BIDDY HAS SOME NEW THOUGHTS
'O, children take long to grow.'
JEAN INGELOW.
Mr. Vane nodded in token of comprehending Alie's hint.
'You must walk to Seacove to-morrow and see it for yourselves,' he said.
'That is to say if it is fine,' said Mrs. Vane. 'Doesn't it look stormy
to-night?'
'The wind is getting up, but that one must expect at this time of the
year, and a good blow now and then won't hurt the girls. I feel ever so
much the better for the touch of it we had this afternoon. I'm certain
it is a very healthy place.'
Mrs. Vane smiled a little.
'I have noticed that that is generally said of places that have nothing
else to recommend them. But no,' she went on, 'I must not begin by
finding fault. If it proves to us a health-giving place I certainly
shall like it, whatever else it is or is not. Did you go into the church
this afternoon?'
'Just for a moment. Rough wanted to glance at it,' Mr. Vane replied, his
tone sounding rather less cheerful.
'It looked very dingy and dismal,' Randolph said. 'It's all high pews
and high-up windows, you know, mamma. Papa says it must have been built
at the very ugliest time for churches, before they began to improve at
all.'
'And there is nothing to be done to it,' said Mr. Vane. 'Even if we
could attempt it and had the money, there would be endless difficulties
in the way of prejudice and old associations to overcome.'
'And it is not as if we were really settled here,' said the children's
mother. 'You must not take the church to heart, Bernard; you could
scarcely expect anything better in a place like this.'
'No--it will be slow work to bring about any improvement in outlying
places of this kind certainly,' Mr. Vane agreed. Then he brightened up a
little. 'There is a very good organ, and I met the organist. He seems
very hearty and eager.'
'That's a good thing. How did you come across him?' asked Mrs. Vane.
'We went to the stationer's to order the newspapers. I might of course
have had them straight from town, but I think it is right to get what
one can in the place, and it helps me to get to know the people a
little. The organist--Redding is his name--was in the shop; I fancy he's
a bit of a gossip, for he looked rather guilty when we went in, just as
if they had been talking about us, and then he introduced himself. He's
coming up to have a talk with me to-morrow.'
'It is quite a nice shop,' said Randolph. 'I expect it has some of the
College custom. I saw some books with the College crest on lying about.
You can get painting things there, Alie,' he added.
Rosalys looked interested, and Biddy's face grew some degrees less long.
'Is there a toy-shop?' she asked.
'There's better than a toy-shop--a wonderful sort of place they call a
bazaar,' Rough replied. 'You may walk all round and look at the things
without having to buy, and there's one part where all the toys are only
a penny.'
Biddy clasped her hands in ecstasy.
'Oh, mamma,' she said, '_may_ we go and see it to-morrow? Oh, I'm sure
Seacove is ever so much nicer than London!'
Mr. Vane smiled.
'How many pennies have you got to spend, Biddy?' he said.
Biddy's face sobered again, and the corners of her mouth went down.
'I've got two,' she said in a very meek voice, 'and there would have
been another to-morrow, that's Saturday, if--I--hadn't----'
'What?' asked Mr. Vane.
'Tore my frock,' said Biddy very slowly.
'_Torn_, if you please,' said her father. 'Well, suppose mamma lets you
off as it's the first Saturday at Seacove, that will be threepence, and
suppose I give you three pennies more, that will be sixpence--with
sixpence you could make important purchases at the penny counter, could
she not, Rough?'
'Certainly, I should say,' Randolph replied.
Bridget's face crimsoned with pleasure. She got up from her seat and ran
round to the arm-chair by the fire where Mr. Vane was quietly sipping
his tea, and at the imminent risk of throwing it all over him, flung her
arms round his neck.
'Oh, thank you, papa, _dear_ papa,' she said, 'dear, dear papa, and I do
_so_ hope you'll be like the boy-that-brought-the-potatoes' papa, and
I'm going always to be good now, always.'
Poor Mr. Vane disengaged himself and his tea-cup with some difficulty
from his little daughter's embraces. To his surprise, when he could
manage to see her face, there were tears in her eyes. He was touched but
at the same time rather apprehensive; it was ticklish work when Biddy's
floodgates were opened.
'My poor little woman,' he said; 'yes, it's quite right to make good
resolutions. But, remember, Rome wasn't built in a day, Bride; you'll
have to keep up your courage and go on trying. But what's all that about
boys and potatoes?'
Biddy grew red; she felt by instinct that she must not tell over all the
conversation; mamma would be vexed.
'I only meant----' and she hesitated.
'Biddy knew a little greengrocer boy in London who was very fond of his
father,' said Rosalys quickly.
'Never mind about that just now,' Mrs. Vane added. 'I have several
things I want to ask you about your study. If you have finished your
tea, will you come in there with me? The work-people about here are
rather stupid, I'm afraid, Bernard. They don't the least understand
about the book-shelves.'
'Don't worry yourself about it,' Mr. Vane replied. 'Things will get
straight by degrees. I'm afraid you have much more trouble now that
M'Creagh's gone.'
M'Creagh was Mrs. Vane's 'old maid,' as the children called her. She had
been with her since Mrs. Vane's childhood, and had lately given up her
right to the title by getting married, to the great regret of everybody
except, I _fear_, Biddy. For M'Creagh had 'managed' the little girl in a
wonderful way; that is to say, she had kept her in order, and Biddy very
much preferred being left to her own devices.
Mrs. Vane sat down on the low couch--one end of which was covered with
piles of books,--they were in the study by this time.
'Yes,' she said, 'I miss M'Creagh, but my real trouble just now,
Bernard, is Biddy. I am afraid I don't take the right way with her,
somehow. She is so tiresomely heedless and provoking, and sometimes
I really wonder if she has any heart.'
Mr. Vane looked up in surprise, in which there was a little touch of
indignation, at this. Fresh from Bridget's loving hugs and the sight of
the tears in her eyes, he could hardly be expected to agree with this
opinion of her.
'My dear,' he said, 'I think you are not fair upon her. I really can't
help saying so. The poor child is heedless and provoking to a degree,
but she is very affectionate.'
Mrs. Vane did not seem annoyed; she was, on the contrary, rather glad of
what Mr. Vane said.
'Yes, she seems so sometimes, and I hope it is only her
childishness--but it is so impossible to make any lasting impression on
her. And I don't see how things are to improve with her. Rosalys was a
perfect little woman at her age. Bridget thinks of _nothing_--I have
seen it so much since we came here and during the bustle of the removal
from London. She lives like a complete baby--perhaps it is partly that
Alie is so unusually thoughtful and helpful, a real right-hand to me,
and Rough too for a boy is very sensible. So Biddy goes her own way,
nothing is expected of her, and she certainly fulfils the expectation,'
she wound up with a half smile.
Mr. Vane sat silent.
'She might be better with some companionship of her own age,' he said
in a few minutes. 'The give-and-take of even childish companionship is a
kind of training and discipline. As it is, she is almost like an only
child. Now, if Alie were away for a while, Bridget would have to try to
take her place.'
'I could not do without Alie, not just now certainly,' said Mrs. Vane
decidedly. 'We must just hope that somehow time will improve Bridget.'
'And don't be too hard on her,' said her father. 'I feel sure she means
well.'
'When she means anything,' replied Mrs. Vane; 'but she seldom thinks
enough for that.'
'I don't know about that,' said Mr. Vane doubtfully, 'still----'
But then something in the arrangement of the book-shelves caught his
eye, and no more was said of Biddy for the time.
Papa did not forget. Bridget got her fourpence the next day, a penny
from mamma and threepence from papa. And all troubles were thrown to the
winds, torn frocks and everything disagreeable forgotten, when she set
off with Rosalys and Randolph, under their maid's charge, for a visit to
Seacove, the wonderful bazaar being the real object of the walk.
Only a very slight misgiving came over her as papa stooped to kiss her
in the doorway; they met him on their way out.
'Be a sensible little woman to-day, my Biddy,' he said, 'and don't get
into any scrapes to worry your mamma.'
The child looked up into his face. Was it the yellowish morning light
from over the sea--for it was clear and bright though cold--that made
papa's face so pale? And yesterday he had looked so nice and rosy--Biddy
felt rather strange; for the first time in her little life there came
over her a faint, very faint shadow of _the_ shadow which, as we grow
older, we learn cannot be avoided; the wings of the solemn angel seemed
for an instant to brush her softly. Biddy trembled without understanding
why.
'Papa, dear papa,' she said, but somehow no other words would come.
He kissed her again, and he smiled. It seemed to brighten up his face.
Bridget gave a sigh of relief: the potato boy's papa had got well, and
very likely he too looked pale sometimes. Still that strange breath of
feeling had left some result.
'Alie,' she said, as she trotted down the garden path beside her sister,
the sixpence tightly clasped in her hand, 'is there anything I could get
for a present for two of my pennies? I want to get some of the toys for
myself with papa's three pennies, and I want to get a thimble with one,
'cos I've lost mine, and my workbox is messy-looking.'
'You can't get a proper one for a penny, not a silver one, and mamma
says imitation ones are bad to wear,' said Rosalys. 'I've got my first
thimble that's too small now--it's real silver. I'll give it you, and
that'll leave you threepence for your present. But who's it for?'
'Three pennies won't do,' said Biddy. 'It must be two pennies, 'cos it's
for papa, and he gave me three pennies, and it would just be like giving
it him back again.'
Rosalys and Randolph glanced at each other. They could scarcely believe
it was thoughtless Biddy speaking.
'Yes, I quite understand,' said Alie. 'Let's see--what could you get for
papa? Can't you help us, Rough?'
Rough considered deeply.
'A purse--no, that would be too dear--or an inkstand?' he said.
'I'm sure an inkstand would be far dearer,' said Alie sharply. 'You're
no good, Rough. I daresay we'll see something there, Biddy dear. I'll
not forget.'
Bride felt very pleased. She was in high favour with Rosalys, she could
see. She began jumping up and down the little grass-covered sandy
hillocks that bordered the road, scarcely more than a cart-track, across
the common between the Rectory and the little town.
'There's a shorter way if we turn, a little farther on,' said Rough. 'We
can either get on to the road above the shore--it's a proper road--or
cut across a very sandy place, much sandier than the common.'
'No,' said Alie, 'I'd rather go along the road even if it's farther.
Walking on sand is so tiresome, and spoils one's boots so. Biddy, I
think you'd better walk quietly: remember what papa said, and you know
you are rather unlucky.'
It was pleasant walking along the firm, hard road, and the fresh air was
exhilarating--the sunshine, thin and wintry though it was, gilded palely
the little shallow lakes and pools left by the outgoing tide along the
shore, for it was almost low water now. Even the bare stretches of sand
did not look ugly, as they sometimes do--a touch of sunshine makes all
the difference! And the even stony path--a sort of natural breakwater
running out towards the lighthouse--here and there caught a gleam or two
from the sky.
'It looks quite different to last night,' said Alie. 'That's one thing
I like the seaside for; it's always changing.'
'And the wind's gone down with the tide,' said Randolph, 'though it did
blow last night. There'll be rough weather before long, everybody says.'
'I _would_ so like to be in the lighthouse if there was a storm,' said
Biddy. 'That isn't naughty to wish, Alie, for the lighthouse is to keep
away shipwrecks. And if there just _was_ one, you know, it _would_ be
nice to be there to help the poor wet people, and carry them in to the
fire, and rub them dry with hot blankets, like in that story, you know.'
'A lot you'd be able to carry,' said Rough contemptuously. 'Why, you're
so fat and roundabout, and your legs are so short you can scarcely carry
yourself.'
'Rough,' began Rosalys warningly. And
'_Alie_,' began Bridget at the same moment in her whining tone, 'do
listen to him.'
But a peremptory 'Hush' from Randolph checked her. Both the girls looked
up. A short, rather stout, pleasant-faced man was at that moment
overtaking them.
'Good-morning, sir,' he said as he passed, and 'Good-morning, Mr.
Redding,' returned Rough courteously, as the other lifted his hat.
Rough had very nice manners.
'That is Redding, the organist,' said Rough. 'He's something else as
well--a tailor or a draper----'
'"A butcher, a baker, or candlestick-maker,"' interrupted Rosalys
laughingly. She did not mean to make fun of good Mr. Redding, but she
wanted to make the others laugh too, to restore their good humour.
'Well, something, any way,' Randolph went on. 'Papa says he's an awfully
good sort of man; he gives all his spare time to the organ for nothing.'
'That's very nice,' said Alie approvingly.
They were near the actual town of Seacove by this time--town or village,
it was difficult to say which, though the rows of tall masts a little
way off in the docks and the paved streets hardly seemed to suit the
idea of a village. And a few minutes more brought them to what was
ambitiously called the 'Parade,' where stood the long low bazaar, with a
large placard at the door announcing that 'entrance' was 'free.'
In summer the bazaar blossomed out into twice its winter size, thanks to
a tentlike canvas front; at present it was a building of not very
imposing appearance. But it was long in proportion to its width, and one
or two gas-jets lighted up the innermost end, even in the daytime. This
gave it a rather mysterious air, and added much to Biddy's admiration.
'It's a _lovely_ place,' she whispered to the others in an almost
awestruck tone. Rough felt much gratified; he considered the bazaar his
own 'find.' He set to work very graciously to do the honours of it, and
led the way slowly between the two sloping-upwards counters or tables at
each side, on which were arranged the more important and expensive
wares--china vases, glass, English and foreign, some of it really quaint
and uncommon, such as was not, in those days at least, to be often met
with in regular shops, workboxes and desks of various kinds;
papier-mâché writing-books, a few clocks; jewelry, a little real, a
great deal imitation, in glass-lidded cases; and so on. And down the
centre stood groups of walking-sticks, camp-stools, croquet-sets, and
such like.
'Usefuller' things, as Biddy afterwards told her mother, were not
wanting either. Hair-brushes and combs, metal teapots, and lots of gaily
painted trays were among them. And some very magnificent dolls gazed
down with their bright unblinking eyes at the whole from a high
position, where they and the larger, more costly toys were placed.
It was all very imposing, very breath-taking-away, and Biddy's eyes
were very eager and her mouth wide open as she trotted after Alie. For
London shops were not as magnificent forty years ago as they are now;
and, besides it was not often that the little Vanes had paid a visit to
Cremer's or the arcades, which are children's delight. And then it was
here so delightfully uncrowded and quiet. The shopwoman, knowing who
they were, felt not a little honoured by their prompt visit, and beyond
a civil 'Good-morning, young ladies,' left them free to stare about and
admire as they chose.
But they did not linger long before the objects which they knew to be
quite beyond their reach. It was the penny counter for which they were
really bound, and to which Rough piloted them with an air of great
pride.
'There, now,' he said, waving his hand like a show-man; 'what do you say
to that, girls? All these things--everything you can see as far as
here--for a penny!'
Biddy gasped; even Alie was impressed.
'They're really very nice, Biddy,' she said. 'And oh, look, what nice
dolls' furniture! What a pity, Biddy, you don't care for dolls!'