THE MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES--A GIRL!
Mr. Ablethorpe appeared to have had a much better time of it with Miss
Constantia than I had had with her sister--perhaps, because she was
younger by some minutes, and was quite conscious of being pretty, so
didn't need to be told. Yet, when you come to think of it, I had done
a heap more for Harriet Caw, than the Hayfork Minister for her sister.
Had I not rushed to defend her from no less a foe than Mad Jeremy? And
there were precious few in the two parishes of Breckonside and
Breckonton who would have done the like. So she need not have run
upstairs when she got home, pushing her step-grandmother aside and
saying: "Out of the way, Susan Fergusson!" Neither had she any need to
slam the door of her room, for it was her twin sister's as well as
hers, at any rate.
And though I did not like Constantia so well to start with, I must say
that her conduct was a great contrast to that of her sister Harriet. I
could not help remarking it. She came quite peaceably to the door with
Mr. Ablethorpe. Then she went back and found his hat for him, which he
had forgotten. And she stood smiling and waving adieux under the
bunches of purple creepers about the porch--like--well, I declare, like
the picture of "Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good-bye!" in the "Keepsake" book.
And then, thinking it over, I took it all back and preferred in my
heart the slam of Harriet's door. There was more meaning to it.
But Mr. Ablethorpe did not appear to notice. He thought that he had
sown good seed on very promising soil.
"She seemed quite in favour of the Eastward position," he said
thoughtfully, "and she understands our argument in favour of the
'Missale Romanum' and with regard to irregularly ordained clergy. The
rest may follow in time."
And as for me, I hoped to goodness it would.
After that the Hayfork was very thoughtful all the way to the
crossroads, where we separated, he to return to his lodging in Over
Breckonton and I to go back to father's. Well, not just directly, of
course. I had to look in at Nance Edgar's cottage at the Bridge End.
It was my duty. Elsie was there, sitting reading by the window. She
had been doing German or something with the schoolmaster's sister, and,
for a wonder, was quite pleased to see me. She mostly wasn't, if I
interrupted her when she was "studying." "Studying" with Elsie
consisted in neither talking yourself, nor letting any other body talk.
The first thing that struck me was how much prettier Elsie was to look
at than Harriet Caw, and, of course, than her sister. I told her so,
thinking that she would be pleased. But instead, she faced about at
once and laid down her book.
"Who is Harriet Caw?" she asked in a kind of icebergy voice, quite
differently pitched from her usual.
Then I began, pleased as a kitten with a wool ball, to tell her all
about it--how Mr. Ablethorpe had come and asked me off for the day from
my father, how we had gone and helped at the haymaking. Then I made
out a long yarn about finding the little package of rings which Mr.
Ablethorpe had taken so carefully away with him.
"But they were more yours than his!" cried Elsie suddenly; "you should
have brought them here to me. Then we would have found out what they
were, and if they had anything to do with the--with Harry Foster. We
were the first who found out anything, and now you go off with Mr.
Ablethorpe----"
"Yes, Elsie," I said, a little taken aback by her tone, "but he seemed
to know all about where to look, and he wouldn't tell me anything,
though I asked."
"No, of course not," said Elsie sharply; "there will be a reward, you
may depend. Then he will get it instead of you!"
I cried out against this, saying that she was not fair to Mr.
Ablethorpe. But at the bottom of my heart I was not a bit sorry. The
Hayfork Minister had such a curly head, and people made such a fuss
about him--especially the women--that I wasn't a bit sorry to find that
Elsie was not of their mind.
This gave me some assurance to go on.
"Well, and what did you do after that?" she said. And I was all on
fire to tell her about the two granddaughters of Caleb Fergusson, who
came all the way from London--how we had tea with them, how Mr.
Ablethorpe stayed and talked with the one who thought no end of
herself--that is to say, with Constantia, while I was compelled to go
and keep the other one, Harriet, from getting into mischief.
At the very first word Elsie sat up straight in her chair. Then, even
though I said nothing (it was no use entering into details) about
Harriet Caw's taking my arm, Elsie pinched her lips and turned up her
nose.
"You would like her awfully!" I said. "She's as nice as can be."
"Oh!" was all that Elsie said, and she reached for the knitting which
lay within reach.
"Very likely!" she added as she adjusted the stitches, some of which
had slipped off, owing to my having sat down on it when I first came in.
"Yes," I continued, in a kind of quick, fluttering voice--I could hear
so much myself--"she comes from London, but she does not put on any
airs. _And she does not like me at all!_"
"Ah," said Elsie, "and pray how did you find that out?"
So I told her all about Harriet running away because I was so stupid,
and her meeting with Mad Jeremy. I said as little about my going at
him with an open knife as I could. For, after all, that was a foolish
thing to do. But I told Elsie about Harriet Caw fainting, and as much
as I could remember about Harriet running home and slamming herself in
her room.
And all the time the atmosphere in that room was getting more and more
chilly, while Elsie herself would have frozen a whole shipful of beef
and mutton right through the tropics.
"Well," I said when I had finished my tale, "she may have got a temper,
but she is a nice girl and you will like her. We shall go and see her
to-morrow--I told her about you, Elsie."
She flashed a look at me--like striking a vesta at night, it was.
"And pray, what did you tell her about me?"
"I told her that you were pretty--so did Mad Jeremy. And I told her,
besides, that you would be sure to take to one another. Now, will you
go and see her to-morrow?"
Slowly Elsie gathered up all that belonged to her in Nance Edgar's
little sitting-room--her books, her work, and a hat that had been
thrown carelessly on a chair.
"No," she said, the words clicking against one another like lumps of
ice in a tumbler, "no, I will not go and call upon Miss Harriet Caw,
from London. But there is nothing to prevent your going, Mr. Joseph
Yarrow!"
And she in her turn swept out and slammed the door.
I sat there in Nance Edgar's winking firelight looking at my fingers
one by one, and not sure of the count.
If any one will please tell me what a girl will say or do in any given
circumstances--well, I'll be obliged to him, that's all. I don't
believe any fellow was ever so abused and browbeat in one day by girls
before. And all for nothing. That is the funny part of it. For what
had I done? Answer me that, if you please. Nothing--just nothing!