There never was a more angry woman than Miss Fleet as she left the
Rectory that afternoon.
Certainly, Mrs Hilchester had not been sympathetic. It is true she had
followed her visitor into the hall, and had said by way of reassuring
her:
"You need not be at all alarmed about your little girl--my children are
often out hours and hours at a time, and I assure you that I never dream
of fidgeting; they eventually come home, grubby perhaps, and with their
clothes in disorder, but otherwise safe and sound. Naturally, in the
country your little girl will do as others do. Sorry you cannot stay to
help me with my cutting-out, but as you cannot, good-afternoon."
Miss Fleet scarcely touched the hand which the Rector's good lady
vouchsafed. She got into the pony-cart and drove rapidly away.
"What next, indeed!" she said to herself; "to compare Phyllis, who has
been cossetted and petted all her life, to those wild, bearish children.
I am certainly extremely sorry we have come to live at the Hall. If
only the Squire were at home I should give him a piece of my mind; as it
is it will be my duty to punish Phyllis most severely when she does
return. Poor Phyllis! I don't wish to be hard on her, but still
discipline at any cost must be sustained. Of course, she has returned
long before now; but to have upset all my plans--a mere child like
that!"
Miss Fleet had now returned to the Hall, and her first eager question
was: "Is Miss Phyllis in? Has any one seen her, or does any one know
anything about her?"
Alas! Miss Phyllis had not come back; no one had seen her--no one knew
anything about her.
Miss Fleet now began to be really alarmed. She had not, as a rule, a
vivid imagination, but certainly horrors now began to crowd before her
mental vision. There was that deep pond just beyond the shrubbery.
There were some late water-lilies still to be found on its surface.
Suppose--oh! suppose Phyllis had gone to it and had tried to drag in the
lilies, and had--Miss Fleet turned quite white.
Or suppose she had gone right outside the fir plantation, and had been
seen and appropriated by the gipsies who were camping in the field just
beyond. Altogether poor Miss Fleet had a sad afternoon, while Phyllis,
the naughty and the reckless, enjoyed herself immensely. It sometimes
does happen like that even in the lives of naughty children: they have
their naughty time, and they thoroughly like it for the present.
Phyllis had been very angry, and had determined to take her own way; and
now she was having it, and her laugh was loud and her merriment
excessive. For she had not been long in the field at the back of the
stables, and Ralph had not long been enjoying the sweet pleasure of her
society all to himself, when three heads appeared above the hedge and
three gay voices uttered a shout, and Susie, Rosie, and Ned dashed
across the field.
"Oh! oh! oh!" said Susie, "now we know why he was smartening himself
up."
"Didn't he scrub his hands just," cried Rosie, "and didn't we watch him
through the keyhole!"
"Oh, shut up, shut up!" said Ralph. "Now that you have come I suppose
you must stay; but it was to me Phyllis wrote.--Was it not to me you
wrote, Phyllis?"
"Well, yes," said Phyllis. "Yours was the first name that I thought of,
but I wanted you all. It is all of you I like best. Now you have come
we will have a gay time."
"But where?" asked Rosie. "Are we to come to the house after all?"
"I wish we could," said Phyllis. "I do earnestly wish we could.
Perhaps--perhaps it would be safe."
She stood for a minute holding her finger to her lips; then a bright
light filled her grey eyes and smiles wreathed her lips.
"Could you go up one of the back ways, and take off your shoes, and slip
upstairs and up and up?" she said in a tremulous whisper.
"Oh, couldn't we just!" said Rosie, her eyes nearly dancing out of her
head.
"Then I think we can manage," said Phyllis. "All my toys are upstairs
in the big, very big, big attic; and there is the baby-house that I said
perhaps you could have; and there are the dolls' cups and saucers; and
if only we could smuggle something to eat!"
"Something to eat!" cried Ned. "I can run back to the Rectory and bring
a lot of things--a whole basketful. No one will know; Mother is at her
cutting-out for the poor, and trumpets would not turn her attention. I
can get the things--I can and I will."
"We must not let Miss Fleet know; she'll never, never think of looking
for us in the attic," said Phyllis, "and it is so big and so very far
away from all the other rooms that we won't be found; the only danger is
your being seen when you bring the basket."
"I will go straight away this very minute," said Ned, "and you had
better wait until I return."
"I know something still better than that," said Phyllis. "Why go to the
Rectory? Why don't you go to the village and buy things there--nice
unwholesome curranty and doughy things?"
"Oh, I say, scrumptious!" cried Rosie. "I'll go with him. No one will
see us. But, oh, I say, Phyllis, we have not got a single brass
farthing amongst us!"
Ralph's face turned very red; he felt awfully ashamed of Rosie.
"But I have," said Phyllis; "I always carry my purse about." She opened
it. "There is a five-shilling piece," she said.
"And may we spend it all?" said Rosie, looking with almost reverence on
the solid piece of money.
"Oh, rather! only do get very unwholesome things."
"I know the kind, trust me," said Rosie, and she and Ned set to running
as fast as they could.
While they were away Susie and Ralph and Phyllis walked up and down, and
talked in quite lady-like and gentlemanlike styles, and Phyllis
described how Miss Fleet had brought in the dull lesson-books, and how
she had tried to crush her bit of fun; and the other two laughed, and
told stories on their own account, and said how cross they had been when
that horrid letter had arrived.
"Only I knew your real mind," said Ralph, and he gave a protecting,
admiring look at the little girl.
"I guessed you were very nice, Ralph," she replied, and she laid her
pretty hand on his arm.
Thus the time while Rosie and Ned were away buying the unwholesome
things went quite quickly; and when they returned bearing large paper
parcels and mysterious-looking bottles, they all stole softly into the
house.
Phyllis knew exactly how to get in by way of the old unused part. She
took the others round to the door over which ivy hung, and instructed
Ralph how he was to unfasten the tiny window, and then squeeze in and
unbar the door.
This he did with the despatch of quite an accomplished burglar, and when
the door was opened the other four figures came solemnly in. They were
quite solemn and breathless now in their excitement. When they got
inside, their boots were carefully removed, and Phyllis led the way.
They went up some narrow stairs. These stairs led to the old tower, and
by the tower was another rambling staircase, which conducted them to the
attics. So at last there they were safe and sound, as Phyllis
explained.
"We must be quiet, but not too quiet," she exclaimed, "for nobody ever
comes to the tower, and nobody ever comes in by that entrance, and Miss
Fleet may think for ever and ever before she can possibly imagine that I
am having high tea with you four in the big back attic. Oh, perhaps we
had better lock the door; but even that is scarcely necessary."
But the door was locked, and then began a time of wild mirth. The food
from the village shop was as decidedly unwholesome as the most
venturesome little girl could desire. The cakes were nearly leaden in
weight, were richly stored with currants, and were underdone; there were
awful-looking lollipops of queer shapes and quaint designs, and there
was ginger-beer of the worst quality, and lemonade which had never made
acquaintance with lemons. But what mattered that? The food thus
acquired was all the sweeter because of that wicked little flavour of
wrong-doing about it; and Susie and Ned had also supplied great bags of
nuts and some very green apples, so that these young folks thought it
really was a feast worth being dreadfully naughty to obtain.
They made a table out of some old boxes, and the cakes were cut, and the
lemonade went pop, and the dolls' cups and saucers were brought into
great requisition, and time went very merrily both for the naughty
little girl and the Rectory children. After the meal came to an end
Phyllis began to show the toys she no longer required--the
rocking-horse, which her father had given her when she was four years
old, and which she had ceased to ride, and the big, big, wonderful
dolls' house which Susie, aged ten, still found one of the most
fascinating things in the world.
"You can have them all over at the Rectory," said Phyllis, with the
royal airs of a young queen. "You can send for them any day you like;
and there is a box full of dolls over there, and a trunk of dolls'
clothes. I don't want them--I don't care for those sort of things
without playmates. I tired of them long, long ago, but you can have
them."
"Oh, I say, Phyllis," cried Susie, and she put both her arms round
Phyllis's neck, "can't you come and play with all the darling, lovely
toys with playmates over at the Rectory?"
"Yes, I could do that," said Phyllis, looking wistful; "and I love you
all," she cried. "I have been an awfully happy girl to-day if it were
not for Miss Fleet."