“Convalescence,” remarked Peggy elegantly, a week later on,
“convalescence is a period not entirely devoid of compensation!” She
was lying on a sofa in her bedroom at the Larches, wrapped in her white
dressing-gown, and leaning against a nest of pink silk cushions; and
what with a table drawn up by her side laden with grapes and jelly, a
pile of Christmas numbers lying by her side, and the presence of an
audience consisting of Rosalind, Lady Darcy and Mrs. Asplin, ready to
listen admiringly to her conversation, and to agree enthusiastically
with every word she uttered, it did indeed seem as if the position was
one which might be endured with fortitude! Many were the questions
which had been showered upon her since her return to consciousness,
and the listeners never grew tired of listening to her account of the
accident. How Rosalind had clutched too carelessly at the slender
candlestick so that it had fallen forward, setting the gauze dress in
flames, and how she herself had flown out of the room, torn down the
curtains which draped the “harem” and had flung them round the frantic,
struggling figure. There were a dozen questions which they were longing
to ask, but the remembrance of that tragic evening seemed to excite the
little invalid, so that for the present they remained unspoken.
With every day that passed, however, Peggy gained more strength, and
was petted to her heart’s content by everyone in the house. The old
lord kissed her fondly on the cheek and murmured, “God reward you, my
brave girl, for I never can.” Lady Darcy shed tears every morning when
the burns were dressed, and said; “Oh, Peggy dear, forgive me for being
cross, and do, do be sure to use the lotion for your arms regularly
every day when you get better!” and the big Doctor chucked her under
the chin and cried,
“Well, ‘Fighting Saville,’ and how are we to-day? You are the pluckiest
little patient I’ve had for a long time. I’ll say that for you! Let’s
have another taste of the rack!”... It was all most agreeable and
soothing to one’s feelings!
One of the first questions Peggy asked after her return to
consciousness was as to how much her father and mother had been told of
her accident, and whether the news had been sent by letter or cable.
“By letter, dear,” Mrs. Asplin replied. “We talked it over very
carefully, and concluded that that would be best. You know, dearie, we
were very, very anxious about you for a few days, but the doctor said
that it would be useless cabling to your mother, because if all went
well you would be up again before she could arrive, and if—if it had
gone the other way, Peggy, she could not have been in time. I sent her
a letter, and I have written every mail since, and now we are going to
calculate the time when the first letter will arrive, and send a cable
to say that you are quite out of danger, and sitting up, and getting
hungrier and more mischievous with every day as it passes!”
“Thank you,” said Peggy warmly. “That’s very kind. I am glad you
thought of that, but will you please promise not to be economical about
the cable? They won’t care about the money. Spend pounds over it if it
is necessary, but do, do manage to make them believe that I am quite
perky. Put at the end ‘Peggy says she is perky!’ They will know that
is genuine, and it will convince them more than anything else.” And so
those five expressive words went flashing across the world at the end
of a long message, and brought comfort to two hearts that had been near
to breaking.
So soon as Peggy was pronounced to be out of danger, Mrs. Asplin went
back to the vicarage, leaving her in the charge of the kind hospital
nurse, though for that matter every member of the household took it in
turns to wait upon her. A dozen times a day the master and mistress
of the house would come into the sick-room to inquire how things were
going, or to bring some little gift for the invalid, and as she grew
stronger it became the custom for father, mother and daughter to join
her at her early tea. Peggy watched them from her sofa, too weak to
speak much, but keenly alive to all that was going on, among other
things to the change which had come over these three persons since she
had known them first. Lord Darcy had always been kind and considerate,
but his manner seemed gentler and more courteous than ever, while
Rosalind’s amiability was an hourly surprise, and Lady Darcy’s manner
had lost much of its snappish discontent. On one occasion when her
husband made some little request, she replied in a tone so sweet and
loving that the listener started with surprise. What could it be that
had worked this transformation? She did not realise that when the Angel
of Death has hovered over a household, and has at last flown away with
empty arms, leaving the home untouched, they would be hard hearts that
were not touched, ungrateful natures that did not take thought of
themselves, and face life with a higher outlook! Lady Darcy’s social
disappointments seemed light compared with the awful “might have been”;
while Rosalind’s lamentations over her disfigurement had died away at
the sight of Peggy’s unconscious form. Perhaps when Lord Darcy thanked
Peggy for all she had done for him and his, he had other thoughts in
his mind than the mere physical deliverance of which she had been the
instrument!
Arthur had been kept well informed of his sister’s recovery, and proved
himself the kindest of brothers, sending letters by the dozen, full of
such nonsensical jokes, anecdotes, and illustrations, as would have
cheered the gloomiest invalid in the world. But the happiest day of
all was when the great news arrived that his name was placed first
of all in the list of successful candidates for Sandhurst. This was
indeed tidings of comfort and joy! Peggy clapped her bandaged hands
together, and laughed aloud with tears of pain streaming down her face.
“Arthur Saville, V.C., Arthur Saville, V.C.,” she cried, and then fell
to groaning because some days must still elapse before the medical
examination was over, and her hero was set free to hasten to her side.
“And I shall be back at the vicarage then, and we shall all be
together! Oh, let us be joyful! How happy I am! What a nice old world
it is, after all,” she continued hilariously, while Rosalind gazed at
her with reproachful eyes.
“Are you so glad to go away? I shall be vewy, vewy sowwy—I’ll miss
you awfully. I shall feel that there is nothing to do when you have
gone away, Peggy!” Rosalind hesitated, and looked at her companion in
uncertain bashful fashion. “I—I think you like me a little bit now, and
I’m vewwy fond of you, but you couldn’t bear me before we were ill. You
might tell me why?”
“I was jealous of you,” said Peggy promptly, whereat Rosalind’s eyes
filled with tears.
“You won’t be jealous now!” she said dismally, and raised her head to
stare at her own reflection in the mirror. The hair, which had once
streamed below her waist, was now cut short round her head, her face
had lost its delicate bloom, and an ugly scar disfigured her throat
and the lower portion of one cheek. Beautiful she must always be, with
her faultless features and wonderful eyes, but the bloom and radiance
of colour which had been her chief charm had disappeared, for the time
being, as completely as though they had never existed.
“I’ll love you more,” said Peggy reassuringly. “You are ever so much
nicer, and you will be as pretty as ever when your hair grows, and the
marks fade away. I like you better when you are not quite so pretty,
for you really were disgustingly conceited, weren’t you now? You can’t
deny it.”
“Oh, Peggy Saville, and so were you! I saw that the first moment you
came into the woom! You flared up like a Turkey cock if anyone dared
to offend your dignity, and you were always widing about on your high
horse tossing your head, and using gweat long words.”
“That’s pride, not conceit. It’s quite a different thing.”
“It seems very much alike to other people,” said Rosalind shrewdly.
“We both gave ourselves airs, and the wesult was the same,
whatever caused it. I was pwoud of my face, and you were pwoud of
your—your—er—family—and your cleverness and—the twicks you played, so
if I confess, you ought to confess too. I’m sorry I aggwavated you,
Mawiquita, and took all the pwaise for the decowations. It was howwibly
mean, and I don’t wonder you were angwy. I’m sorry that I was selfish!”
“I exceedingly regret that I formed a false estimate of your character!
Let’s be chums!” said Peggy sweetly, and the two girls eyed one another
uncertainly for a moment, then bent forward and exchanged a kiss of
conciliation, after which unusual display of emotion, they were seized
with instant embarrassment.
“Hem!” said Peggy. “It’s very cold! Fire rather low, I think. Looks as
if it were going to snow.”
“No,” said Rosalind, “I mean—yes. I’ll put on some more—I mean coals.
In half an hour Esther and Mellicent will be here——”
“Oh, so they will! How lovely!” Peggy seized gladly on the new opening,
and proceeded to enlarge on the joy which she felt at the prospect
of seeing her friends again, for on that afternoon, Robert and the
vicarage party were to be allowed to see her for the first time, and to
have tea in her room. She had been looking forward to their visit for
days, and now that the longed-for hour was at hand, she was eager to
have the lamps lit, and all preparations made for their arrival.
Robert appeared first, having ridden over in advance of the rest. And
Rosalind, after going out to greet him, came rushing back, all shaking
with laughter, with the information that he had begun to walk on
tip-toe the moment that he had left the drawing-room, and was creeping
along the passage as if the floor were made of egg-shells.
Peggy craned her head, heard the squeak, squeak of boots coming nearer
and nearer, the cautious opening of the door, the heavy breaths of
anxiety, and then, crash!—bang!—crash! down flopped the heavy screen
round the doorway, and Rob was discovered standing among the ruins in
agonies of embarrassment. From his expression of despair, he might have
supposed that the shock would kill Peggy outright; but she gulped down
her nervousness, and tried her best to reassure him.
“Oh, never mind—never mind! It doesn’t matter. Come over here and talk
to me. Oh, Rob, Rob, I am so glad to see you!”
Robert stood looking down in silence, while his lips twitched and his
eyebrows worked in curious fashion. If it had not been altogether too
ridiculous, Peggy would have thought that he felt inclined to cry. But
he only grunted, and cried—
“What a face! You had better tuck into as much food as you can, and get
some flesh on your bones. It’s about as big as the palm of my hand!
Never saw such a thing in my life.”
“Never mind my face,” piped Peggy in her weak little treble. “Sit right
down and talk to me. What is the news in the giddy world? Have you
heard anything about the prize? When does the result come out? Remember
you promised faithfully not to open the paper until we were together. I
was so afraid it would come while I was too ill to look at it!”
“I should have waited,” said Robert sturdily. “There would have been no
interest in the thing without you; but the result won’t be given for
ten days yet, and by that time you will be with us again. The world
hasn’t been at all giddy, I can tell you. I never put in a flatter
time. Everybody was in the blues, and the house was like a tomb, and
a jolly uncomfortable tomb at that. Esther was housekeeper while Mrs.
Asplin was away, and she starved us! She was in such a mortal fright of
being extravagant, that she would scarcely give us enough to keep body
and soul together, and the things we had were not fit to eat. Nothing
but milk puddings and stewed fruit for a week on end. Then we rebelled.
I nipped her up in my arms one evening in the school-room and stuck her
on the top of the little book-case. Then we mounted guard around, and
set forth our views. It would have killed you to see her perched up
there, trying to look prim and to keep up her dignity.
“‘Let me down this moment, Robert! Bring a chair and let me get down.’
“‘Will you promise to give us a pie to-morrow then, and a decent sort
of a pudding?’
“‘It’s no business of yours what I give you. You ought to be thankful
for good wholesome food!’
“‘Milk puddings are not wholesome. They don’t agree with us—they are
too rich! We should like something a little lighter for a change. Will
you swear off milk puddings for the next fortnight if I let you down?’
“‘You are a cruel, heartless fellow, Robert Darcy—thinking of puddings
when Peggy is ill, and we are all so anxious about her!’
“‘Peggy would die at once if she heard how badly you were treating us.
Now then, you have kept me waiting for ten minutes, so the price has
gone up. You’ll have to promise a pair of ducks and mince pies into the
bargain! I shall be ashamed of meeting a sheep soon, if we go on eating
mutton every day of the week.’
“‘Call yourself a gentleman!’ says she, tossing her head and withering
me with a glance of scorn.
“‘I call myself a hungry man, and that’s all we are concerned about for
the moment,’ said I. ‘A couple of ducks and two nailing good puddings
to-morrow night, or there you sit for the rest of the evening!’
“We went at it hammer and tongs until she was fairly spluttering with
rage; but she had to promise before she came down, and we had no more
starvation diet after that. Oswald went up to town for a day and bought
a pair of blue silk socks and a tie to match—that’s the greatest
excitement we have had. The rest has been all worry and grind, and
Mellicent on the rampage about Christmas presents. Oh, by-the-by, I
printed those photographs you wanted to send to your mother, and packed
them off by the mail a fortnight ago, so that she would get them in
good time for Christmas.”
“Rob, you didn’t! How noble of you! You really are an admirable
person!” Peggy lay back against her pillows and gazed at her “partner”
in great contentment of spirit. After living an invalid’s life for
these past weeks it was delightfully refreshing to look at the big
strong face. The sight of it was like a fresh breeze coming into the
close, heated room, and she felt as if some of his superabundant energy
had come into her own weak frame.
A little later the vicarage party arrived, and greeted the two
convalescents with warmest affection. If they were shocked at the sight
of Rosalind’s disfigurement and Peggy’s emaciation, three out of the
four were polite enough to disguise their feelings; but it was too much
to expect of Mellicent that she should disguise what she happened to
be feeling. She stared and gaped, and stared again, stuttering with
consternation—
“Why—why—Rosalind—your hair! It’s shorter than mine! It doesn’t come
down to your shoulders! Did they cut it all off? What did you do with
the rest? And your poor cheek! Will you have that mark all your life?”
“I don’t know. Mother is going to twy electwicity for it. It will fade
a good deal, I suppose, but I shall always be a fwight. I’m twying to
wesign myself to being a hideous monster!” sighed Rosalind, turning
her head towards the window the while in such a position that the scar
was hidden from view, and she looked more like the celestial choir-boy
of Peggy’s delirium than ever, with the golden locks curling round her
neck, and the big eyes raised to the ceiling in a glance of pathetic
resignation.
Rob guffawed aloud with the callousness of a brother; but the other
two lads gazed at her with an adoring admiration, which was balm to
her vain little heart. Vain still, for a nature does not change in a
day, and though Rosalind was an infinitely more lovable person now than
she had been a few weeks before, the habits of a life-time were still
strong upon her, and she could never by any possibility be indifferent
to admiration, or pass a mirror without stopping to examine the
progress of that disfiguring scar.
“It wouldn’t have mattered half so much if it had been Peggy’s face
that was spoiled,” continued Mellicent with cruel outspokenness, “and
it is only her hands that are hurt. Things always go the wrong way in
this world! I never saw anything like it. You know that night-dress
bag I was working for mother, Peggy? Well, I only got two skeins of
the blue silk, and then if I didn’t run short, and they hadn’t any
more in the shop. The other shades don’t match at all, and it looks
simply vile. I am going to give it to—ahem! I mean that’s the sort of
thing that always happens to me—it makes me mad! You can’t sew at all,
I suppose. What do you do with yourself all day long now that you are
able to get up?”
Peggy’s eyes twinkled.
“I sleep,” she said slowly, “and eat, and sleep a little more, and eat
again, and talk a little bit, roll into bed, and fall fast asleep.
Voilà tout, ma chère! C’est ça que je fais tous les jours.”
Rosalind gave a shriek of laughter at Peggy’s French, and Mellicent
rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
“How s—imply lovely!” she sighed. “I wish I were you! I’d like to go to
bed in November and stay there till May. In a room like this of course,
with everything beautiful and dainty, and a maid to wait upon me. I’d
have a fire and an india-rubber hot-water bottle, and I’d lie and sleep
and wake up every now and then and make the maid read aloud, and bring
me my meals on a tray. Nice meals! Real, nice invalidy things, you
know, to tempt my appetite.” Mellicent’s eyes rolled instinctively to
the table where the jelly and the grapes stood together in tempting
proximity. She sighed, and brought herself back with an effort to the
painful present. “Goodness, Peggy, how funny your hands look! Just
like a mummy! What do they look like when the bandages are off? Very
horrible?”
“Hideous!” Peggy shrugged her shoulders and wrinkled her nose in
disgust. “I am going to try to grow old as fast as I can, so that I
can wear mittens and cover them up. I’m really rather distressed about
it because I am so—so addicted to rings, don’t you know. They have
been a weakness of mine all my life, and I’ve looked forward to having
my fingers simply loaded with them when I grew up. There is one of
mother’s that I especially admire, a big square emerald surrounded with
diamonds. She promised to give it to me on my twenty-first birthday,
but unless my hands look very different by that time, I shall not want
to call attention to them. Alack-a-day! I fear I shall never be able to
wear a ring——”
“Gracious goodness! Then you can never be married!” ejaculated
Mellicent in a tone of such horrified dismay, as evoked a shriek of
merriment from the listeners, Peggy’s merry trill sounding clear above
the rest. It was just delicious to be well again, to sit among her
companions and have one of the old hearty laughs over Mellicent’s
quaint speeches. At that moment she was one of the happiest girls in
all the world!
(_To be continued._)
VARIETIES.
HOW TO READ.
“With the heart as well as the head,
Books worth reading must be read.”
GIVING.
Give, give, be always giving;
Who gives not is not living.
The more we give
The more we live.
GRAMMAR.—A school teacher, near Dawson, Ga., having instructed a pupil
to purchase a grammar, the next day received a note, thus worded, from
the child’s mother:—“I do not desire for Lula shall ingage in grammar
as i prefer her ingage in yuseful studies and can learn her how to
spoke and write properly myself. I have went through two grammars and
can’t say as they did me no good. I prefer her ingage in german and
drawing and vokal music on the piano.”
THE BOOK OF THE SKY.
The great French writer, Victor Hugo, wrote delightful letters to his
children, as we might expect from the fond and playful author of _L’Art
d’être Grandpère_. From one of them we take the following passage. It
occurs in a letter sent from Boulogne to his favourite daughter.
“All day,” he says, “I was looking at churches and pictures and then
at night I gazed at the sky, and thought once more of you as I watched
that beautiful constellation, the Chariot of God, which I have taught
you to distinguish among the stars.
“See, my child, how great God is, and how small we are. Where we put
dots of ink He puts suns. These are the letters which He writes. The
sky is His book. I shall bless God if you are always able to read it,
and I hope you may.”
ANSWER TO TRIPLE ACROSTIC I. (p. 299).
1. I d L e R[A]
2. R I O[B]
3. I o L a S[C]
4. S t Y l E[D]
Iris—Lily—Rose.
[A] One of the periodicals which, like the _Spectator_, _Rambler_,
_Tatler_, &c., were so popular in the early part of the eighteenth
century.
[B] One of the finest and safest ports in the world. The city was
founded in January, 1565, by the Portuguese, who mistook the beautiful
bay for the mouth of a large river, and gave it the name of Rio de
Janeiro.
[C] The companion of Hercules, when he destroyed the Lernœan Hydra.
[D] The Roman stylus or style was a sharp point, used for writing on a
waxen tablet. The old style was altered in 1582 by Pope Gregory XII.
and consisted of passing over ten days in the October of that year; but
the new style was not adopted in England until 1752, when the omission
of eleven days became necessary in order to rectify the Calendar.
A NEW GAME;
OR,
“HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?”
I went out the other night to an evening party, a thoroughly enjoyable
one of the old-fashioned type, where we played games, did what we
liked, and were not afraid of being thought silly because we were
amused by simple things. One of the games struck me as peculiarly
pretty and not too difficult for anyone to join in, and as it was new
to me I write it down in case our girls have not heard of it before.
It was started during supper by one of the two hostesses remarking, “I
have a little garden and in it I buried a private soldier. What flower
did he come up?”
As we none of us guessed it she gave us the answer, “A scarlet runner!”
but carefully explained that he ran towards the foe, not away from him!
Then someone next her went on, “I, too, have a little garden and in it
I buried my lover wounded in the wars. What flower did he come up?”
The answer to this was, “Love lies bleeding.”
A young lady present whose father is a well-known editor, and is called
John, covered herself with glory by burying him and announcing that he
came up a “Jon-quil!”
She also buried her youngest brother Willie, who strongly objected
to the process, but was mollified when he found he came up as “Sweet
William!”
I personally “buried my lover in a London fog,” so that he came up
“Love in a Mist.”
The fun grew fast and furious till trees and vegetables came into play,
and one girl paid a pretty compliment by asking, “I buried a pretty
person. What tree did she come up?” but no one must guess it as the
answer is “Yew!”
Below I give a few questions and answers to make it clear.
Of course these are only a few, but anyone could easily find out as
many more, and it is surprising how readily suitable symbols come to
your mind and how interesting the game becomes.
It can also be amplified into buried cities, but the floral form is the
prettiest of any.
QUESTION. ANSWER.
I buried a satin shoe,
and it came up as A lady’s slipper.
I buried a race-horse,
and it came up as Speed-well.
I buried a tramp, and
he came up as Ragged Robin.
I buried my sorrows,
and they came up as Sweet peas (peace).
I buried a kiss, and it
came up as Tulips (two lips).
I buried a colt, and it
came up A peony (pony).
I buried a special dog,
and it came up A cauliflower (collie).
I buried the sea-shore,
and it came up A beech (beach).
I buried a secret, and it
came up Inviolate (violet).
I buried the Union Jack
and Stars and Stripes,
and they came up as Flags!
I buried a well-dressed
Society hero, and he
came up A dandelion.
I buried a bird and a
piece of metal, and
they came up as Lark-spur.
I buried a pony’s hoof,
and it came up as Colt’s-foot.
I buried two invalid
bachelors, and they
came up as Cyclamen (sickly men).
[Illustration]
HIS GREAT REWARD.