Mrs Hogg's bedroom was choky and Mrs Hogg herself snored loudly. But
the place was really clean, and Nesta was too tired to lie long awake.
When she did open her eyes in the morning, it was to the pleasant
perfume of fried herring. A small boy was standing gazing at her out of
two of the roundest eyes Nesta had ever seen. She came to the
conclusion that the eyes of the entire Hogg family were not made like
other people's; they were as round as marbles, and protruded very
slightly from the head. The boy said:
"Red herrings!" thrust his tongue into his cheek, winked at her, and
vanished.
Nesta proceeded to dress herself, and went into the living room. The
place of honour was reserved for her. There was bread for breakfast,
but no butter. There was, however, a sort of lard, which the children
much appreciated. There was tea, but very little milk, and coarse brown
sugar. Mrs Hogg helped the boys liberally, but she did not give them
any of the red herring. Nesta noticed that Ben's eyes watered when he
glanced at it. She herself could not touch it, so she transferred the
morsel which had been put on her plate to that of the little boy. The
boy shouted; he did not seem to be able to speak quietly. He said
"Hurra!" The moment he said "Hurra!" the eldest boy said "Hooray!" and
stretched out his hand and snatched a piece of herring from the dish.
Mrs Hogg rose and smacked both the boys on their ears, whereupon they
fell to crying bitterly.
"Oh, don't," said Nesta. "How can you? It seems so cruel."
"Crool?" said Mrs Hogg; "crool to smack yer own children? Why, don't
Bible Solomon say, `Spare the rod and spoil the child'? There's no
spoiling of my children in this house. Put back that fish, you greedy
boy. Ain't it got to do for Missie's dinner and supper, as well as for
her breakfast; you put it back this blessed minute."
Nesta felt a sudden sense of dismay. To be obliged to eat red herring
as her sole sustenance for one whole day did seem dreadful, but she
reflected that anything was better than her father's and brother's
wrath, and the sneers of her two sisters, and better than Marcia's
gracious, and yet most intolerable forgiveness. Nesta was not at all
sorry yet, for what she had done, but she was sorry for the sense of
discomfort which now surrounded her. She had borne with her supper,
which consisted of porridge and milk, the night before, but her
breakfast was by no means to her taste. When the boys had gone to
Sunday school, she said almost timidly:
"If I can't help you in any way can't I go out?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake do, my dear. I don't want to see you except
when you want to see me. You're welcome to half my bed, although I was
half perished in the night, for you would take all the clothes and wrap
yourself in them. I've got rheumatics in my back, and I could have
cried out with the pain. You're a selfish young miss, I take it."
Nesta was accustomed to home truths, but Mrs Hogg's home truths hurt
her more than most. She felt something like tears burning at the back
of her eyes.
"Perhaps I am," she said. "I know I'm not at all happy."
She went out of the house, and wandered down the summer road. Soon she
got into an enchanting lane where wild flowers of all sorts grew in wild
profusion. Here also was a distant, a very distant glimpse of the blue,
blue sea. She was glad to be away from it; she was glad, of course, to
be here. She had not an idea what would become of her in the end. She
felt as though all her life had suddenly been drawn up short, as though
the thread of her existence had been snapped. It was her own doing; she
had done it herself.
She heard the church bells ringing in the distance, but she knew it was
impossible for her to go to church. She began to wonder what they were
doing at home, and to wonder what the Griffiths were doing. She found
she did not like to think either of her home or of the Griffiths. What
could she do when her eight and sixpence was gone? Mrs Hogg was not at
all an affectionate woman; she would exact her pence to the uttermost
farthing. Nesta felt that if she were to live on red herrings for a
week, she would feel very thin at the end of it. She detested red
herrings She sincerely hoped there would be a variety in the Hogg menu.
But Mrs Hogg's emphatic statement did not seem to point that way. At
least for to-day she was to be supported on butterless bread and red
herrings.
Still she wandered on, the country air fanning her cheeks. There was
peace everywhere except in her own troubled heart. As yet she was not
at all sorry, there was only sorrow for herself, she was not sorry for
the pain she was giving others. Had the temptation come to her again
she would have succumbed.
"The people at home don't love me much," she thought, "or they'd have
sent for me. I gave them every chance. It might have been naughty of
me to run away, but I gave them the chance of sending for me. But they
never sent a line or a message; they never would have done it, if Mr
Griffiths had not gone to see mother and found out the truth. Oh, to
think of what he would say when he came in. I wonder what he did say.
I wonder what Flossie is doing. I wonder--oh, I wonder!"
She went on until she was tired, then she sat down by the edge of a
babbling brook, dipped her hand into the water, and amused herself
watching the minnows and other small fish as they floated past her in
the bed of the stream. There were forget-me-nots growing on the edge of
the bank; she picked some and tore them to pieces. Then she started up
impatiently. What was she to do when the eight and sixpence was out?
She began to think of Mary Hogg up at the Castle. It must be nice to
have something to do. She wondered if the St Justs would take her on
as one of their servants. They kept such a lot, perhaps they might have
room for her. She did not relish the idea. She had some pride, and she
did not care to sink to the position of a domestic servant.
Nevertheless, she thought it would be better than doing nothing at all;
better than going back to her family; better than starving. But then
the St Justs might not have her. She could not honestly say she would
make a good servant. She felt certain in her heart that she would be
unpardonably careless, thoughtless, unable to do any one thing properly.
Why, she could not even make a bed! She used to try at home,
sometimes, and always failed miserably.
Then she began to consider another fact. The St Justs would very
quickly discover who she was. Oh, no, she must not go there; she must
go to somebody else. But who else? She had really no time to lose.
Perhaps she could go as reader or companion. That was much better.
That would be quite nice. There must surely be a blind lady in the
village, and blind old ladies always wanted companions to read to them.
Nesta could read--how often she had read to her mother. Oh, yes, she
would really do that part quite nicely. She was the quickest reader she
knew. She could gabble through a story at breathless speed; it did not
matter whether she pronounced her words right or wrong. Yes, a blind
old lady was the very thing.
She began to feel hungry, for her breakfast had not been very
satisfying. Whatever happened she must be in time for the Hogg dinner.
This was the principal meal of the day; it would cost her threepence.
She began to think that she was paying dear for the sort of food she got
at the Hoggs'.
She walked back without meeting any one, and entered her new home. She
was right; they were preparing for dinner. Mrs Hogg was stirring
something over the fire; the boys were in their old attitude of rapt
attention, their hands in their pockets. There was a cloth on the table
which had once been white; it was certainly that no longer. There were
coarse knives and forks and very coarse plates, with the thickest
glasses to drink out of that Nesta had ever seen. Mrs Hogg said:
"If you'll take your 'at off, Miss, dinner'll be ready in a twinkle."
Nesta retired into the bedroom; she came back in a few minutes. When
she did so the youngest boy came up to her, and whispered in her ear:
"Pease pudding for dinner." He then said, looking round at his brother,
"Hurra!" and the brother, as was his invariable habit, cried "Hooray!"
The pease pudding was lifted out of the pot in a bag; the bag was
opened, the boys looking on with breathless interest. It was put in the
centre of the table on a round dish, and the family sat down.
"Your grace, Dan," said Mrs Hogg.
Dan said:
"For all your mercies--" He closed his eyes and mumbled the rest.
Then Mrs Hogg cut liberal slices of the pease pudding and helped Nesta
and the two children. She gave Nesta the largest share. Nesta disliked
pease pudding as much as she disliked fried herring, but that did not
matter; she was so hungry now that she ate it. The pease pudding was
followed by a dumpling, which the boys greatly appreciated. There were
currants in it, so few that to search for them was most exciting and
caused "Hurras!" and "Hoorays!" to sound through the cottage. This was
a dinner which was, as the boys expressed it, "filling."
"Seems to puff you out," said Ben.
"Seems to stuff you up," said Dan.
"Out you both go now," said Mrs Hogg, and she and Nesta were alone.
Mrs Hogg washed up and put the place in perfect order. She then sat
down by the table, put on her spectacles, and opened her Bible.
"Ain't you got a Bible with you?" she said.
"No," replied Nesta, "I haven't got anything with me."
"Shall I read aloud to you, Miss?"
"No, thank you," replied Nesta.
Mrs Hogg glanced up at Nesta with small favour in her face.
"Please," said Nesta, coming close to her, "I want to get something to
do. I am a young lady, you know."
"Maybe you be; but you took all the clothes off me last night, and that
ain't young-ladyish to my way o' thinking."
"I'm sorry," said Nesta, who thought it best to propitiate Mrs Hogg,
"Please," she continued, in a coaxing tone, "do you happen to know a
blind lady in the village?"
"A blind lady--what do you mean?"
"Isn't there one?" cried Nesta, in a tone of distress. "Why, you talk
as though you wanted some one to be blind. What do you mean?"
"Well, I do; I want to read to her."
"Sakes alive! what a queer child."
"But is there one?"
"There ain't as far as I'm aware. There's old Mrs Johnston, but she
ain't blind; she has the very sharpest of eyes that were ever set into
anybody's head. She's crool, too, crool, the way she snaps you up. She
used to have a lady to read to her, but that lady has gone to Ameriky to
be married. She went a week ago, and they say Mrs Johnston almost
cried, crool as she used to be to Miss Palliser. Now, if you really
wanted to--"
"But I do; I do," said Nesta. "I want to very badly indeed. May I go
to see her? What is her address?"
"What ails her is rheumatism. She can't stir without screeching out
loud, and she wants some one to bolster her up. Not that I think much
of you myself, but anyhow you might as well go and see."
"Would she like me to go and see her to-day?"
"Bless you!" said Mrs Hogg, "on the Sawbath? Not a bit of it. She'd
never give you nothing to do if you went and broke in on her Sunday
rest. It's church with her, as far as church indoors can be church, and
she wouldn't see you if you called fifty times. But you might go
to-morrow, if you so liked it."