"Dear Master,--If you cannot come back in two days, please send for
Miss Phyllis to town. Urgent.--Nurse."
This rather startling telegram reached the Squire in London about the
middle of the day. Now, it so happened that he had made arrangements
not only not to return to the Hall in two days' time, but, further, to
go with a friend on special and urgent business to Scotland. They would
both be travelling about a good deal, and to have Phyllis with them
would be absolutely impossible; so the Squire contented himself with
writing a long letter to Nurse, and giving her an address which would
find him in case of need, and enclosing a five-pound note, which was to
be spent on any special thing which Phyllis liked best to have. He also
wrote to Miss Fleet, not, of course, alluding to Nurse's telegram, but
speaking with great affection about his child.
"You must be as good to her as ever you can," he said. "I need scarcely
say that I know you will be. I am sorry to be so long away from the
dear child, but she will have her little friends, and doubtless their
company will do much to sweeten her life."
This letter Miss Fleet received the following morning. She read it
deliberately. Phyllis watched her face all the while.
"Well," said Phyllis, who had been as good as gold on the previous day,
"when is Father coming back?"
"He does not say a word about coming back, Phyllis. Oh yes, though; he
says in his postscript that we must expect him when we see him."
"Then he will not be back to-morrow night?"
"Certainly not, dear. He is going to Scotland."
Phyllis's face turned very white. Miss Fleet looked full at her.
"My dear," she said, "you have pleased me much by your conduct
yesterday, and I trust until your father's return you will be equally
good; then I shall have a delightful report to render him."
Phyllis made no remark. She would keep her word, certainly, as far as
it went, but to-morrow she fully meant to see the children of the
Rectory. This night would end the second day of her promise; she would
consider herself free the next morning. With all her faults she was a
very honest child. She looked full at Miss Fleet now.
"I won't deceive you," she said. "I made you a promise, and I will keep
it; but, please, you can understand that my promise ends to-night. I
mean that when this time to-morrow arrives, I won't have made you any
promise with regard to being good or bad."
As Phyllis uttered these words the governess's eyes rested on that
portion of the Squire's letter which expressed satisfaction at his
little girl's having companions to play with.
"If he knew," thought Miss Fleet, "what thoroughly naughty children they
are, he would certainly approve of my determination not to allow Phyllis
to have anything to do with them. Yes, I must be guided by my own
common-sense in the matter."
Miss Fleet therefore now looked full up at the little girl, and said
slowly and gently:
"All the same, I do not think you will make me unhappy while your father
is away."
Some one called the governess hastily; she ran out of the room. Phyllis
continued her breakfast, feeling extremely discontented.
"Oh, I do wish Dad would come back!" she said to herself. "It is more
than horrid to have him away. What am I to do? I know he would not
mind my playing with the children."
As these thoughts came to her, she saw her father's letter lying upon
Miss Fleet's plate. Phyllis was a thoroughly honourable child, and she
would not have read the letter for worlds, but just then, as if to tempt
her to the uttermost, a puff of wind came in through the open window.
The letter, written on thin paper, fluttered to the floor, and as
Phyllis sprang to pick it up, her eyes fell on the very words she was
not meant to see. She turned very white, and a look of resolution
crossed her face.
"So Father approves. Then I am quite right, and I will disobey
to-morrow," she thought.
She put the letter back on Miss Fleet's plate, and a moment later her
governess came in.
"Fleetie," said the little girl, "do you know what has happened since
you left the room? This letter was blown off your plate by a gust of
wind. I jumped up to put it back again, and I saw the words in which
Father said that he was glad that I had playmates, so after that of
course you will not object to my playing with the Rectory children?"
Miss Fleet's face turned very red.
"Am I to believe this story or not, Phyllis?" she said. "Is it possible
that you did not read the letter on purpose?"
"I have told you just the very exact truth," replied Phyllis. "You can
believe it or not, as you please."
She then got up and marched out of the room.
"Dear, dear!" thought Miss Fleet, "how very difficult it is sometimes to
know what is right!"
The rest of the day passed quietly, and Phyllis was still a model child.
She did her different lessons to the absolute satisfaction of her
governess, and the time slipped by quickly.
"We have had a happy day," said Miss Fleet as she kissed the little girl
just before her bed-hour. "I hope it is a forerunner of many others
just as happy." Phyllis looked full at her, but did not speak. Miss
Fleet tried hard to read the thoughts which were behind those frank grey
eyes. Presently the little girl left the room and went to bed.
The next morning she awoke very early. She had a curious sense of
something delightful, and, at the same time, very disagreeable, which
was happening. At first her memory would not serve her right, but then
it rushed back, and she knew everything.
"I have been good for two days, and I have not promised to be good for
another instant," she said to herself. "I can do what I like to-day,
and Father wants me to play with the Rectory children."
She raised herself on her elbow and looked at a little clock on the
mantelpiece. She wondered why Nurse had not come in to dress her as
usual. The clock pointed to a quarter past seven. The first rays of
the wintry light were streaming in at the window. Phyllis got softly up
and washed herself after a fashion, got into her clothes, and before
Nurse appeared on the scene was already out. She walked quickly in the
direction of the Rectory; excitement filled her breast; she was
intensely interested in what she was about to do. Should she by any
chance meet Ralph! How glad she would be to spring to his side, and to
say:
"It is all right now, Ralph. I have kept my promise, and we can play
together quite happily this afternoon."
But there was no Ralph about; nor was there any Susie or Rosie. She
presently reached the Rectory gates, and walked up the avenue. She had
started out without her breakfast, and she was very hungry, and it
occurred to her that she might ask Mrs Hilchester to give her something
to eat.
"Of course, I cannot stay long," she thought. "I must be honourable
whatever happens. I must be back with Miss Fleet in time for lessons.
Then in the afternoon the children can come over to me, and we can have
a real good time." But all Phyllis's gay resolves and all her plans for
the afternoon were suddenly put a stop to by the appearance of a
gentleman who was driving down the avenue. He stopped when he saw the
little girl, and put his head out.
"Are you not Miss Harringay?" he said. "Yes; I thought so. Please, do
not go up to the Rectory."
"Why not?" said Phyllis.
"I have just been there, and two of the children are not well. Pray, go
home as quickly as possible. May I give you a seat in my carriage? It
is rather early for a little girl like yourself to be out."
"No, thank you," answered Phyllis, with dignity.
She felt angry with the doctor, who had often seen her on her pony, and
had recognised her at once.
What business had he to interfere? And if the children were ill, it was
all the more reason why she should go and find out about them.
So she waited until his carriage had turned an angle of the avenue, and
then, putting wings to her feet, ran up in the direction of the house.
The hall door was wide open. She rang the bell. No one attended to her
summons. She heard voices in the distance--the quick voice of Mrs
Hilchester as she bustled about. Then a child came down the stairs--a
child with a rosy face, and with marks of tears round her eyes. The
moment she saw Phyllis she rushed to meet her.
"Oh, Phyl! Phyl!" she exclaimed. "It is Ralph, and he is very ill. We
do not know what he has got, we don't; and the doctor does not know, but
he thinks perhaps he has something bad; and Susie is ill too. Oh! her
throat is so sore, and the doctor says--"
But what further Rosie would have uttered was fiercely interrupted. Mrs
Hilchester came out and stood in the hall.
"Rosie," she said, "how dare you! Who is this little girl?"
"I am Phyllis Harringay," answered Phyllis stoutly. "And," she added,
"I am very sorry to hear that Ralph is ill. Please, may I come and sit
with him, and tell him funny stories, and amuse him; and may I see
Susie? I am so fond of them both, and of Rosie too. Oh, please, please
let me!"
Mrs Hilchester fairly gasped.
"Two days ago," she said, "you would not have come here. Two days ago
you invited my children to go to you, and then sent a note telling them
not to come. Two days ago your governess was here--a most offensive
person--and now, now you come. Do you think we want you here? Go away
at once--at once--and get your nurse to change your things, and--Here, I
will write her a note. Go out, child, and stand in the open air. Oh,
this is too distracting!" Mrs Hilchester disappeared into her little
sitting-room. There she wrote a few lines, folded them up, sprayed them
with a sanitas spray which stood near, and put them into an envelope.
She gave the envelope to Phyllis.
"Take that back with you," she said, "and do not come near the place for
the present."
"But I am so sorry," said poor little Phyllis, and her bright eyes
filled with tears.
"There, dear, there; I know you mean all right. But go now, for
Heaven's sake!--Rosie, my dear, come with me."
Phyllis and Rosie looked longingly one at the other for the world of
things they could talk about, for the world of sympathy each could have
shown to the other; but for a reason unknown to either little girl, it
was dangerous for them to meet. Phyllis walked very sadly back to her
own home; her mother took Rosie into the parlour.
"You and Ned are going to your uncle Joe's as soon as ever your father
can take you," she said. "If you are at all ill, or you have the
slightest headache, you are to be sent back here; but there is just a
possibility that you may escape. And now, my dear little girl, don't go
upstairs, and don't talk to any one as you have just spoken to poor
little Miss Harringay. You were very imprudent. Did I not tell you
that you were not to speak to any other child?"
"But, oh, Mother! she looked so sweet, and she did promise the
rocking-horse, and the baby-house, and--and I could not help myself,
Mother, I could not really."
"Well, don't cry, child. Sit down and eat your breakfast. God help us
all, I only trust you have escaped infection, and that she, poor little
girl! has not received it from you."
Mrs Hilchester left the room. Rosie sat down close to the fire; she did
not like to own it to herself, but her head did ache just a tiny bit,
and her throat felt dry, and it hurt her to swallow, and as to eating
her breakfast, she could not even think of such a thing. Oh! it would
be very dreary at Uncle Joe's, even though Ned would be with her. She
would think all the time of Susie's burning eyes as she looked at her
out of her little bed, and hear her cry for "water, water," as she,
Rosie, had administered it to her at intervals all night; and however
hard she tried to shut her ears, she would hear Ralph's groans in his
sickroom close by. Oh, what was the use of going away? Of course, she
was not ill, and it would be horrid at Uncle Joe's; and suppose--suppose
Phyllis got ill! But of course she would not. Why should she? If only
she might go and stay with Phyllis at the Hall? If only she could find
her way to the attic where the rocking-horse and the baby-house were!
But, of course, Mother would not agree to that.
"Rosie, wake up," said her mother; "you are half asleep, dear. Why do
you not take your breakfast?"
"I am not hungry, Mother."
"Does your head ache?"
"Yes, Mother, a little."
"How is your throat?"
"It only hurts a very little. I am all right, Mother. Is that the cab
at the door? Are we to go?"
"Wait a moment, my dear."
Mrs Hilchester went into the hall. Her husband was waiting to take Ned
and Rosie away with him.
"Well," he said, "are the children ready? I really must be off; there
is a wedding at twelve o'clock to-day, and it is some distance to my
brother's."
"Rosie cannot go," said poor Mrs Hilchester.
"What! is she bad too?"
"I fear it; I greatly fear it. We cannot send her away until we are
sure."
"Well, anyhow, Ned is all right. Jump into the cab, Ned, and let us be
off."