Mr William Forth Burge was gorgeous in the newest of frock-coats and
the whitest of waistcoats, as he stood outside the schools watching the
marshalling of the little forces, and then, glossy hat in one hand,
orange handkerchief in the other, he gave the signal to start; and, with
the excellent brass band playing its loudest, and the children for the
most part bearing flowers or flags, the long procession started, to
march up the High Street, round the market-place, past the church, and
in and out of Bush Lane and Padley's Road, the boys cheering, the girls
firing off a shrill "hurrah" now and then; and whenever the band ceased,
either the boys or the girls were started in some simple school chorus,
such as poor George W. Martin or Hullah wrote, to be sung ere long
through the length and breadth of the land.
It was a simple affair, but well worth seeing, if only to watch the
faces of the mothers and fathers of the children, ready at their doors
to smile at "our Mary," or "little Jack," or "the bairns."
Mr William Forth Burge was perspiring everywhere--now in the front to
stimulate the band, now standing still on a doorstep, hat in one hand,
orange handkerchief in the other, till the whole procession, boys and
girls, had passed, with a word for every one in turn, and looking
thoroughly happy in the simplicity of his heart.
Mr Chute, on the contrary, was very dignified and stern, but ready to
raise his best hat to Hazel whenever he had a chance.
At last the vicarage was reached, a halt called, and the children gave a
hearty cheer, which brought out the vicar, now ready to join Mr William
Forth Burge and walk with the schools, the town being passed.
There needed no fugleman to bring forth cheers from the children as they
reached the gates of the garden, for here was a wonderful archway of
evergreens and flowers, the work of the two gardeners, and beneath this
they had hardly filed before numbers of the townspeople began to arrive.
Then there was a carriage or two, and, assisted by the vicar's sisters,
little Miss Burge had quite a reception on the green terrace in front of
the drawing-room, the wives and daughters of the neighbouring clergy,
who all wished they had a William Forth Burge in their own parishes,
arriving to do honour to the event.
The grounds were very pretty, and only separated by a light wire fence
from a large paddock, which, having been fed off by sheep, was as smooth
as a lawn; and here, for the hour before dinner, the children were
marched, and sang at intervals, the band taking its turn, playing
popular airs.
Miss Lambent and Miss Beatrice had noticed the new schoolmistress with a
couple of chilly bows, and then devoted themselves to the assistance of
"dear Miss Burge;" while the giver of the feast was busy in conference
with Mr Chute about certain sports that were afterwards to take place.
"I don't see the Canninges carriage yet Beatrice," said Miss Lambent, in
a whisper to her sister, as the ladies were strolling about the grounds
and admiring the flower-beds, the conservatory, and grape-houses in
turn.
"Do you think they will come?" whispered Beatrice, who looked rather
flushed; but certainly the day was hot.
"She said they would. Dear me, how strange of Henry!"
The vicar had gone into the paddock, and, after raising his hat
politely, was standing talking to Hazel at intervals between saying a
few words to the boys and girls--words, by the way, which they did not
wish to hear, for every eye was turned as if by a magnet towards the
great tent, and the man and maidservants and assistants constantly going
to and fro.
"Here they are at last," exclaimed Miss Lambent. "I told you so. Now,
Beatrice, what do you say?"
"Nothing," replied her sister quietly.
"Then I say something. George Canninge wouldn't have come here to a
children's school feast unless he had expected to meet some one
particular."
The object of their conversation had just helped a tall, handsome lady,
with perfectly white hair, to descend from a phaeton drawn by a splendid
pair of bays. He was a broad-shouldered, sparely-made man of about
thirty, with dark, closely-cut whiskers--beards were an abomination
then--and keen grey eyes, which took in the whole scene at a glance,
and, what was more, to find satisfaction as he took off and replaced his
grey felt hat, and then, from habit, took out a white handkerchief and
dusted his glossy boots.
"How absurd, mother! Thought I'd been walking," he said. "Bravo,
Burge! He's doing it well. Hang it mother! I like that fellow."
"It's a pity, dear, that he is so vulgar."
"Oh, I don't know. He's frank and honesty and don't pretend to be
anything more that what he is--a successful tradesman. Never saw a man
less of a snob. Oh, there are the Lambents. I say, who's the lady
talking to the parson?"
"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs Canninge, "unless it is the new
schoolmistress."
"Nonsense: can't be. Oh, here's Burge! How are you, Burge? Glad
you've got such a fine day for your treat."
"So am I, Mr Canninge, so am I. Thank you for coming, sir. Thank you
for coming too, ma'am. My sister is up by the house, and there's lunch
in the dining-room, and you'll excuse me, won't you! I have such heaps
to do."
"Excuse you, of course. And I say, Burge, your going to give the
youngsters some fun, I hope?"
"Fun, sir? I mean to let them have a jolly good lark."
"Don't let Lambent get them together and preach at the poor little
beggars."
Mr William Forth Burge's face expanded, and he showed all his white
teeth.
"That's what I like sir. That's the genuine old English squire said
that."
"Nonsense, Burge."
"Oh, but it is, Mr Canninge. I know what's what as well as most men;
and, look here, sir, I mean them to thoroughly enjoy themselves to-day."
"That's right, and I'll help you."
"You will, sir?" cried the giver of the feast.
"To be sure I will; get up some races and that sort of thing."
"I've got it all down on a piece of paper here, sir; only you wait.
Now, I must go."
"He is really very vulgar, George," said the lady; "but there is a
bluffness about him that I do like after all. But hadn't we better go
and speak to Miss Burge?"
"Come along then. Oh, there are the Lambents with her now."
The Canninges went up to little Miss Burge, the lady saluting her
graciously, and the young squire very heartily; and then salutations
were being exchanged with the Misses Lambent, Beatrice looking bright
and handsome as George Canninge shook hands in a frank gentlemanly way,
as a deafening clamour arose behind them, and, turning, there was the
host wielding a great dinner-bell with all his might.
As he ceased, the children cheered, the band struck up, and the little
processions were marched past the company on the terrace, the boys to
one end of the marquee, the girls to the other, Hazel now at the head of
her troop, looking bright and animated, excited slightly by the scene,
and being admired more than she knew by those whom she passed.
As she came abreast of the group, she involuntarily raised her eyes, and
they encountered a grave, earnest gaze from one whom she had never
before seen; and in that brief moment she was aware that she was the
object of a very scrutinising examination.
The next minute she had passed between the folds of the tent door, and
was busy getting her girls seated at the long table on one side, the
boys occupying a second long table on the other side, both being covered
with well-cooked hot joints, steaming potatoes, and, dear to all
children's hearts, plenty of pies and puddings.
"Well, ladies," said Mr Canninge, "shall we adjourn to the tent?"
"Did you think of going in?" said Beatrice.
"To be sure," he said gaily. "I am going to help."
"Going to help!" said Miss Lambent.
"To be sure: I promised Mr Burge. Let me take you in. Miss Lambent."
Rebecca took a long breath and the squire's arm. She liked it, but she
knew that Beatrice would be out of temper for hours after.
There was no cause for temper, though--for the squire, as he was always
called in the neighbourhood, had no sooner led the elder Miss Lambent
within the canvas walls, then he coolly forsook her, and went and placed
himself behind a great sirloin of beef at one end of the girls' table,
facing Mr William Forth Burge, who had the twin joint before him, over
which his round red face was smiling pleasantly. The vicar had gone to
one end of the boys' table, the master being at the other, while several
of the principal tradesmen took their places in front of other joints.
"Now, boys and girls," cried the host, "are you all ready?"
The chorus of "yes!" was startling.
"Then silence for grace," roared the host; and then, rapidly, "What
we're going to receive make us truly thankful. Amen. Lots of plates
here!"
Before he finished, his great carving-knife was playing a tune in that
skilful way peculiar to butchers, upon a silver-mounted steel, while the
vicar looked aghast and George Canninge stooped down to hide a smile.
It was quite an insult when the vicar was present but in the innocency
of his heart, Mr William Forth Burge was hoping the joints were done,
and eager to begin.
"Now, gentlemen, carve away, please," he shouted. "Other ladies and
gentlemen and servants, please pass the plates and 'taters. I want the
youngsters to have a good dinner to-day. Now, Thomas," he cried to his
coachman, who had just set down a pile of plates, "you lay hold of
that--that spoon, and do nothing but ladle out gravy to every plate."
As he spoke, he was slicing off in the most skilful way prime sirloin of
beef, and, smiling with delight, he said that it was done to a turn, as
he called it.
"I chose every joint myself," he said to one. "Pass the plates quick.
See that they have plenty of 'taters, ladies. Eat away, girls."
The visitors, after a few moments' awkward hesitation, turned themselves
into waiters, and the carvers had a tremendous time, for quite two
hundred hearty girls and boys were eating with all the enjoyment of
their young healthy appetites.
"More! That's right!" cried the young squire. "I beg your pardon,
Miss--I really don't know your name; I'm afraid I've splashed your
dress."
"Pray don't mention it," said Hazel quietly, for she had been busily
handing plates, looking brighter and happier than she had appeared for
months.
"I'm quite envious of our host," said Canninge the next time Hazel
brought a plate. "He carves beautifully, and I've hacked my joint to
pieces."
"Send your knife up here, Mr Canninge," roared Mr W.F.B. from the
other end of the table. "I'll give it a touch on my steel."
"Will you allow me?" said Hazel, who was the only waiter near.
"No, really, I could not think of--Well, if you will--"
"There."
He had paused to wipe the rather greasy handle upon his white
handkerchief, and then, in passing the knife, their hands just touched--
a mere touch, and Hazel had gone.
The meat had disappeared, the puddings and pies had followed, and,
turned waiter now, the young squire had merrily passed along the plates,
till the time for rising had nearly arrived, when accident once more
placed him beside Hazel.
"Your girls have thoroughly enjoyed themselves, Miss Thorne," he said,
for he had learned her name now from one of the elder children--Feelier
Potts, to wit.
"Oh, most thoroughly," said Hazel, smiling brightly and with genuine
pleasure. "It is delightful to see them so happy."
"Do you see that Beatrice?" whispered Miss Lambent from the other end of
the tent.
"Yes."
"Grace next I suppose? Oh, there is my mother beckoning to me, Miss
Thorne," said the squire hastily, "it is a pity to have so pleasant an
affair spoiled. Would you mind hinting to Mr Burge that he should ask
the vicar to say grace!"
"Oh, yes, I will," said Hazel, nodding to him.
"As if he were her equal," said Miss Lambent indignantly; while,
hurrying to the end of the table. Hazel was just in time to whisper to
the host.
"Why, of course," he said. "What a stupid! Thank you. Miss Thorne.
Mr Lambent!" he cried aloud, "would you be kind enough to say grace?"
Out in the field then, with the sun shining, the band playing, and
plenty of enjoyment for the schools, which were separated by a rope
stretched from one end to the other. Races were run for prizes of all
kinds, and, full of animation, while the vicar stood with his hands
behind him patronisingly looking on, the young squire was the life and
soul of the affair, and ready with a dozen fresh ideas to suggest to the
host. There were prizes for the fastest runners, prizes for the
slowest, for the first in and the last in, for jumps and hops, and the
best singers, and the worst singers, scramblings, blindfold-walking,
sports galore.
Hazel forgot her troubles, and with Miss Burge's help she was always the
centre, of some new sport or game; Cissy and Mabel being like a pair of
attendant fairies, ready to be seized upon by Mr Canninge as the
bearers of the prizes that were to be won.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I never saw George so full of spirits before," said Mrs Canninge to
Rebecca Lambent as they sat in a garden-chair looking on.
"I should say he will have a bad headache afterwards," replied that
lady.
"Oh, no, he is fond of athletics and that sort of thing. Charming young
person, your new schoolmistress, Beatrice dear," she continued. "Very
ladylike and well-spoken."
"Yes, a very well educated person," said Beatrice coldly.
"The squire's a brick, that's what he is, Betsey," said the host, wiping
his forehead with his handkerchief, about five o'clock. "I tell you
what, I'm about tired out. Now, look here, you go in and get yourself a
cup of tea, or you'll be done up, and if you're as wise as I take you to
be, you'll put just a pinch of ody-wee in the cup. It'll be all over at
six, and then well have a comfortable dinner."
"But what are you going to do, Bill!"
"To do? I'm going to fetch that girl in to have a cup of tea with you.
Bless her, she's worked like a slave. No, I won't it's all right, I'll
take in her mother. Poor old lady, no one seemed to speak to her. Look
at that now. That's what I call a genuine English gentleman, Betsey.
Here, hi! Mr Chute, that'll do; now come up to the house, let them
play by themselves. I say, Betsey, this has been a day!"
A day to be remembered, for Mr Chute was tightening his fists and
scowling at one of the young Potts, wishing the while that he had a
cane. Not that young Potts had been behaving so very badly, but his
schoolmaster was annoyed, and some people when hurt look round at once
for some one as a spleen-vent. He was suffering from the same pain that
had sent a sting through Beatrice Lambent, and made her sister frown.
For just as Mr William Forth Burge had told his sister his
determination, George Canninge, the principal landholder and personage
of those parts, the newly-elected magistrate on the county bench, had
gone up to Hazel Thorne, raised his hat and said quietly:
"Miss Thorne, you look tired out. Will you allow me to take you into
the house and get you some tea?"
"And she forgot herself," cried Beatrice Lambent passionately, as she
paced her room that night Hazel Thorne's self-forgetfulness consisted in
acting, like any unconscious girl would under the circumstances. She
gave the speaker a grateful look full of innocency, and, taking his
proffered arm, walked with him into Miss Burge's drawing-room, where she
was received with smiles.