QUITE A NEW SORT OF SCHEME.
On a certain sunny morning in August, four or five weeks after Mrs.
Maybright's death, six girls stood round Dr. Maybright in his study.
They were all dressed in deep mourning, but it was badly made and
unbecoming, and one and all looked untidy, and a little run to seed.
Their ages were as varied as their faces. Helen, aged sixteen, had a
slightly plump figure, a calm, smooth, oval face, and pretty gentle blue
eyes. Her hair was fair and wavy; she was the tidiest of the group, and
notwithstanding the heavy make of her ugly frock, had a very sweet and
womanly expression. Polly, all angles and awkwardness, came next in
years; she was tall and very slim. Her face was small, her hair nearly
black and very untidy, and her big, dark, restless eyes reflected each
emotion of her mind.
Polly was lolling against the mantelpiece, and restlessly changing her
position from one leg to another; Katie, aged eleven, was something in
Helen's style; then came the twins, Dolly and Mabel, and then a rather
pale child, with a somewhat queer expression, commonly known in the
family as "Firefly." Her real name was Lucy, but no one ever dreamt of
calling her by this gentle title. "Firefly" was almost always in some
sort of disgrace, and scarcely knew what it was not to live in a state
of perpetual mental hot water. It was privately whispered in the family
circle that Polly encouraged her in her naughtiness. Whether that was
the case or not, these two had a kind of quaint, elfish friendship
between them, Firefly in her heart of hearts worshipping Polly, and
obeying her slightest nod or wish.
"I have sent for you, girls," said the Doctor, looking round tenderly at
his six motherless daughters, "to say that I have talked over matters
with Helen, and for the present at least, I am willing to give her plan
a trial. I think she is right when she tells me that if it turns out
successful nothing would please your mother more. It entirely depends on
yourselves whether it succeeds or fails. If you are agreeable to try it,
you can come to me to-morrow at this hour and tell me so. Now good-by,
my dears. Helen will explain everything to you. Helen, I shall not be in
for early dinner. Good-by, good-by to you all."
The Doctor nodded, looked half-abstractedly at the upturned young faces,
pushed his way through the little group, and taking up a parcel of
papers and a surgical case which lay near, went straight to his
carriage, which was heard immediately afterwards to bowl quickly down
the avenue.
The moment he was gone Helen was surrounded by a clamorous group.
"What is it, Nell? oh, do tell us--tell us quickly," said they, one and
all.
"I thought Helen looked very important these last few days," said Dolly.
"Do tell us what it is, Nell, and what the plan is we are all to agree
to."
"It sounds rather nice to be asked to agree to things," said Firefly.
"What's the matter, Poll? You look grumpy."
"I think Helen may be allowed to speak," said Polly. "Go on, Nell, out
with the budget of news. And you young ones, you had better not
interrupt her, for if you do, I'll pay you out by-and-by. Now, Nell.
Speak, Nell."
"It's this," said Helen.
She seated herself on the window-ledge, and Polly stood, tall and
defiant, at her back. Firefly dropped on her knees in front, and the
others lolled about anyhow.
"It's this," she said. "Father would like to carry on our education as
much in mother's way as possible. And he says that he is willing, for a
time at least, to do without having a resident elderly governess to live
with us."
"Oh, good gracious!" exclaimed Polly, "was there ever such an idea
thought of?"
"She'd have spectacles," said Dolly.
"And a hooked nose," remarked Katie.
"And she'd be sure to squint, and have false teeth, and I'd hate her,"
snapped Firefly, putting on her most vindictive face.
"Well, it's what's generally done," said Helen, in her grave, sad,
steady, young voice. "You remember the Brewsters when they--they had
their great sorrow--how an elderly governess came, and Aunt Maria
Cameron has written to father about two already. She speaks of them as
treasures; father showed me the letters. He says he supposes it is quite
the usual thing, and he asked me what I'd like. Poor father, you see he
must be out all day with the sick folks."
"Of course," murmured Polly. "Well, what did you answer him about the
old horrors, Nell?"
"One seemed rather nice," said Helen. "She was about forty-five, and had
thin grayish hair. Aunt Maria sent her photograph, and said that she was
a treasure, and that father ought not to lose an hour in securing her.
Her name was Miss Jenkins."
"Jenkins or Jones, I'd have given her sore bones," spitefully improvised
Firefly.
"Well, she's not to come," continued Helen, "at least, not at present.
For I have persuaded father to let us try the other plan. He says all
our relations will be angry with him; of course, he is not likely to
care for that. This is what we are to try, girls, if you are agreeable.
Father is going to get the very best daily governess from Nettleship to
come here every morning. She will stay until after early dinner, and
then George will drive her back to town in the pony trap. And then Mr.
Masters is to come twice a week, as usual, about our music, and Mr.
Danvers for drawing. And Miss Wilson is to stay here most of the day to
look after Bunny and Bob. That is a much better arrangement than having
a resident governess, is it not?"
"Yes," said three or four voices, but Polly was silent, and Firefly,
eagerly watching her face, closed her own resolute lips.
"That is part of father's plan," continued Helen. "But the other, and
more important part is this. I am to undertake the housekeeping. Father
says he would like Polly to help me a little, but the burden and
responsibility of the whole thing rests on me. And also, girls, father
says that there must be some one in absolute authority. There must be
some one who can settle disputes, and keep things in order, and so he
says that unless you are all willing to do what I ask you to do, the
scheme must still fall through, and we must be like the Brewsters or any
other unhappy girls whose mothers are no longer with them, and have our
resident governess."
"I know you won't like to obey me," continued Helen, looking anxiously
round, "but I don't think I'll be hard on you. No, I am sure I shall not
be hard on any of you."
"That remains to be proved," said Polly. "I don't think I like that
plan. I won't give any answer at present--I'll think about it. Come
along, Fly," she nodded to her younger sister, and then, lifting the
heavy bottom sash of the window where Helen had been sitting, stepped
lightly out, followed by the obedient Firefly.
"I don't want to obey Nell," said the little sister, clasping two of
Polly's fingers with her thin, small hand. "If it was you, Poll Parrot,
it would be a different thing, but I don't want to obey Nell. I don't
think it's fair; she's only my sister, like the rest of them. There's
nothing said in the Catechism about obeying sisters. It's only fathers
and mothers, and spiritual pastors and masters."
"And all those put in authority over you," proceeded Polly, shaking her
fingers free, and facing round on Firefly, in a way which caused that
young person to back several inches. "If Helen once gets the authority
the Catechism is on her side, not on yours."
"But I needn't promise, need I?" pouted Firefly. "If it was you, it
would be different. I always did what you wanted me to do, Polly
Perkins."
"Of course you did," responded Polly, in a most contemptuous voice.
"Will a duck swim? I led you into mischief--of course you followed.
Well, Fly, it rests with yourself. Don't obey our dear, good, gentle
Nelly, and you'll have Miss Jenkins here. Won't it be fun to see her
squinting at you over her spectacles when she returns your
spelling-lessons. Bread and water will be your principal diet most of
the week. Well, good-by now; I'm off to baby."
Polly took to her heels, and Firefly stood for a moment or two looking
utterly miserable and irresolute on the wide gravel walk in the center
of the flower-garden. She felt very much inclined to stamp her feet and
to screw up her thin little face into contortions of rage. Even very
little girls, however, won't go into paroxysms of anger when there is no
one there to see. Firefly's heart was very sore, for Polly, her idol,
had spoken to her almost roughly.
"I wish mother wasn't in heaven," she murmured in a grieved little
voice, and then she turned and walked back to the house. The nearer she
approached the study window the faster grew her footsteps. At last, like
a little torrent, she vaulted back into the room, and flung her arms
noisily round Helen's neck.
"I'll obey you, darling Nell," she said. "I'd much rather have you than
Miss Jenkins."
And then she sobbed aloud, and really shook herself, for she felt still
so angry with Polly.
"That's a good little Fly," said Helen, kissing her affectionately in
return, and putting her arm round her waist, so as to establish her
comfortably on her knee. The other girls were all lying about in
different easy attitudes, and Firefly joined in the general talk, and
found herself much comforted.