THOSE YOUNG LADIES
'Leave me alone--I want to cry;
It's no use trying to be good.'--ANON.
Six weeks or so later--Christmas and New Year's day were past; it was
the middle of January by this time--a little group of children might
have been seen standing on the shore about half a mile from Seacove.
Though midwinter, it was not very cold. There is a theory that it never
is very cold at the seaside. I cannot say that I have always found this
the case, but it was so at Seacove. It lay in a sheltered position, out
of the way of the east wind, and this was one reason why Mr. Vane had
decided to make it for a time the home of himself and his family.
These were his children--the group on the seashore. Rumour had
exaggerated a little in saying he had 'several.' There were but three of
them, and of these three two were girls. So Celestina Fairchild's
thoughts about them had some foundation after all.
'It looks just a little, a very little dreary,' said the eldest of the
three, a girl of thirteen or so, slight and rather tall for her age,
with a pretty graceful figure and pretty delicate features; 'but then of
course it's the middle of winter. Not that spring or summer would make
much difference here; there are so very few trees.'
She glanced round her as she spoke. It was a bare, almost
desolate-looking stretch of country, down to the sea, which was still
and gray-looking this morning. Yet there was a strange charm about it
too--the land, though by no means hilly, was undulating. Not far from
where the children stood there was a grand run of sand-hills, with
coarse, strong grass and a few hardy thistles, and, in its season,
bindweed with its white and pinky flowers, growing along their summit.
Farther off was a sort of skeleton-like erection, looking not unlike the
gaunt remains of a deserted sail-less ship: this was a landmark or
beacon, placed there to point out a sudden turn in the coastline. And
out at sea, a mile or so distant, stood a lighthouse with a revolving
lantern; three times in each minute the bright light was to be seen as
soon as night fell. A kind of natural breakwater ran out in a straight
line to the lighthouse, so that in low tides--and the tides are
sometimes very low at Seacove--it was difficult to believe but that you
could get on foot all the way to the lighthouse rock.
But all these interesting particulars were not as yet known to Mr.
Vane's children. They had arrived at Seacove Rectory only the night
before.
The boy--he was next in age to his elder sister Rosalys--followed the
direction of her glance.
'No,' he said, 'there's very few trees, certainly. But I think it's
going to be very jolly all the same. When I get my pony _I'll_ be all
right any way; and on Saturdays, or odd half-holidays--there always are
odd half-holidays at every school, you know--I'll take you girls out a
drive in that funny little donkey-chaise, or whatever it is, that's
standing in the coach-house.'
'I don't fancy there are many places to drive to,' Rosalys replied.
'Papa said there would be no use in having any sort of proper carriage.
The only good road is the one to your school, Rough, and you'll have
enough of that morning and evening.'
'Papa said Seacove was a--I can't remember the word--something
French--cool--cul----'
'_Cul-de-sac_,' said Rosalys; 'leading to nowhere, that means.'
'Except to the sea, I suppose,' added the little girl who had stumbled
at the French word. 'It would be nice to have a ship of our own instead
of a carriage. Don't you think we might ask papa to get us one?'
'A _ship_, Biddy--I suppose you mean a boat,' said Rosalys, in a rather
'superior' tone. 'No; I don't fancy papa would trust us to go about in a
boat. Mamma would be frightened out of her wits about us.'
'The sea looks _so_ quiet,' said Bridget, gazing out at it. 'I don't
think it could ever be tossy and soapy here like it used to be at
Rockcliffe.'
'Couldn't it just?' said Randolph. 'Wait a bit, Bride. It may look quiet
on a day like this, and inside the shelter of the bay, but I can tell
you there's jolly rough work outside there sometimes. I was talking to
an old sailor this morning when I ran out before breakfast.'
'I'd like to see a shipwreck--I mean,' as she caught sight of a shocked
expression on her sister's face--'I mean of course one that nobody would
be drowned in.'
'But how could any one be sure of that? You should be more careful what
you say, Bride; you are so heedless.'
Bridget's face puckered up. It was rather given to puckering up, funny
little face that it was. She was eight years old, short and rather
stout, with thick, dark hair and a freckled complexion. Her nose turned
up and her mouth was not small. But she was not ugly; she had merry gray
eyes and very white teeth. Somehow, thorough little English girl though
she was, she reminded one of the small Savoyard boys one sees with a box
of marmots slung in front of them, or a barrel organ and a monkey.
'I didn't mean to say anything naughty, Alie,' she began, in a plaintive
tone. 'I'm always----'
'Oh, come now, Biddy, stop that, do,' said her brother; 'don't spoil the
first morning by going off into a howl for nothing. No one supposes you
wanted to drown a lot of people for the sake of watching a shipwreck,
only, as Alie says, you should be more careful. Strangers might think
you a very queer little girl if they heard you say such a thing.'
Bridget still looked melancholy, but she did not venture to complain any
more. She was a good deal in awe of Rough, who was twelve and a big boy
for his age. He had been at school for two years, and now he was going
as a day-scholar to a large and very excellent public school, which was
only about two miles from Seacove, quite in the country. Mr. Vane had
bought a pony for him to ride backwards and forwards, so Randolph was in
capital spirits. But he was not an unkind or selfish boy, and though his
pet name 'Rough' suited him sometimes as regarded his manners, his heart
was gentle. And indeed the name had been given to him at first on
account of his thick shaggy hair, as a very little boy.
'It's rather cold standing about,' said Rosalys. 'Don't you think we'd
better walk on or take a run?'
'Let's have a race,' said Rough. 'The sand's nice and firm about here.
I'll give you a good start, Alie, and Biddy can run on in front and wait
till we call to her that we're off.'
Bridget trotted off as she was told, obediently. She did not care much
for running. Her legs were short and she was rather fat, but she did
not like to complain. She ran on, though slowly, till at last Randolph
shouted to her to stop. Then she stood still waiting till he called to
her again, for he and Rosalys took some time to settle how much of a
start Alie was to have--from where she stood, Biddy heard them talking
and measuring.
'I wish they wouldn't run races,' thought the little girl. 'They're so
big compared with me--they've such much longer legs. I shan't like
Seacove if they're going always to run races. In London they couldn't in
the streets; it was only when we went in the gardens, and that wasn't
every day, it was too far to go. I wish I had a brother or a sister
littler than me; it's too much difference between Alie and me, thirteen
and eight. I wish----'
But here came a whoop from behind.
'Off, Biddy; look sharp--one, two, three.'
Poor Biddy--off she set as fast as she _could_ go, which is not saying
much. She puffed and panted, for she was not without a spirit of her own
and did not want to be overtaken _too_ soon. And for a time Rough's
cries of encouragement, 'Gee-up, old woman,' 'Famous, Biddy,' 'You'll
win yet,' and so on, spurred her to fresh exertions. But not for long;
she felt her powers flagging, and as first Alie and then Rough, both
apparently as fresh as ever, passed her at full speed, she gave in.
'It's no use. I can't run races. I wish you wouldn't make me,' she said,
as in a minute or two the two others came flying back again to where she
stood, a convenient goal for their return race.
'But you ran splendidly for a bit,' said Randolph; 'and I'll tell you
what, Biddy, it would be a very good thing for you to run a good deal
more than you do. It'll make you grow and stop you getting too fat.'
'I'm not fatter than you were when you were as little as me, Roughie.
Nurse says so--you were a regular roundabout till you had the measles;
mamma says so too,' replied Bridget philosophically.
'I'm quite hot,' said Rosalys; 'fancy being hot in January! But we'd
better not stand still or we'll get a chill. Isn't it nice to come out
alone? I'd like to walk to Seacove--I want to see what it's like, but of
course we mustn't go so far. Mamma said we must stay on the shore.'
'If it was summer we might dig and make sand-castles,' said Biddy
regretfully. Digging in the sand was an amusement much more to her taste
than running races.
'I think that's stupid--it's such baby play,' Rosalys replied. 'But come
on, do. I'm going to climb up to the top of that bank--that's the
sand-hills papa was speaking about.'
It was more tiring work than she had expected. Before they got to the
top of the bank Alie had decided that they would have done better to
remain where they were, on the smooth firm sand down below, but once at
the top she changed again. What fun can be more delightful than playing
in sand-hills, jumping from a miniature summit to the valley beneath
with no fear of hurting one's self even if one comes to grief and rolls
ignominiously as far as one can go! How helplessly one wades in the
shifting, unstable footing--tumbling over with a touch, like a house
built of cards! The children's laughter sounded merrily in the clear
cold air; Bridget plunged about like a little porpoise in the water, and
Rosalys quite forgot that she had attained the dignity of her teens.
But a bell ringing suddenly some little way off caught their ears.
'That's papa ringing,' said Randolph. 'He said he'd have the big
dinner-bell rung when it was time for me to go in. I'm going to walk to
the town or the village, or whatever it is, with him. Good-bye,
girls. It's only three o'clock--you can stay another half-hour,' and off
he ran.
'Let's go down to the shore again,' said Alie. 'Mamma said _perhaps_
she'd come out a little, and she'd never see us up here.'
Bridget hung back a little.
'I daresay she won't come out,' she said. 'Do stay up here, Alie. If
mamma comes out she'll only talk to you and I'll be all alone. I don't
want her.'
'Oh, Bride, that's not nice. I'm sure mamma likes to talk to you too,
only you see I'm older, and there's often things you wouldn't understand
about perhaps, and----'
'I know--it's always the same. I'm too little to be any use. I know
you're older and sensibler, and I don't mean that mamma's not kind. But
families should be settled better--and--oh, Alie, I have so torn my
frock, and it's my afternoon one--my new merino.'
[Illustration: '--and--oh, Alie, I have so torn my frock, and its my
afternoon one--my new merino.' P. 27.]
Rosalys looked much concerned.
'_What_ a pity!' she exclaimed. 'I wish we hadn't played in the sand.
But really, Biddy, you are very unlucky. I've been jumping just as much
as you, and I've got no harm.'
'You never do--I don't know how it is that I always get torn,' said
Bride dolefully. 'And oh, Alie, there is mamma'--they were down on the
shore by this time, coming down being a much speedier affair than
climbing up,--'she will be so vexed, for I've got this frock new, extra
to yours, you know, because of the stain on the other the day I spilt my
tea all down it. I am so sorry, Alie. Could you pin it up?'
Rosalys stooped to examine the damage. It was not _very_ great, still
under the circumstances of its being a new frock, it was vexing enough.
'You've got it so sandy, too--that makes it look worse,' said the elder
sister, giving the unlucky skirt a shake as she spoke.
'I wish mamma hadn't come out,' said Bridget. 'Then I could have got it
brushed and mended before I told her, but perhaps it's best to tell at
once,' and she gave a little sigh.
'Much best,' her sister agreed, and they went on to meet their mother.
Suddenly Bride gave a little cry of satisfaction.
'Oh, Smut's with mamma,' she exclaimed. 'I'm so glad. You can walk with
mamma alone then, Alie, and Smut and I will come after you. I'm always
quite happy with Smuttie--I wish he was my very own.'
It was rather unlucky that just as they got up to Mrs. Vane, Bridget was
so occupied in calling to Smut, who came careering forward to meet the
girls, that the dilapidated frock went quite out of her mind. At the
first moment her mother did not notice it.
'Well, dears, here I am!' she began brightly. 'I got my letters finished
more quickly than I expected. What a quantity of things there are to
order when one first comes to a new house! And I do so miss M'Creagh!
Did you see me coming, Alie darling?'
'Yes, mamma--not very far off though. We were up on the sand-hills when
papa rang for Rough, and----'
But Mrs. Vane interrupted her.
'Oh, Bridget,' she exclaimed in a tone of vexation, 'what have you been
doing to yourself? Do you see, Alie? Her skirt is torn from top to
bottom--the stuff torn, not the seam. And so dirty. Your new frock
too--really, child, you are too provoking.'
Biddy's round rosy face grew longer and redder, and her eyes filled with
tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rosalys came before her.
'It isn't so very bad, dear mamma,' she said eagerly. 'I've been
looking at it. It looks worse because of the sand, but it isn't really
dirty; it will brush off. She rolled down one of the sand-hills. I'm
afraid it was my fault. It was my idea to play about there.'
Mrs. Vane glanced at Alie's own garments.
'Your frock is none the worse,' she said. 'I do not see that Bride need
have hurt hers if she had been the least careful. But you are so
incorrigibly heedless, Bridget, and _so_ thoughtless. Why, you were
dancing and jumping and calling to Smut when I met you as if there was
nothing the matter! I suppose you had forgotten all about your frock
already.'
Mrs. Vane's voice was rather sharp as she spoke thus to the little girl.
It sounded quite differently from the bright sweet tone in which she had
greeted them. And it did not seem to suit her to speak sharply. She was
very pretty and sweet-looking, and she seemed young to be tall Alie's
mother; indeed, people often said they looked more like sisters: stout,
sturdy little Bridget was quite unlike them both.
Rosalys looked up at her mother anxiously. She could not bear her to be
troubled, and though she was sorry for Bridget, she was vexed with her
too. She slipped her arm inside Mrs. Vane's and drew her on.
'It's too cold to stand still, mamma dear,' she said. 'Let us walk on to
that beautiful smooth piece of sand--it's rather stony just here. Biddy,
take care of Smut.'
That meant, 'You may stay behind and keep out of the way a little.'
Biddy had no objection to do so.
'Come, Smuttie, stay by me,' she said coaxingly to the little shaggy
black dog. Smut was very fond of Bridget, who had a very big heart for
all dumb animals. He wagged his tail and looked up in her face with
inquiring sympathy, for he saw quite well that Biddy was in trouble.
This was nothing new; many and many a time had the little girl buried
her tearful face in his rough coat and sobbed out her sorrows to him.
They were never very big sorrows really, but they were big to her, and
rendered bigger by the knowledge in her honest little heart that they
were generally and mostly, if not entirely, brought about by her own
fault.
She could not stoop down to cry on Smut's back now; it would have risked
considerable more dirtying of her poor frock. But she stayed some way
behind her mother and sister, so that she might talk without being
overheard by any one save her four-legged companion.
'Smuttie,' she said, 'I'm very unhappy. This is only the second day at
Seacove and I've vexed mamma already. I made good resol---- never mind;
_you_ know what I mean, Smut--to begin new here, and it's all gone. I
don't know what to do, Smuttie, I truly don't. Alie means to be kind,
but it's quite easy for her to be good, I think. And it's no good me
trying. It really isn't, so I think I'll just leave off and be
comfortable.'
Smut looked up and wagged his tail. He was quite ready to agree with
anything Biddy proposed, so long as she spoke cheerfully and did not
cry.
'Good little Smuttie, kind little Smut,' said the child; 'you're so nice
and understanding always.'
But Smut seemed restless; he fidgeted about in front of Bride, first
running a step or two, then stopping to wag his tail and look back
appealingly at her in an insinuating doggy way of his own. Biddy
pretended not to know what he meant, but she could not long keep up this
feint.
'I do know what you want,' she said at last with a sigh. 'It's a scamper,
and I hate running, and I'm sure you know I do. But I suppose I must do
it to please you. You won't roar after me like Rough, anyway.'
And off she set, her short legs exerting themselves valiantly for
Smuttie's sake. He of course could have run much faster, but he was far
too much of a gentleman to do so, and he stayed beside her, contenting
himself every now and then by stopping short to look up at her, with a
quick cheery bark of satisfaction and encouragement.