HOW PAUL BORE IT.
Stella and Michael had finished their breakfast and were playing together.
Michael was standing up in the high window-seat, grasping a long pole with
a curtain hook at the end of it, with which he made frantic but futile
efforts to land Stella, who was dashing about in a perfectly break-neck
fashion in a box on the floor.
"We are playing at being in Norway," he shouted, when he caught sight of
his elder brother. "Stella has been wrecked, and is trying to get to land
in a boat, but the waves are dashing it on the rocks so hard, she will be
wrecked before I can land her, if I don't take care."
Here Stella banged her box against the wall, and rebounded again.
"I have got to catch her with the boat hook, and then I shall drag her
boat--" But Stella had caught sight of Paul's face, and abandoning her
boat to the mercy of the waves, she walked out of her apparently perilous
position and caught Paul's arm.
"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously. "They haven't made the
holidays shorter, have they?" This was always one of her greatest fears.
"Don't be silly!" snapped Paul crossly. "As if they could. Why, if they
were to try to I'd refuse to go."
Stella looked awed, but anxious. "Do tell me, Paul, what is it!
Is father cross with you?"
At these words a recollection of his father's gentleness and trouble came
over him, and he felt a little ashamed and sorry. "No, no," he said,
sinking into a chair by the table, and letting his head fall forward on
his arms, "I wouldn't mind that so much if--if, oh, it's awfully hard
lines, it--"
Stella waited patiently. She was a sensible little woman, and not such a
baby as Paul chose to consider her. Because she had meals with Michael in
the nursery, that she might be a companion for him, Paul was in the habit
of looking on her as of Michael's age, and understanding. He forgot that
at her age he had considered himself old enough to quit the nursery meals
for the dining-room, and had done so too. Stella was four years older
than her younger brother, and there was a great deal of the little mother
in the way she cared for him. But Paul, boy-like, saw only that she
joined in Michael's games, and was apparently quite content, so he rather
despised her.
"What is it, Paul? Do tell me!" she pleaded at last. She longed to put
her arms about him, and try to comfort him; but since he had been at
school he had grown, as does many a boy, to object to endearments, and to
think them something to be ashamed of. Her heart grew heavy with a
nameless fear. Michael, too, ceased to complain of Stella's having left
her boat and her game, and looked with wondering eyes at his
grief-stricken elder brother. It was so unusual to see Paul cast down
like this.
"We aren't going to Norway, after all," said Paul--he spoke gruffly to try
to conceal the sob in his throat,--"and I call it beastly hard lines.
It isn't as though it would cost so very much more than any other holiday,
and father knows we have never been so far before, and how we were looking
forward to it, and that I--"
"Not going to Norway!" cried Stella, in an accent almost of relief.
"Oh, is that all? I was afraid something dreadful had happened."
She could not help the feeling, she had been so frightened by a nameless
fear she could scarcely have put into words. But when the first relief
was over the disappointment came home to her keenly. Paul had painted in
such glowing colours all the joys, and adventures, and wonderful things
which lay in store, that that trip was no ordinary one for them.
It was the great event of their lifetime. It was to have been one long
experience of travel by day and night, by sea and land, and of adventure
with strange and wild creatures--Vikings, wolves, reindeers, Valkyries,
giants, ice-mountains, and caves, fairies and fairies' homes. Stella had
never been able to make up her mind as to what Vikings and Valkyries would
be like, but they were all one delightful thrilling jumble of wild
animals, giants, and strange people, such as ordinary persons never set
eyes on.
"Oh, Paul, it can't be really true?" she cried, in great distress.
"Oh, you don't care," snapped Paul, crossly, "so don't pretend. You can't
care, so don't put it on. You said 'Is that all?' as if it were nothing.
But of course one can't expect much from a girl. I believe you were
really frightened at going and are glad we are not."
Stella's lip quivered. "I was _not_ frightened," she said stoutly,
"and I am _not_ glad; but I thought at first something dreadful had
happened to father or mother--I didn't know what, but something dreadful."
Paul snorted contemptuously. "I wouldn't have minded anything else as
much as this," he said loftily, putting on a very superior air.
"If you had your leg cut off you couldn't _never_ go to fight wolves,"
said Michael soberly. He had been standing, boat-hook in hand, listening
to the conversation. To him to have a leg cut off seemed the most
dreadful thing that could happen.
"But, Paul, why can't we go?" asked Stella, her brother's injustice fading
at once from her mind. "Do you know?"
"Yes, I know. Father told me all about it. He has lost a heap of money,
and we've got to get rid of most of the horses and the servants, and--"
He stopped suddenly in alarm; he was already abusing that confidence his
father had placed in him. Nurse was in the adjoining room and the door
between was open. Supposing she had heard, what should he do? He could
never undo his foolish speech! He peeped at her in a state of great
alarm. No, she was dusting under the bed, and could not have heard,--at
least he thought not. Stella and Michael must be bound over to secrecy.
"Don't you ever dare to tell any one what I have told you!" he said
sternly. "Promise, honour bright. Mind Mike, if you do, I'll--I'll--
well, you'll soon find out who comes after sneaks!"
"Be quiet, Paul. How dare you? You are not to frighten him like that,"
cried Stella indignantly. "Mikey is not a sneak, and you ought not to
tell stories about bogies coming. You know there aren't any."
"Frighten!" retorted Paul; "he _must_ be a coward if that frightens him,"
but he had the grace to look ashamed.
"You meant to frighten him," said Stella stoutly; "you know you did, and
you are very mean."
Paul tried to turn the conversation. He felt ashamed of himself, and did
not like the feeling at all. "Well, if you want to know why we are not
going to Norway, you had better go and ask mother. I mustn't tell you
what father told me, so it is no use to try to make me."
"Is mother--is mother unhappy about it, Paul?"
"I should just think she is, and father too."
"Did daddy cry?" asked Michael, his big eyes growing bigger with awe.
"Cry! Men don't cry; but mother did."
At which Stella's little heart overflowed with love, and her eyes filled
with tears. "I'm going to see her," she said tearfully. "She mustn't be
sad. I'll tell her it doesn't matter a bit, we don't mind not going.
I don't want to go for a cruise. I'd quite as soon stay at home, and--I
can take care of Michael, or I can dust, or--or--" The rest of her
sentence was lost as she rushed out of the nursery and down to her
mother's room.
"Mother!" she cried, flinging herself into her arms, and clasping her
round the neck. "Mummy, dear, I am so sorry; but we don't mind the least
little bit. We don't want to have any holiday at all this year, only
don't you cry any more, mummy darling," and she kissed her again and
again, striving all she knew to make up to her for the trouble which had
befallen them.