The first part of the Christmas holidays had gone with a roar. The
Saxon family in conclave agreed that never before had they had so good a
time. Invitations poured in; amusement after amusement filled up
afternoon and evening; parents and friends alike seemed imbued with a
wholly admirable desire to make the season one gay whirl of enjoyment,
and then, suddenly, just after the beginning of the New Year, the
atmosphere became mysteriously clouded.
What was the matter? Nobody knew. One day the sky was blue and
serene--the next, the shadow was in possession. Mr Saxon looked
suddenly old and bleached, and hid himself persistently in his study;
Mrs Saxon sat at the head of the table with the air of one braced to
perform a difficult task, listened vacantly to her children's prattle,
and smiled a twisted smile in response to their merry outbursts of
laughter. Two days later Miss Bruce, the governess, was summoned
hastily to return from her holiday-making and take charge of the
household, while Mr and Mrs Saxon set forth to pay a mysterious visit
to their country house, which as a rule was left severely to the
caretaker's mercies until spring was well advanced.
What in the world could have induced two people who were obviously
worried and depressed to leave town and go down to that dull, deserted
house in the depth of the winter? The Saxons discussed the subject with
their wonted vivacity, and from the many divergent points of view with
which they were accustomed to regard the world in general.
They were six in all, and as true Saxons in appearance as they were in
name, being large, fair, flaxen-haired creatures, of the type which is
unfortunately growing rarer year by year.
Rowena, tall and stately, had already reached the stage when womanhood
and girlhood meet, but her undeniable beauty was somewhat marred by an
air of self-consciousness, which was in truth more than half due to a
natural shyness and diffidence in adapting herself to new conditions.
Hereward, the Sandhurst cadet, and Gurth, the Eton stripling, were as
handsome a pair as one could wish to meet. Etheldreda, with her flowing
golden locks, widely open grey eyes and alert, vivacious features, might
have sat as a type of a bonnie English schoolgirl, while the twins,
Harold and Maud, were plump, pleasant-looking creatures, devoted to each
other, who in holiday time could be turned into convenient fags for
their elders and betters. Good old Harold could always be depended upon
to do his duty with resignation, if not cheerfulness, but Maud was one
of those constitutionally stupid people who are nevertheless gifted with
sudden flashes of sharpness apt to prove embarrassing to their
companions. The Saxons, to use their own expressive parlance, were
always "a trifle wary" in dealing with Maud, for what that young lady
thought she promptly _said_, and said without reserve, choosing, as it
seemed, out of pure "cussedness" the very moment of all others when they
would have had her silent.
Discussions and guesses alike failed to suggest any reasonable
explanations of Mr and Mrs Saxon's mysterious behaviour, and Miss
Bruce steadily refused to be drawn, though there was a certain something
in her manner which convinced her charges that she was in the secret.
And then on the morning of the fifth day the blow fell, in the shape of
a short, decisive note ordering the young people to pack their
belongings and repair down to "The Meads" for the remainder of the
holidays. The mandate was so firm and decisive that there was no hope
of escape. The girls might cry and the boys might storm, but both
realised the uselessness of protest. Assisted by Miss Bruce and Nannie,
once nurse and now schoolroom maid, the melancholy preparations were
made in time to allow the party to catch the three o'clock train from
Victoria.
To secure a carriage in which they could travel alone and be able to
talk as they pleased was the ambition of the four elders, and while Miss
Bruce was busily looking after the luggage, they took possession of a
corridor coupe, slammed the door, and blocked the window with determined
faces, though deep in each heart lurked the conviction that Miss Bruce's
morbidly acute conscience would feel it her duty to interfere.
"Nix for the Spider!" hissed Gurth, prising a hockey-stick against the
handle of the door the while he gazed with elaborate calm at a poster on
the station wall. It was inevitable that a person named Bruce should be
given the nickname of "Spider" by young people who disdained correct
appellations as heartily as did the Saxons, and, indeed, the busy little
black figure darting to and fro on the platform might have been much
less aptly named. She hustled the twins and Nannie into a carriage,
turned her head to look for her elder pupils, and, upon realising the
position, reared her head with the fighting gesture which they knew so
well. For a moment, as she stood facing the coupe window, it seemed
absolutely certain that she would insist upon joining the party, and so
spoiling sport for the whole of the journey, but even as she looked her
expression altered, a flicker of something--what was it?--affection,
sympathy, pity passed over her face, she turned without a word, entered
the carriage wherein the twins were seated, and disappeared from sight.
The plot had succeeded, but their success had left the conspirators dumb
with wonder and surprise.
"I say! what's taken her all of a sudden?" ejaculated Gurth. Hereward
whistled loudly, while Dreda, ever the prey of her emotions, began to
flush and quiver beneath the prickings of remorse.
"Oh, poor dear! Oh, she _saw_! She saw we didn't want her! What
brutes we are! Gurth, go!--go quickly, before the train starts, and
tell her to come in here at once!"
"Not I! What a turncoat you are, Dreda! Of course she saw! We _meant_
her to see. You were the worst of the lot, scowling as if she were an
ogre. Don't be a little sneak!"
"Not a sneak!" protested Dreda, hotly. "S'pose I did. I can be sorry,
can't I? She looked so--_sick_! It made me feel mean."
"All right! Go in to the other carriage, then, and suck up! We don't
want her here, but there's room for you in there, if you like to change!
Say the word! We are off in a minute!"
Etheldreda blushed, shuffled, and tossed her pigtail, but made not the
slightest attempt to move from her place, whereat her brothers and
sister chuckled with easy amusement.
"Oh, Dreda, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light thingummy aspen made.
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
She nothing does, but makes a row."
The mutilated lines were the contributions of the two schoolboys, while
Rowena looked down her nose once more, and dismissed the subject in a
few scathing remarks.
"You might realise by this time that Dreda's sentiments have not the
smallest influence on her actions! The Spider was evidently suffering
from a spasm of repentance. Quite time, too! She has made herself most
objectionable the last few days, sighing and groaning about the house,
and looking as if her heart were broken. If _we_ can stand breaking our
engagements and giving up all the fun of the holidays, I don't see why
she need grumble. But she is always like that--unsympathetic and
absorbed in herself. It's a mystery to me, for what has she got to be
absorbed in? To be old, and ugly, and poor, and to have no home or any
people that count--there can't possibly be any personal interest in
life! Her only hope would be to live for others, and of that, poor
dear, she is incapable!"
Rowena folded her hands on her lap, turned her well-cut profile to the
window, and sighed in an elderly, forbearing fashion, at which the two
boys grinned broadly, while impetuous Dreda burst once more into speech.
"Rowena, I _hate_ you when you talk like that! Don't be so self-
righteous and horrid! It's not for you to criticise other people. The
Spider is not a patch on you for selfishness, and if she has a poor time
of it, that's all the more reason why you should be charitable, and try
to cheer her up. You'll be old yourself some day, and ugly too! Fair
people always fade soonest. I read that in the toilette column of a
magazine, so it's true, and I shouldn't wonder if you grew nut-crackery,
too. Your nose is rather beaky even now. You needn't be so proud!"
Rowena turned her head to look round the carriage with a gently tolerant
smile.
"Our dear Dreda teaches us a lesson in charity, does she not?" she
demanded blandly. That was all the response she deigned to make, but it
was enough to reduce her sister to a crimson confusion, and to rouse
Gurth to impatient anger.
"Oh, leave off nagging, you two!" he cried loudly. "If you don't drop
it, I'll be off into a smoker at the first stop. Fight it out to-night
when you are alone, if you can't agree; but let us off when we are caged
up in the same pen. Here! Let's have a game of `Roadside cribbage.'
Bags I the left side! Now then, Dreda, I choose you first. Hereward
can take Rowena. Buck up! We have got to win this time."
Etheldreda shot a glance of gratitude from the grey eyes which were such
eloquent exponents of her thoughts. To be so championed by Gurth was
worth far more than the temporary suffering inflicted by Rowena's sharp
tongue, and she set herself valiantly to be worthy of his choice.
"Roadside cribbage" was a game patronised for years by the Saxon family
on their railway journeys, and consisted merely in dividing forces,
staring steadily out of opposite windows, and scoring for the various
objects perceived, according to a quaint but well understood method.
Thus, a bridge over a river counted as five marks; a quarry, ten; a
windmill, twenty; a fire, fifty; a motor car, minus one; while the
ubiquitous bicycle was worth only three per dozen. These, and other
objects too numerous to repeat, mounted but slowly towards the grand
total of a hundred, but there remained one--just one rare chance of
winning success at a stroke, for the competitor who had the luck to spy
a cat looking out of a window might cry, "Game!" on the instant, even if
he had not so far scored a single point. It can easily be understood
that the best chances of spotting this valuable spectacle came as the
train slackened steam before entering a station. Then, as one regarded
the backs of dreary tenement houses, it really seemed inevitable that
some household cat should wish to take the air, or to regard the world
from the vantage of dusty, unwashed sills! Inevitable, yet with the
perversity of cat nature, it was extraordinary how seldom this all-to-
be-desired vision burst upon the view. "It's not fair!" Rowena cried.
"You have all the poor houses on your side, and poor houses have always
more cats than rich ones. A cat for every floor. We ought to change
sides between every station, like cricket!"
"Fudge! You've got the open country. Look out for pigs and quarries...
We've had no luck with cats for the last three journeys. On the whole,
I think yours is the best side."
"Why didn't you choose it yourself, then?"
"Charity!" answered Gurth, shortly, with a twinkling glance at his
partner, who happened to be at the same time his favourite sister,
despite her many and obvious faults. If he had been asked to describe
Dreda's character, he would have said in his easy schoolboy language
that she was a bit of a sham, perhaps, but then all girls were shams
more or less, and if you kept her off high falutin', she was a decent
sort, and always ready to do a fellow a good turn.
It was sad to note that even when speaking of his favourite sister,
Gurth should have felt it necessary to adopt this tone of patronage, but
even the stoutest champion of girls cannot but admit that the sense of
honour is in them less developed than in boys, and that in moments of
irritation they betray a petty spite, of which the more brutal male is
incapable. Gurth was conscious that he had faults of his own, but he
regarded them leniently as being on an altogether different level from
those of his sisters. He was a bit of a slacker, perhaps, but most
"men" were slackers, and yet pulled through all right by means of a
spurt at the end. His chiefs called him obstinate, but a fellow had to
know his own mind if he were to get on in the world, and he jolly well
knew that he was right as often as not Masters were awful muffs. On the
other hand, he hated gush like poison, and was invariably a hundred
times better than his word, whereas Dreda could hold forth as eloquently
as a parson, with the tears pouring down her cheeks, and her figure
trembling with emotion, and the next day forget the very cause of her
emotion! The girl was like a fire of shavings, quickly lighted, quickly
extinguished, and probably the greatest punishment which she could have
sustained would have been compelled to carry on one of her many
philanthropic schemes to a deliberate conclusion.
They were all stored up in the family archives--the histories of Dreda's
charitable enterprises! The factory girl to whom she was going to write
regularly every week, and whose address was lost in a fortnight--the
collecting cards beyond number, for which, in the first ardour of
possession, subscriptions were extorted from every member of the
household, and which were rescued from stray hiding-places at the last
possible moment and despatched with odd offerings of twopences and
threepences from "A Friend" scribbled in, to fill up the empty spaces.
Everyone understood that the "friend" was Dreda herself, and that she
might be expected to be correspondingly short in tuck money for some
time to come! Never a society did Dreda hear of but she panted to
become a member on the spot, and never a society but received her
resignation, accompanied by a goodly sum in fines, before six months had
run their course.
Closeted with parent and teachers, the girl received numberless lectures
on the dangers of a thoughtless and unstable character, and was moved to
ardent vows of repentance; but, alone with Maud, her confidante and
admirer, she was wont to cast a kindly glamour of romance over her own
delinquencies. "It's my heart," she would sigh pathetically. "My heart
is so sensitive. It's like an Aeolian harp, Maud, upon which every
passing breeze plays its melody. I'm a creature of sensibility!" And
she rolled her fine eyes to the ceiling, the while Maud snorted, being
afflicted with adenoids, and wrinkled her brows in the effort to put her
fingers on the weak spot in the argument, the which she felt, but had
difficulty in explaining.
"Your heart is hard enough at times!" she said at last. "I suppose the
strings get so thin with being everlastingly twanged that they break,
and then the breeze can moan as much as it likes without waking a sound.
When you let that poor little puppy lie for two days without any food,
for instance--"
"You're a beast!" retorted Dreda with fervour. "You don't understand.
No one does. I'm misunderstood all round. At any rate I'd rather reach
the hilltops sometimes than everlastingly crawl along in the mire, like
_some_ people I can mention. It's better to have soared and fallen than
never to have soared at all!"
Dreda, like most of us, was tender towards her own failings, and
resented the criticism of her peers. This afternoon she kept her eyes
glued upon the landscape, affecting to be ignorant of Gurth's sly hit,
and presently it was balm to her wounded spirit to be able to win the
game for herself and her partner, and with a squeal of triumph to point
to an upper window in a row of tenement houses, where two erect ears and
a pair of yellow eyes could be clearly discerned over the edge of a
wooden box filled with miniature fir trees of funereal aspect.
The game was over, and with it had disappeared all disposition to
quarrel. Henceforward, to the end of the journey, the four young people
chatted amicably together, discussing various subjects of interest, but
invariably returning to the one absorbing question of the hour--what
could have happened to account for the hasty and mysterious summons to
the solitary home in the country at a time when all their interests and
pleasures were centred in town?