A DRIVE TO THE RECTORY.
Rosamund was wonderfully wise for her years. She did not make a great
fuss over Irene's tears. She did not soothe or pet her overmuch; she
merely said, "I am glad you have come to your senses," and then she got
up and began to prepare for lunch; so that Irene, feeling like a beaten
child, and yet with a sense of happiness which she had never experienced
before in the whole course of her life, went off to her own room,
smoothed out her tangled hair, tidied her dress, and came down to lunch
also, looking quite like a little ordinary Christian child--the sort of
child who might have been first to a kindergarten and then at a good
school--not the wild, obnoxious, terrible little creature whom every
servant and every governess alike dreaded.
James was looking fat and strong, because for the last fortnight Irene
had not taken the slightest notice of him. The other servants were
becoming happy once more. They all worshiped Rosamund; and, truth to
tell, Rosamund could not but enjoy her meed of popularity. Still, to-day
she was feeling rather nervous. Nevertheless, she was quite determined
to carry out her scheme.
As soon as lunch was over, therefore, she went up to Miss Frost. Irene
had danced away into the garden. She was the sort of girl who, having
once made up her mind to do a thing, did it thoroughly. Now, she hated
the Leaves beyond measure; she dreaded Miss Carter beyond measure; but
she dreaded Rosamund still more. Accordingly, she secured a basket and
a pair of scissors, and cut and cut from the choicest flowers until her
basket was full. One of the gardeners came out and began to remonstrate
with Irene on picking so many roses with buds attached to them; but
Irene told him in a very tart voice to mind his own business, and in
some fear the man withdrew. Then she went into the fruit-house and
secured the earliest peaches which were coming into their finest bloom.
And having collected what she considered her peace-offering, she sat
down on a little wooden bench to wait for Rosamund and her governess.
Meanwhile Rosamund was having a talk with Miss Frost.
"Do you know where we are going to-day?" she asked.
"No," replied Miss Frost.
"Well, you have got to do exactly what I wish. I am most anxious that
Irene should have other friends besides me."
"Oh, she will never, never under any circumstances have a friend in the
very least like you," said Miss Frost. "You have made her! You have
saved her! You are her idol! I am sure we all love you most dearly; but
as to Irene, it is wonderful the influence you have over her."
"We needn't talk of that now," said Rosamund. "I can't give up every one
in the whole world for Irene. Besides, although I shall always be a
great friend of hers, I do not think it would be good for her to have me
always by her side. I want her to make fresh friends, and I have been
considering that in the whole neighborhood there are no people quite so
nice as the Singletons for her to know."
"The Singletons! Why, it is there that unfortunate Miss Carter is--that
poor woman who nearly lost her life in order that Irene might get rid
of her. Oh, how often have I heard that terrible story! I have seen the
girl in church. They look nice, but very stand-off and distant. You know
Irene will never go to church. We cannot make her; but I go when I can
in the evenings, and I always see the Singletons there with Miss Carter.
But for my own little brother Hughie and my little sister Agnes, I would
never have stayed here as I have done."
"But now it is all right, dear Miss Frost. Anyhow, Irene has consented
to come with me to see the Singletons this afternoon, so don't make a
fuss; and if you see Miss Carter, will you tell her that Irene is so
much changed that you are able to stay? And, please, don't say anything
against her, will you, dear Frosty?"
"I say a word against her? No, that I won't."
"And don't say too much about me. I want her to get all the credit she
can. The fact is, she has become so exceedingly naughty because people
talk so much of her naughtiness, and she is rather proud of it. Now, I
want her to be thoroughly ashamed of it; and when that takes place, and
she loses all sense of satisfaction in terrifying people to death and in
getting rid of servants and governesses, she will become an ordinary
girl--or rather, I should say, never an ordinary girl, but a girl very
much above the ordinary. You know you must help me."
"I will, on one condition," said Miss Frost. "This expedition frightens
me very much. I will do anything you wish on one condition."
"And what is that?"
"That you don't leave The Follies at present."
"I have no intention of leaving it before the holidays. The holidays
will take place at the end of July, and then mother will be sure to want
me to join her; but still we have a few weeks left, and there is already
a great improvement in Irene. Now, please, go upstairs and get ready,
for the governess-cart will be round in a few minutes."
The cart did come round, and, without a word, Irene herself stepped into
it. She not only stepped into it, but she took the reins with a
determined hand.
"I mean to drive Bob," she said. "I suppose no one objects."
She looked back with her bright, dancing eyes, first at Rosamund and
then at Miss Frost.
"Certainly; he is your pony," said Rosamund. "You have every right to
drive him."
Miss Frost did not speak. They both entered the governess-cart, and
Irene, making a cracking noise with the whip, as she had learned from
one of the grooms, started off at a break-neck speed down the somewhat
steep avenue. Poor Miss Frost felt inclined to cry out, but Rosamund
took one of her hands and pressed it.
After a minute Rosamund's hand was lightly laid on Irene's arm.
"Irene, pull Bob in; he is going much too fast for safety. You don't
want his knees to be broken, and we don't want to be tossed out of the
cart. Do what I wish you to do instantly."
Irene's eyes wore for a moment almost a wicked expression; then they
softened. She put on a check with some vigor, and soon Bob was trotting
along the country roads like an ordinary pony.
Many people looked at the three as they saw them in the cart. Never in
the entire memory of man had Irene been seen driving with any of her
family. There were times when she had gone herself to the stables, had
harnessed Bob, who was a very wild and spirited little pony, and had
driven off at a furious rate all by herself. She had then left the
beaten track, and gone on the moors, bringing home the pony and cart
much dilapidated from the exercise. But, strange to say, the wild child
herself never seemed to come to any grief.
A mad desire to go right away from the Leaves, to dash on to the moors,
and defy Rosamund and Miss Frost, had just for a moment taken possession
of her. But again gentler thoughts had come to her, and by-and-by she
found herself driving in at the gates of the Rectory.
Now, it so happened that on this very day Mr. Singleton was giving a
feast to the poor children of the neighborhood; and when the
governess-cart, containing Rosamund, Miss Frost, and Irene, arrived on
the premises, there were no less than a hundred children enjoying tea on
one of the lawns. In consequence, Maud, Alice, Bertha, Mary, Ivy, and
Jasmine, and last, but not least, Miss Carter herself, were all busily
engaged, when the sound of wheels caused them to raise their heads. Miss
Carter gave utterance to one piercing scream, laid the cup which she had
been filling from a huge urn hastily on the table, and disappeared from
view. Maud, in some astonishment, her face rather pale, but her eyes
bright and resolute as usual, came forward to greet her visitors.
"How do you do?" she said to Rosamund. Then she looked at Irene, whom
she had never spoken to before.
"This is my great friend Irene Ashleigh," said Rosamund; "and this is
her governess, Miss Frost. We have come to pay you a visit. I see you
are busy. That is quite delightful. May we help you?"
"Of course you may, if you will."
Maud held out a gracious hand to Irene, whose little mouth, satirical
enough at first, broke now into a gentle smile, while her eyes became
tranquil and even happy. She had enjoyed a moment of exquisite bliss
when she saw Miss Carter, after that first terrified glance, hurry into
the house.
"I can stand the Leaves," she said to herself, "but I hope Carter will
keep out of the way."
They all three got out of the cart. A groom came to take the pony to the
stables, and the girls and Miss Frost were invited to help the
Singletons to entertain their guests.
"We are ever so short of hands," said Maud, "and your coming is quite a
blessing. You know, of course, that no one from Sunnyside can come near
the place. Mrs. Brett won't allow the girls even to come over from
Dartford, which father says is a pity; but still, one must err on the
safe side. Isn't it jolly, Jane being quite out of danger? She is to go
away at the end of the week, and next week the house will be
disinfected, and then everything will be as it was before."
As she spoke she glanced at Irene, who dropped a little behind, keeping
hold of Miss Frost's hand.
"Frosty," she said, "can you bear a little pain?"
"I suppose so, dear," said poor Miss Frost in a timid voice.
"I mean this: I must have some outlet for my feelings, and if a Leaf
comes too near me I will just squeeze your hand. I won't really hurt you
if I can help it, but if I can squeeze your hand I'll be civil to the
Leaf; if not, I'll be awfully rude. Do you understand, and will you
endure it?"
"I will try to," said Miss Frost; "but I have got very thin hands,
Irene."
"Indeed you have, exceedingly bony and exceedingly ugly; but that can't
be helped. Just let me hold this hand for the present."
"Do you mind," said Miss Frost after a moment's pause--"do you mind if I
take off the rings I have on this hand and put them on the hand you are
not going to squeeze? If you were to squeeze it with the rings on I
might be forced to cry out, and then all would be up."
"You may do that, and then I'll be quite comfortable."
Miss Frost did so, and Maud and Rosamund walked on a little in front.
"I can't tell you how astonished I am," said Maud, dropping her voice,
"to see her here. We heard of your extraordinary behavior--I mean your
noble behavior, for father said you were most noble; but to think of
your bringing her here! How did you induce her to come?"
"She will one day be a splendid girl, one of the best in the world,"
said Rosamund; "and the fact is, I wanted your help. I can't quite
manage her alone. I want your help, dear. Will you give it?"
Maud's frank blue eyes looked into Rosamund's dark ones, and over Maud's
face there came a softened gleam.
"When I look at you I can believe almost anything," she said. "But to
think of that girl ever being what you say! Did she not nearly kill our
Cartery dear?"
"I know that; but remember she is very young, and could not realize what
she was doing. However, I ask you to trust me, and to help me now with
the task I have undertaken. I mean to reform her, and to give her back
to her mother, not, as she considers herself, a changeling, but a
beautiful, strong, and splendid character, the sort of woman God meant
her to be."
"Then I think you are very noble," said Maud, "and I will help you all I
can; but you must not expect poor Cartery to appear too. That is more
than can be endured. She has rushed into the house, and is probably in
hysterics. Yes, I am sure she is, for Bertha has disappeared too, and
Bertha is her devoted slave."
"Never mind about Miss Carter now. Let us attend to our duties. I will
manage Irene. Shall she and I take a table and help to give these
children as much food as they want?"
This plan worked fairly well for a short time, until it was gradually
whispered that the person who was helping them to slices of cake and
bunches of bread-and-butter was no less than that dreaded creature Miss
Irene Ashleigh of The Follies. Then the boys and girls shrank away, for
had they not heard of her pranks, and might they not expect toads and
frogs to come out of their mouths, and other horrors to happen if Miss
Irene had anything to do with them? They therefore began to decline
Irene's cake, and to say, "No, thank you, miss," in a very timid voice
when delicious-looking pieces of bread-and-butter and jam were offered
to them. On the other hand, when Rosamund offered any food it was
gratefully accepted.
Rosamund felt the situation was growing critical. She by no means wanted
an exhibition of Irene's wrath. The girl was really making a very great
effort to control herself, and must not be tried too far. Accordingly,
when one little girl refused a slice of bread-and-jam from Irene, and
eagerly held out her hand to take it from Rosamund, Rosamund motioned
Irene back again.
"That bread-and-jam is much nicer than this," she said. "If you don't
take that you won't get any other;" and she insisted on the child taking
a slice from the plate which Irene offered.
The little girl turned crimson. She put the bread-and-jam upon her
plate, but evidently did not intend to eat it. Irene's face was changing
color from moment to moment. She liked Maud; Alice, Mary, Ivy, and
Jasmine were as nothing to her. Bertha was nowhere to be seen, and where
was "Cartery dear"? That one glimpse she had caught of the terrified
woman, who had disappeared like a flash into the house, had whetted
Irene's desire to behold her again. Accordingly, when Rosamund's back
was turned she slipped away toward the house. In a moment she was in the
house, and in another moment she had climbed the stairs. Compared to The
Follies, the Rectory was small, although it was really quite a large
house. It did not take long for Irene to peep into each empty bedroom,
until at last she found one occupied. It was occupied by a woman who was
being devotedly attended to by Bertha Singleton. Bertha was bathing her
head with aromatic vinegar, and soothing her with loving words. But the
next moment the poor woman uttered a cry, for Irene herself was in the
room.
"Oh, do go away! Don't, I beseech of you, do anything to me. Do go
away!" cried the terrified woman.
Instead of going away, Irene marched straight to the bed.
"Look here, Miss Carter," she said; "you have been exceedingly silly in
running away from me as you have done. As to me, I was a perfect fiend
that time at The Follies. I wanted to get rid of you, and I could think
of no other way. But now that Rosamund is here I see things from a
different point of view. Will you trust me?"
"I don't know," said poor Miss Carter, looking at Irene with those
absolutely terrified eyes which the girl detested. Perhaps she would
have given up her efforts to make friends with Miss Carter had she not
at that moment glanced out of the window and seen Rosamund resolutely
doing her duty, and looking unlike any one else--even Maud, who was
sweet enough to attract any one's attention.
"I am going to confess the simple truth," said Irene; and she came back
and stood at the foot of the bed. "I have been a very wicked, bad girl.
I used to think that I wasn't to blame, because I was a changeling; but
Rosamund says I am not a changeling, and that I am just like anybody
else, and ought to be good. I don't expect I'll ever be specially good;
but anyhow, I want to be good. At least I sometimes want to be good. I
once hated you all"--here she turned to Bertha. "I used to think you so
affected, and I used to call you the Leaves. You don't mind, do you?"
"Not in the least," said Bertha; "it doesn't matter to us. But why
should you call us Leaves?"
"Because you wear green. You have a green sash on now, and a green
ribbon round your hat."
"Mother was fond of green, and mother is dead," said Bertha.
A kind of dewy moisture came to her eyes which did not amount to tears.
"Well, if that is the reason, _pax_!" said Irene.
Suddenly she held out her hand. Now, naughty as she was, there was no
one who could be quite so charming as Irene when she chose; and the next
minute, Bertha had not only shaken that hand, but had drawn Irene
forward and kissed her on her lips.
"You are so very beautiful," she said. "I never saw you before. If you
were good you'd be delightful. You'd be such a help to us all. We want
some one lovely just to look at. Oh! wouldn't it be sweet, Cartery dear,
to try and make pictures of her little face?"
"That will do. I hate people to praise me," said Irene. "I am not at all
good at present; and if I am beautiful, why, there's an end of it. What
I want to say now is this: Miss Carter, will you forgive me?"
"I--I'll try to."
"Are you still very much afraid of me?"
"I confess that I am."
"It's rather silly of you, isn't it? For you are quite protected from
me."
"I know that; but you gave me a great shock."
"Dear Cartery," said Bertha, "she did, to be sure; but she is changed,
and you never told us she was so beautiful."
"You don't think much of a beautiful face, my dear, when you are being
dashed to pieces on the rocks," said Miss Carter.
"Oh yes! oh yes! but still, she is never going to do anything of that
sort again. Are you, Irene dear?"
"I haven't any present intention of doing so, Bertha dear," replied
Irene in a deliberate tone. "Now, Miss Carter, I want to know if you
will forgive me. It will help me to be good if you will forgive me. Will
you?"
"Then I will," said Miss Carter.
"Then there is only one way to prove it. You must get right up off your
bed and come downstairs with me, and let me rest on your arm, and come
out with me on to the lawn, where all the children are having their tea,
and you and I between us are to offer them bread-and-jam and cakes and
biscuits. Will you or will you not?"
"Of course you will, Cartery dear."
"Are you certain that you mean what you say?" said Miss Carter. "I have
got a sort of headache."
"Oh no, you haven't," retorted Bertha. "You are always imagining things,
Cartery dear."
"Will you come or will you not, Miss Carter?" said Irene. "Is it to be
peace or is it to be war? I offer peace now. Do you accept it?"
"I do," said Miss Carter; and she got off her bed, and went downstairs
by Irene's side.