The Cuckoo's Progress
"Your bear cub still needs taming, Ulyth," said Gertrude Oliver. "She
spilt her coffee this morning--such a mess on the tablecloth! I wish I
didn't sit next to her. I felt like Alice at the March Hare's
tea-party."
"It was half Maud's fault; she jerked her elbow," pleaded Ulyth in
extenuation.
"Oh, you can't whitewash her, so don't try! I won't say she isn't better
than when she arrived, but there's room for improvement."
"She's much slimmer. I suppose it must have been the voyage that had
made her grow so fat in September."
"I wish, at any rate, you could get her out of using those dreadful
backwoods expressions. It's high time she dropped them. She's been here
nearly a full term."
Ulyth thought so too, and the next time she found a suitable opportunity
she tackled Rona on the subject.
"You're too nice to speak in such a queer way. You've no idea how it
spoils you," she urged. "You could be another girl if you'd only take a
little trouble."
"What's the use? Who minds what I'm like?" returned the Cuckoo a trifle
defiantly.
"I do," said Ulyth emphatically.
"Not really?"
"Indeed I do. I care very much. You came over here to be my friend, and
there are many things I want in a friend."
"I didn't know you cared," replied Rona in a softened voice. "No one
ever did before--except Dad, when he said I was a savage."
"Don't you want to show him what you can grow into?" asked Ulyth
eagerly. "Think how surprised and pleased he'll be when he sees you
again!"
"There's something in that."
"There's a great deal in it. I know I often make myself do things I
don't want because of Mother; she's such a darling, and----" She stopped
short, realizing too late the mistake she was making.
"I can't remember Mother," answered Rona, turning away with a suggestive
cough. "It's all very well for you."
Ulyth could have bitten her tongue out. She said no more, for she knew
her room-mate well enough by this time to have learnt that sympathy must
be offered with the utmost discretion. The poor Cuckoo was only too well
aware of the deficiencies in her home and upbringing, but the least hint
of them from others immediately put her on the defensive. In her own way
she was very proud, and though there was a vast difference between
Stephanie's stinging remarks and Ulyth's well-meant kindness, anything
that savoured of compassion wounded her dignity.
The conversation brought urgently to Ulyth a question which had been
disturbing her, and which she had persistently tried to banish from her
thoughts. Where was Rona going to spend Christmas? So far as anyone knew
she had not a friend or relation in the British Isles. Miss Bowes and
Miss Teddington always went away for the holidays, and The Woodlands was
left in the charge of servants. Rona could not stay at the school,
surely? Had Miss Bowes made any arrangement for her? Ulyth vacillated
for at least five minutes, then took out her writing-case and began a
letter home.
"BEST-BELOVED MOTHERKINS,
"I am such a nasty, horrid, selfish thing! In every one of your letters
you have hinted and hinted and hinted that we should ask Rona for
Christmas. You wouldn't say it outright until you were sure I wanted it.
That was just the rub. I didn't want it. I'm afraid even now I don't
quite. I've had her all the term, and I thought it would be so blissful
to be without her for four whole weeks, and have you and Father and
Oswald and Dorothy and Peter just to myself. But oh, Motherkins, she's
such a lonely waif of a girl! I'm so dreadfully sorry for her. She seems
always out of everything. I'm sure she's never had a decent Christmas in
her life. I believe she's fond of her father, though I don't think he
took very much notice of her--she let out once that he was so
disappointed she wasn't a boy. But Mrs. Barker, the housekeeper, must
have been a most terrible person. Rona had no chance at all.
"Motherkins, she's never seen a real English home, and I'd like to show
her ours. Yes, I would, although in a way she'll spoil everything. May
she sleep in the spare room, and let me have my own to myself? I could
stand it then.
"Dearest darling, I really mean it; so will you write straight off to
Miss Bowes before I have time to turn thoroughly horrid again?
"Your very loving daughter,
"ULYTH."
Having sent off the letter, and thus burnt her boats, Ulyth accepted the
situation with what equanimity she could muster. Mrs. Stanton's
invitation arrived by return of post, and was accepted with great relief
by Miss Bowes, who had been wondering how to dispose of her pupil during
the holidays. The Cuckoo received the news with such pathetic glee that
Ulyth's heart smote her for not feeling more joyful herself.
"Are you sure you want me?" asked Rona wistfully.
"Of course we do, or we wouldn't ask you," replied Ulyth, hoping her fib
might be forgiven.
"I'll try and not disgrace you," volunteered the Cuckoo.
A few days before the end of the term Rona received a letter from New
Zealand. She rushed to Ulyth, waving it triumphantly.
"Dad's sent me this," she announced, showing a very handsome cheque. "I
wrote to him three days after I got here, and told him my clothes looked
rubbishy beside the other girls', and he tells me to rig myself out
afresh. I suppose he forgot about it till now. How'm I going to get the
things? There isn't time to ask Miss Bowes to send for them before the
holidays. Can I buy them at the place where you live?"
"Very well indeed, and Mother will help you to choose. I know she'll get
you lovely clothes; she has such exquisite taste! She'll just enjoy it."
"And shan't I just? I'll give away every rag I brought with me from New
Zealand. They'll come in for that rummage sale Teddie was telling us
about."
The last lesson was finished, the last exercise written, even the last
breakfast had been disposed of. The boxes, packed with great excitement
the day before, were already dispatched, and four railway omnibuses were
waiting to take the girls to Llangarmon Junction Station. Much to their
regret, Miss Bowes would not allow them to go by Glanafon--the
picturesque route by the ferry was reserved for summer weather. In
winter, if the day happened to be stormy and the tide full, there was
often great difficulty in crossing, the landing-place was muddy and
slippery, and even if the train was not missed altogether (as sometimes
happened) the small voyage was quite in the nature of an adventure.
Miss Bowes' wisdom was thoroughly justified on this particular morning,
for there was a strong west wind, and the rain was pouring in torrents.
"It would have been lovely fun in the flat. There must be big waves on
the river," declared Merle Denham, half aggrieved at missing such an
interesting opportunity.
"Why, but look at the rain! You couldn't hold up an umbrella for half a
second. It would be blown inside out directly. You'd be as drenched as a
drowned rat before you reached the train," preached her more prudent
sister.
"And suppose you were blown off the stepping-stones into the river!"
added Beth Broadway. "It would be a nice way of beginning the holidays!
No. On a morning like this I'd rather have the omnibus. We shall at
least start dry."
"I'm so glad you're taking Rona home with you," whispered Lizzie
Lonsdale to Ulyth. "I should have asked her myself if you hadn't. It
would have been a wretched Christmas for her to be left at school. I
never saw anyone so pleased!"
The Cuckoo was indeed looking radiant at the golden prospect in store
for her. Much to her surprise, everybody had been particularly nice to
her that morning. Several girls had given her their addresses and asked
her to write to them, Miss Bowes had been kindness itself, and even Miss
Teddington, whose conduct was generally of a Spartan order, when bidding
her good-bye in the study, had actually bestowed an abrupt peck of a
kiss, a mark of favour never before known in the annals of the school.
To be sure, she had followed it with a warning against relapsing into
loud laughter in other people's houses; but then she was Miss
Teddington!
Ulyth lived in Staffordshire, and the journey from North Wales was
tedious; but what schoolgirl minds a long journey? To Rona all was new
and delightful, and to Ulyth every telegraph-post meant that she was so
much nearer home. The travellers had a royal reception, and kind,
tactful Mrs. Stanton managed at once to put her young guest at ease, and
make her feel that she was a welcome addition to the family circle.
Oswald, Ulyth's elder brother, had come from Harrow only an hour before,
and Dorothy and Peter, the two younger children, were prancing about in
utmost enthusiasm at the exciting arrivals.
"Father hasn't come in yet?" asked Ulyth, when she had finished hugging
her mother. "Well, it will be all the bigger treat when he does. Oh,
Oswald, I didn't think you could grow so much in a term! Dorothy,
darling, don't quite choke me! Peterkin, come and shake hands with Rona.
Toby, do stop barking for half a moment! Where's Tabbyskins? And,
please, show me the new parrot. Oh, isn't it lovely to be at home
again!"
Almost the whole of the next day was spent by Mrs. Stanton, Ulyth, and
their delighted visitor in a tour round various outfitting
establishments--an exhilarating time for Rona, who was making her first
acquaintance with the glories of English shops. Their purchases were
highly satisfactory, and as Ulyth helped her friend to dress for dinner
on Christmas Day she reviewed the result with the utmost complacency.
"Didn't I tell you Mother has good taste? Rona, you're lovely! This
pale-blue dress suits you to a T. And the bronze slippers are so dainty;
and your hair is so pretty. You can't think how it has improved lately."
"Do I look like other girls?" asked Rona, fingering the enamelled locket
that had been given her that morning by Mr. and Mrs. Stanton.
"Rather! A great deal nicer than most. I'm proud of you. I wish they
could all see you at The Woodlands."
"I'm glad if I shan't disgrace you. What a good thing Dad's cheque came
just in time!"
In her new plumage the Cuckoo appeared turned into a tropical
humming-bird. Ulyth had thought her good-looking before, but she had not
realized that her room-mate was a beauty. She stared almost fascinated
at the vision of blue eyes, coral cheeks, white neck, and ruddy-brown
hair. Was this indeed the same girl who had arrived at school last
September? It was like a transformation scene in the pantomime. Clothes
undoubtedly exercise a great effect on some people, and Rona seemed to
put away her backwoods manners with her up-country dresses. There was a
dignity about her now and a desire to please which she had never shown
at The Woodlands. She held herself straight, walked gracefully instead
of shambling, and was careful to allow no uncouth expressions to escape
her. Her behaviour was very quiet, as if she were watching others, or
taking mental stock of how to comport herself. If occasionally she made
some slight mistake she flushed crimson, but she never repeated it. She
was learning the whole time, and the least gentle hint from Mrs. Stanton
was sufficient for her. Miss Teddington need not have been afraid that
the loud laugh would offend the ears of her friends; it never rang out
once, and the high-pitched voice was subdued to wonderfully softened
tones. For her hostess Rona evinced a species of worship. She would
follow her about the house, content simply to be near her, and her face
would light up at the slightest word addressed to her.
"The poor child just wanted a good mothering," said Mrs. Stanton to
Ulyth. "It is marvellous how fast she is improving. You'll make
something of your little wild bird after all. She's worth the trouble."
"I'd no idea she could grow into this," replied Ulyth. "Oh, Motherkins,
you should have seen her at first! She was a very rough diamond."
"Aren't you glad to have a hand in the polishing? It will be such a
triumph."
Two members of the household, at any rate, saw no fault in the visitor.
Dorothy and Peter haunted her like small persistent ghosts, begging for
stories about New Zealand. The accounts of her life in the bush were
like a romance to them, and so fired their enthusiasm that in the
intervals of playing soldiers they tried to emulate her adventures, and
were found with a clothes-line in the garden making a wild attempt to
lasso the much-enduring Toby.
"Rona's very good-natured with them," said Ulyth. "She doesn't mind how
they pull her about, and Peter's most exhausting sometimes. I shouldn't
like to carry him round the house on my back. Dorothy's perfectly
insatiable for stories; it's always 'Tell us another!' How funny Oswald
is at present. He's grown so outrageously polite all of a sudden. I
suppose it's because he's in the Sixth now. He was very different last
holidays. He's getting quite a 'lady's man'."
"The young folks are growing up very fast," commented Mr. Stanton in
private. "It seems only yesterday that Oswald and Ulyth were babies. In
another year or two we shall begin to think of twenty-first-birthday
dances."
"Oh, don't talk of anything so dreadful!" said Mrs. Stanton in
consternation. "They're my babies still. The party on Thursday is to be
quite a children's affair."
Though "Motherkins" might regard the coming festivity as entirely of a
juvenile character, the young people took it seriously. They practised
dancing on the polished linoleum of the nursery every evening. Rona had
had her first lessons at The Woodlands, and was making heroic efforts to
remember what she had learnt.
"You'll get on all right," Ulyth encouraged her. "That last was ever so
much better; you're dropping into it quite nicely. You dance lightly,
at any rate. Now try again with Oswald while I play. Ossie, I'm proud of
you! Last Christmas you were a perfect duffer at it. Don't you remember
how you sat out at the Warings'? You've improved immensely. Now go on!"
and Ulyth began to play, with her eyes alternately on the piano and on
the partners.
"I suppose a fellow has to get used to 'the light fantastic' sometime,"
remarked Oswald, as, after a successful five minutes' practice, he and
Rona sat down to rest.
"Perhaps you'll have to dance with princesses at foreign Courts when
you're a successful ambassador," laughed Ulyth.
"Is that what Oswald's going to be?" asked Rona.
"I'd have tried the Army or the Navy, but my wretched eyes cut me off
from both; so it's no use, worse luck!" said Oswald. "I should like to
get into the Diplomatic Service immensely though, if I could."
"Why can't you? I should think you could do anything you really wanted."
"Thanks for the compliment. But it's not so easy as it sounds. I wish I
had a friend at Court."
"We don't know anybody in the Government," sighed Ulyth. "Not a
solitary, single person. I've never even seen a member of Parliament,
except, of course, Lord Glyncraig sometimes at church; but then I've
never spoken to him. Stephanie had tea with him once. She doesn't let us
forget that."
"I wish you'd had tea with him, and happened to mention particularly the
extreme fascinations and abilities of your elder brother," laughed
Oswald.
"Could Lord Glyncraig be of any use to you?" asked Rona. She had grown
suddenly thoughtful.
"He could give me a nomination for the Diplomatic Service, and that
would be just the leg-up I want. But it's no use joking; I'm not likely
to get an introduction to him. I expect I shall have to go into business
after all."
"I think when I was ten I must have been the most objectionable little
imp on the face of creation," said Rona slowly. "I am ashamed of myself
now."
"Why this access of penitence for bygone crimes?"
"Oh, nothing!" replied the Cuckoo, flushing. "I was only just thinking
of something. Shall we try that new step again? I'm rested now."
"Yours to command, madam!" returned Oswald, with a mock bow.
* * * * *
Rona's visit to the Stantons was a delightful series of new impressions.
She made her first acquaintance with the pantomime, and was alternately
amused and thrilled as the story of "The Forty Thieves" unfolded itself
upon the stage. Not even Peter watched with more round-eyed enthusiasm,
and Mr. Stanton declared it was worth taking her for the mere pleasure
of seeing her face when Ali Baba disappeared down a trap-door. As
everything in England was fresh to her, she was a most easy guest to
entertain, and she enjoyed every separate experience--from a visit to
the public library with Mr. Stanton to toffee-making in the nursery with
Peter and Dorothy.
Although it was a quiet Christmas in some respects, friends were
hospitable, and included her in the various little invitations which
were sent to Ulyth and Oswald; so her pretty dresses had a chance of
being aired. The great event to the young folk was the party which was
to be given at the Stantons' own house, and which was to be a kind of
finish to the holidays. The girls revelled in every detail of
preparation. They watched the carpet being taken up in the drawing-room,
the large articles of furniture removed, and the door taken off its
hinges. They sprinkled ball-room chalk on the boards of the floor, and
slid indefatigably until the polish satisfied Ulyth's critical taste.
They decorated the walls with flags and evergreens. They even offered
their services in the kitchen, but met with so cool a reception from the
busy cook that they did not venture to repeat the experiment, and
consoled themselves with helping to write the supper menus instead.
"I think I've seen to everything," said Mrs. Stanton distractedly. "The
flowers, and the fairy lamps, and the programmes, and those extra boxes
of crackers, and the chocolates, and the ring for the trifle. You've
seen about the music, Gerald?"
"Violin and piano," replied Mr. Stanton. "I'm feeling a thorough-going
martyr. Giving even a simple children's hop means sitting in rooms
without doors and living on turkey drumsticks for a fortnight
afterwards!"
"Oh, we'll get the house straight again sooner than that! And you
needn't eat grilled turkey unless you like."
"I don't appreciate parties."
"We must amuse the young folks, and it isn't a grand affair. If the
children meet together they may as well dance as play games."
"Daddikins, how nasty you are!" exclaimed Ulyth, pursuing him to
administer chastisement in the shape of smacking kisses. "You know
you're looking forward to it quite as much as we are."
"That I deny _in toto_," groaned her father as he escaped to his
snuggery, only to find it arranged as a dressing-room.
Ulyth wore white for the great occasion, with her best Venetian beads;
and Rona had a palest sea-green gauzy voile, with fine stockings and
satin shoes to match. Dorothy was a bewitching little vision in pink,
and Peter a cherub in black velvet. Oswald, having reached the stage of
real gentleman's evening-dress, required the whole family to assist him
in the due arrangement of his tie, over which he was more than usually
particular. Ulyth even suspected him of having tried to shave, though he
denied the accusation fiercely.
It is always a solemn occasion waiting in the drawing-room listening for
the first peal of the bell announcing visitors. Mrs. Stanton was giving
a last touch to the flowers, Ulyth sat wielding her new fan (a Christmas
present), Oswald was buttoning his gloves. Dorothy, too excited to
stand still for a moment, flitted about like a pink fairy.
"I'm to stop up half an hour later than Peter, Rona; do you hear that?"
she chattered. "Oh, I do hope the Prestons will arrive first of anybody!
I want to dance with Willie. Father let me have a cracker just now, and
it's got a whistle inside it. I wish I had a pocket. Where shall I put
it to keep it safe? Oh, I know--inside that vase!"
As she spoke, Dorothy jumped lightly on to the seat of the cosy corner
that abutted on the fireplace, and reached upwards to drop her whistle
inside the ornament. In her excitement she slipped, tried to save
herself, lost her footing, and fell sideways over the curb on to the
hearth. Her thin, flimsy dress was within half an inch of the fire, but
at that instant Rona, who was standing by, clutched her and pulled her
forwards. It all happened in three seconds. She was safe before her
father had time to run across the room. The family stared aghast.
"Whew! That was a near shave!" gasped Oswald.
Dorothy, too much surprised and frightened to cry, was clinging to her
mother. Mr. Stanton, acting on the spur of the moment, rushed to the
telephone to try if any ironmonger's shop in the town was still open,
and could immediately send up a wire-gauze fire-protector. The
fireplaces in all the other rooms were well guarded, but in the
drawing-room the hearth was so wide, and the curb so high, that the
precaution had not been considered necessary.
"It only shows how absolutely vital it is to leave no chance of an
accident," said Mr. Stanton, returning from the telephone. "Matthews are
sending a boy up at once with a guard. If it hadn't been for Rona's
promptitude---- Oh, there's the bell! Oswald, fetch your mother a glass
of water."
Poor Mrs. Stanton looked very pale, but had recovered her composure
sufficiently to receive her young guests by the time they were ushered
into the drawing-room. Dorothy, child-like, forgot her fright in the
pleasure of welcoming her friends the Prestons, and everything went on
as if the accident had not occurred. Mr. Stanton, indeed, kept a close
watch all the evening, to see that guards were not pushed aside from the
fires, and Mrs. Stanton's eyes watched with more than usual solicitude a
certain little pink figure as it went dancing round the room. The
visitors knew nothing of the accident that had been avoided, and there
was no check on the mirth of the party. The guests were of all ages,
from Peter's kindergarten comrades to girls who were nearly grown-up,
but it was really all the jollier for the mixture. Tall and short danced
together with a happy disregard of inches, and even a thorough enjoyment
of the disparity. Rona spent a royal evening. Her host and hostess had
been kindness itself before, but to-night it seemed as if they conspired
together to give her the best of everything. She had her pick of
partners, the place of honour at supper, and--by most egregious
cheating--the ring somehow tumbled on to her plate out of the trifle.
"I'm getting spoilt," she said to Oswald.
"The mater's ready to kiss your boots," he returned. "I never saw
anything so quick as the way you snatched old Dolly."
All good things come to an end some time, even holidays, and one morning
towards the end of January witnessed a taxi at the door, and various
bags and packages, labelled Llangarmon Junction, stowed inside.
"I don't know how to thank you. I haven't any words," gulped Rona, as
she hugged "Motherkins" good-bye.
"Do your best at school, and remember certain little things we talked
about," whispered Mrs. Stanton, kissing her. "We shall expect to see you
here again."