am sure I can, though I never tried," was the confident
response.
"Well, then I will tell you one but you must keep it quite to yourself,
mind. Will you promise?"
"Yes; I won't tell anyone—not even mother."
"No, not even your mother." There was a slight flush on Cousin Becky's
cheeks, and a smile hovered around her lips and shone in her eyes. "A
little bird has told me that very likely—most likely, indeed—there will
be a holiday for you all this year."
"What!" Polly could scarcely credit that she had heard aright. "You
don't—you can't mean it!"
"Yes, I do, my dear. That's my secret. Mind you don't let it go any
further. And you mustn't ask me any questions. Well, just one then."
"Are you sure the little bird you spoke of knows?" Polly inquired
incredulously.
"Quite sure."
"I don't see how it's going to be managed—a holiday, I mean. But, oh,
it would be grand! Oh, Cousin Becky, do tell me!"
"No, I can tell you no more," Cousin Becky interposed, laughing.
"Remember to keep my secret, dear."
"Oh, I will," was the earnest assurance; "but it seems too good to be
true—too altogether wonderful. I cannot think how you should know, but
I am so glad you have told me. I don't in the least mind that Aunt
Janie has forgotten to invite me to spend a day with her now—I suppose,
after all, she must have forgotten, I don't really think she would mean
to be unkind."
Cousin Becky did not think so either. In truth, Mrs. Marsh had allowed
the promised invitation to slip her memory; and she would have been
considerably surprised, and more than a little sorry, had she known the
disappointment she had caused.