THE PIC-NIC.
'There, on a slope of orchard, Francis laid
A damask napkin, wrought with horse and hound;
Brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home,
And, half-cut down, a pasty costly made,
Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay,
Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks
Imbedded and injellied; last, with these
A flask of cider from his father's vats,
Prime which I knew;--and so we sat and ate.'
_Tennyson._
No. 8, St. Oswald's Buildings was a roomy house, which owed its
cheapness to its situation, this being neither in the genteel nor the
busy part of Bexley. It was tall and red, and possessed a good many
rooms, and it looked out into a narrow street, the opposite side of
which consisted of the long wall of a brewery, which was joined farther
on to that of the stable-yard of the Fortinbras Arms, the principal
hotel, which had been much frequented in old posting days, and
therefore had offices on a large scale. Only their side, however, was
presented to St. Oswald's Buildings, the front, with its arched 'porte
cochère,' being in the High Street, as it was still called, though it
was a good deal outshone by the newer part of the town.
The next-door neighbours of No. 8 were on the one hand a carpenter's
yard, the view of which was charming to the children, and the noises
not _too_ obnoxious to their parents; and on the other the Rectory
garden, which separated them from the churchyard, now of course
disused. It had no entrance towards their lane; and to reach the
church, it was necessary to turn the corner of the wall, and go in
through the south porch, which opened close upon the High Street.
In this old street lay the two buildings that chiefly concerned the
young Underwoods, _i.e._ the two schools. That for boys was an old
foundation, which had fallen into decay, and had been reformed and
revivified in nineteenth-century fashion, to suit the requirements
of the town. The place, though in the south of England, had become
noted as a pottery, owing partly to the possession of large fields
of a peculiar clay, which was so bad for vegetable growth, as to
proclaim its destiny to become pots and pans, partly to its convenient
neighbourhood to the rising seaport of Dearport, which was only an hour
from it by railway. The old St. Oswald's school had been moulded under
the influence of new comers, who had upset the rules of the founder,
and arranged the terms on the broadest principles of liberality,
bringing, instead of the drowsy old clerical master, a very brisk
and lively young layman, who had a knack of conveying instruction of
multifarious kinds such as had never occurred to his predecessor.
Mr. Underwood had a certain liking for the man, and when tolerably
well, enjoyed the breaking a lance with him over his many crude
heterodoxies; but he did not love the school, and as long as he was
able had taught his boys himself, and likewise taken a few day-pupils
of the upper ranks, who were preparing for public schools. But when his
failure of health rendered this impracticable, the positive evil of
idleness was, he felt, greater than any possible ones that might arise
from either the teaching or the associations of the town school, and he
trusted to home influence to counteract any such dangers. Or perhaps
more truly he dreaded lest his own reluctance might partly come from
prejudice in favour of gentlemen and public schools; and he believed
that where a course seemed of absolute necessity, Providence became
a guard in its seeming perils. Indeed, that which he disapproved in
Mr. Ryder's school was more of omission than commission. It was that
secularity was the system, rather than the substance of that secularity.
So Felix and Edgar went to school, and were in due time followed by
Clement and Fulbert; and their bright wits, and the educated atmosphere
of their home, made their career brilliant and successful. Mr. Ryder
was greatly pleased to have got the sons of a man whom he could not but
admire and respect, and was anxious that the boys should be the means
of conquering the antiquated prejudices in favour of exclusiveness at
school.
Felix and Edgar were neck and neck, carrying off all the prizes of
the highest form but one--Felix, those that depended on industry and
accuracy; Edgar, those that could be gained by readiness and dexterity.
Both were to be promoted to the upper form; and Mr. Ryder called upon
their father in great enjoyment of their triumph, and likewise to
communicate his confident certainty that they would do him and Bexley
credit by obtaining the most notable scholarships of the University.
Mr. Underwood was not a little delighted, grateful for the cordial
sympathy, and he fully agreed that his own lads had benefited by the
clear vigorous teaching they had received; but though he smiled and
allowed that they had taken no harm, he said good-humouredly that 'Of
course, he must consider _that_ as the proof of his own powers of
counteraction.'
'Exactly so,' said the schoolmaster. 'All we wish is, that each home
should exercise its powers of counteraction. We do the teaching, you
form the opinions.'
'Oh! are we parents still to be allowed to form the opinions?'
'If you _will_. Your house is your castle, and the dungeons there may
be what you will.'
'Well, I cannot have a quarrel with you to-day, Ryder! As long as I
can show up my boys as tokens of God's blessing on their home, you are
welcome to them as instances of wits well sharpened by thorough good
instruction.'
Mrs. Underwood had likewise had a congratulatory visit that was very
gratifying. The girls' school, a big old red house, standing back from
the road at the quietest end of the town, was kept by two daughters of
a former clergyman, well educated and conscientious women, whom she
esteemed highly, and who gave a real good grounding to all who came
under their hands, going on the opposite principle to Mr. Ryder's, and
trying to supply that which the homes lacked.
And they did often succeed in supplying it, though their scholars came
from a class where there was much to subdue; and just at present their
difficulties had been much increased by their having been honoured
by the education of Miss Price. Seven governesses in succession had
proved incapable of bearing with Lady Price; and the young lady had
in consequence been sent to Miss Pearson's, not without an endeavour
on her mother's part to obtain an abatement in terms in honour of the
_éclat_ of her rank.
There her airs proved so infectious, that, as Miss Pearson said, the
only assistance she had in lessening their evil influence was the
perfect lady-likeness of the Underwood twins, and the warm affection
that Wilmet inspired. Alda headed a sort of counter party against
Caroline Price, which went on the principle of requiting scorn with
scorn; but Wilmet's motherly nature made her the centre of attraction
to all the weak and young, and her uprightness bore many besides
herself through the temptation to little arts. Both sisters had prizes,
Alda's the first and best; and Miss Pearson further offered to let
Wilmet pay for her own studies and those of a sister, by becoming
teacher to the youngest class, and supervisor during the mid-day
recreation, herself and her sister dining at school.
It was a handsome offer for such a young beginner, and the mother's
eyes filled with tears of pleasure; and yet there was a but--
'Not come home to dinner!' cried the children. 'Can't it be Alda
instead of Wilmet? We do always want Wilmet so, and Alda would do just
as well at school.'
Alda too was surprised; for was not she more regular and more forward
than her twin sister, who was always the one to be kept at home when
any little emergency made Mamma want the aid of an elder daughter?
And the mother would almost have asked that Alda might be the chosen
governess pupil, if Mr. Underwood had not said, 'No, my dear, Miss
Pearson must have her own choice. It is a great kindness, and must be
accepted as such. I suppose Robina must be the new scholar. My little
pupil will not leave me.'
Geraldine only heard of the alternative, to say, 'I'll be nobody's
pupil but yours, Papa.'
While Robina was proportionably exalted by her preferment, and took to
teasing every one in the house to hear her spelling and her tables,
that she might not fulfil Edgar's prediction by going down to the
bottom of the baby-class; and up and down the stairs she ran, chanting
in a sing-song measure--
'Twenty pence are one and eightpence,
Thirty pence are two and sixpence,'
and so on, till her father said, smiling, 'Compensations again, Mother:
the less you teach them the more they are willing to learn.' The mother
shook her head, and said the theory was more comfortable than safe, and
that she did not find Lancelot an instance of it.
But there was a general sense of having earned the holiday, when the
grocery van came to the door, on a morning of glorious sunshine. Edgar
and Alda, true to their promise, had walked on so far ahead as to
avoid being seen in the town in connection with it; and Fulbert had
started with them to exhale his impatience, but then had turned back
half-way, that he might not lose the delicious spectacle of the packing
of the vehicle. A grand pack it was: first, the precious hamper; then a
long sofa-cushion, laid along the bottom; then Geraldine lifted in by
Sibby and Felix, and folded up with shawls, and propped with cushions
by Mamma, whose imagination foresaw more shaking than did the more
youthful anticipation; then Mamma herself, not with 'little baby,' but
with Angela on her lap, and Angela's feet in all manner of unexpected
places; then a roll of umbrellas and wraps; then Wilmet, Fulbert,
Lance, and Robina--nowhere in particular; and lastly Papa, making room
for Clement between himself and the good-humoured lad of a driver, who
had not long ago been a member of the choir; while Felix, whom nothing
could tire on that day, dived rapidly down a complication of alleys,
declaring he should be up with the walkers long before they were
overtaken by the van.
Next appeared Mr. Audley, with his pretty chestnut horse, offering
in the plenitude of his good-nature to give Lance a ride, whereupon
vociferous '_me toos_' resounded from within the curtains; and the
matter was compounded on ride and tie principles, in which the
Underwood juniors got all the ride, and Mr. Audley all the _tie_--if
that consisted in walking and holding the bridle.
By the time the very long and dull suburbs of Bexley were passed, with
their interminable villas and rows of little ten-pound houses--the
children's daily _country_ walk, poor things!--the two elder boys and
their sister were overtaken, the latter now very glad to condescend to
the van.
'Oh, how nice to get beyond our tiresome old tether!' she said,
arranging herself a peep-hole between the curtains. 'I am so sick of
all those dusty black beeches, and formal evergreens. How can you stare
at them so, Cherry?'
But Geraldine was in a quiet trance of delight; she had never spoken a
word since she had first found a chink in the awning, but had watched
with avid eyes the moving panorama of houses, gardens, trees, flowers,
carriages, horses, passengers, nursemaids, perambulators, and children.
It was all a perfect feast to the long-imprisoned eyes, and the more
charming from the dreamy silence in which she gazed. When Felix came up
to the slit through which the bright eyes gleamed, and asked whether
she were comfortable and liked it, her answer was a long-drawn gasp
from the wells of infinite satisfaction, such as set him calculating
how many drives in a Bath-chair the remnant of his birth-day gift would
yet produce.
But there were greater delights; corn-fields touched with amber, woods
sloping up hills, deep lanes edged with luxuriant ferns, greenery that
drove the young folk half mad with delight, and made them scream to
be let out and gather--gather to their hearts' content. Only Mamma
recommended not tiring themselves, but trusting that Centry Park would
afford even superior flowers to those they passed.
They reached the lodge-gate at last. They were known, for the Castle
had been long untenanted, and they, like other inhabitants of Bexley,
had from time to time enjoyed themselves in the Park; but to-day there
was a shadow of demur. The gentleman who was going to buy the place was
looking over it--but surely--
Horror began to spread over the inmates of the van.
'But did you come by appointment, sir?' added the gatekeeper's wife,
coming out; 'the gentleman's name is Mr. Underwood.'
Mr. Underwood was obliged to disclaim any appointment; but he looked
round at the children's blank faces, and saw lips quivering, and eyes
gazing wistfully into the paradise of green shade, and added, 'If the
gentleman has not actually bought it, he could not object. We do not
wish to go near the house.'
Maybe Mr. Audley, who was standing near the gate, added another more
substantial argument, for 'Oh, certainly, sir,' at once followed; and
the van was allowed to turn down a gravelled road, which skirted an
extensive plantation.
Every one now left it, except Mrs. Underwood, Cherry, and Angela; and
the children began to rush and roll in wild delight on the grassy
slope, and to fill their hands with the heather and ling, shrieking
with delight. Wilmet had enough to do to watch over Angela in her
toddling, tumbling felicity; while Felix, weighted with Robina on his
back, Edgar, Fulbert, Clement, and Lance, ran in and out among the
turf; and Alda, demurely walking by her papa, opined that it was 'very
odd that the gentleman's name should be Underwood.'
'Less odd than if it was Upperwood,' said her father, as if to throw
aside the subject; and then, after a few moments' thought, and an odd
little smile, as if at some thought within himself, he began to hand
in flowers to Cherry, and to play with little Angela. Mr. Audley had
gone to put up his horse at the village inn, and did not join the party
again till they had reached what the children called Pic-nic Hollow--a
spot where a bank suddenly rose above a bright dimpling stream with a
bed of rock, the wood opening an exquisite vista under its beech trees
beyond, and a keeper's lodge standing conveniently for the boiling of
kettles.
Here the van was disposed of, the horses taken out and provided with
food, Cherry carried to a mossy throne under a glorious beech-tree,
and the hampers unpacked by Mamma and Wilmet, among much capering and
dancing of the rest of the family, and numerous rejected volunteers of
assistance. Felix and Alda were allowed to spread the table-cloth and
place the dishes, but Edgar was only entreated to keep the rest out of
the way.
Meanwhile, Geraldine sat under the silvery bole of her beech-tree,
looking up through its delicate light green leaves to the blue sky,
not even wanting to speak, lest anything should break that perfection
of enjoyment. Her father watched the little pale absorbed countenance,
and as Mr. Audley came up, touched him to direct his attention to the
child's expression; but the outcry of welcome with which the rest
greeted the new-comer was too much for even Cherry's trance, and
she was a merry child at once, hungry with unwonted appetite, and
so relishing her share of the magnificent standing-pie, that Mrs.
Underwood reproved herself for thinking what the poor child would be if
she had such fare and such air daily, instead of ill-dressed mutton in
the oppressive smoke-laden atmosphere.
And meantime, Lance was crowing like a cock, and the other boys were
laughing at Robina for her utter ignorance of the white-fleshed biped
she was eating.
'No, Clem, chickens have got feathers and wings, and their long necks
hang down! This can't be one of them.'
'Perhaps it is a robin-redbreast,' said Felix.
'No, nobody kills robin-redbreasts, because they covered the poor
little children with leaves.'
'Will you cover me with leaves, if I am lost, Bobbie?' said Mr. Audley;
but as soon as she found that his attention was gained, she returned to
the charge.
'Please, did it come from your own home? and what is it, really?'
'Why, Bobbie, I am hardly prepared to say whether it is a Hamburg or
a Houdan, or a more unambitious Dorking. Cannot you eat in comfort
without being certified?'
'The species will be enough for her without the varieties,' said her
father. 'You have given us a new experience, you see, Audley, and we
may make a curious study of contrasts--not of Audley and myself, Mother
dear, but of the two Underwoods who seem to be in this place together
to-day.'
'Who is it?' was of course the cry; and the inquiry was in Mrs.
Underwood's eyes, though it did not pass her quiet lips. It was to her
that he answered, 'Yes, my dear--Tom; I have little doubt that it is
he. He was a very rich man when last I heard of him.'
'Is that the man at Vale Leston?' whispered Alda to Felix. 'Oh, I hope
he is not coming here to insult us.'
'Bosh!' said Felix; 'that man's name is Fulbert. Listen, if you want to
hear.'
'Twenty years ago,' continued Mr. Underwood, 'I thought myself a
prodigiously fine fellow--with my arms full of prizes at Harrow,
and my Trinity scholarship--and could just, in the plenitude of my
presumption, extend a little conceited patronage to that unlucky dunce,
Tom Underwood, the lag of every form, and thankful for a high stool at
old Kedge's. And now my children view a cold fowl as an unprecedented
monster, while his might, I imagine, revel in '_pâtés de foie gras_.'
'O Papa, but we like you so much better as you are!' cried Geraldine.
'Eh, Cherry!' said Mr. Underwood, 'what say you? Shouldn't you like me
better if I were buying that king beech-tree, and all the rest of it?'
Cherry edged nearer, mastered his hand, and looked up in his face with
a whole soul of negation in her wistful eyes. 'No, no, no--just as you
are,' she whispered.
Some mood of curiosity had come over him, and he turned an
interrogative look elsewhere.
Alda spoke. 'Of course, it would be horrid not to be a clergyman; but
it is a great shame.'
'No,' said Wilmet, 'it can't be a shame for this cousin Tom to
have earned a fortune fairly--if he has; but'--and she pressed her
hands tightly together as she looked at the thin worn faces of her
parents--'one can't help wishing. Why do things always go hard and
wrong?' and the tears dimmed her bright eyes.
'Because--they _don't_,' said her father, with a half-serious
quaintness that vexed her, and forced her to turn away to let the tear
drop.
Clement said, in his calm voice, 'How can you be all so repining and
foolish!'
And Mr. Underwood, almost in lazy mischief, pursued his experiment.
'Eh, Felix, you are the party most concerned--what say you?'
'Most concerned?' Felix looked up surprised, then recollected himself.
'I don't care,' he said, with an appearance of gruff sullenness;
but his father could not content himself without continuing in a
semi-teasing tone, 'Don't care--eh? Why, this Centry Underwood once
belonged to our family--that's the reason Tom is after it. If I had
not scouted old Kedge, you would be prancing about here, a Harrovian,
counting the partridges.'
'Don't!' broke in Felix, with a growl.
'Never fear, Fee,' cried Edgar, with his hand on his brother's
shoulder; 'if one man got on in life, another may. If one only was
grown up, and had the start----' and his blue eyes sparkled.
'I did not know Care's clutch had been so tight,' sighed Mr. Underwood,
half to himself, half to his wife. 'It is not safe, my gentle Enid, to
try such experiments. Eh!' rousing himself, 'what's that? Have the mob
there a right to any sentiments?'
'Only,' cried Clement, shouting with laughter, 'Lance thought you were
wanted to hold a high stool for Jack Ketch.'
'For a green goose!' shouted Lance, indignantly.
'Oh!' cried Robina, in the tone of one who had made a scientific
discovery, 'did the goose have a high stool to lay the golden eggs?'
'A most pertinent question, Bobbie, and much more reasonable than
mine,' said Mr. Underwood; while his colleague gravely answered, 'Yes,
Bobbie, golden eggs are almost always laid by geese on high stools.'
'I've got a picture of one! It has got a long neck and long legs,'
quoth Bobbie.
'It is only a flamingo, you little goose yourself,' cried Clement.
'Here is the golden egg of the present,' said Mr. Underwood,
replenishing the boy's plate with that delicious pie. 'What's that
beverage, Wilmet? Any horrible brew of your own?'
'No; it is out of Mr. Audley's hamper.'
'The universal hamper. It is like the fairy gifts that produced
unlimited eatables. I dreaded cowslip wine or periwinkle broth.'
'No, no, Papa,' sighed Alda, 'we only once made cowslip tea at Vale
Leston.'
'Vale Leston is prohibited for the day.--Master Felix Chester
Underwood, your good health; and the same to the new Underwood of
Centry Underwood.'
'Shall we see him, Papa?' asked Alda.
'If either party desires the gratification, no doubt it will come
about.'
'Shall not you call on him, Papa?'
'Certainly not before he comes. Mother, some of the wonderful
bottle--ay, you covetous miser of a woman, or I'll make a libation of
it all. Audley, it must have wrung your father's butler's heart to have
thrown away this port on a pic-nic. What did you tell him to delude
him?'
'Only what was true--that I was to meet a gentleman who was a judge of
the article.'
'For shame!' he answered, laughing. 'What right had you to know that I
knew the taste of Cape from Roriz?'
But his evident enjoyment of the 'good creature' was no small pleasure
to the provider, though it was almost choking to meet the glistening
glance of Mrs. Underwood's grateful eyes, knowing, as she did, that
there were three more such bottles in the straw at the bottom of
the hamper. And when baby Angela had clasped her fat hands, and, as
'youngest at the board,' 'inclined the head and pronounced the solemn
word,' her father added, '_Gratias Deo_, and _Grazie a lei_. We must
renew our childhood's training, dear Mary--make our bow and curtesy,
and say "Thank you for our good dinner."'
'Thank Felix for our pleasant day,' said Mr. Audley. 'Come, boys, have
a swing! there's a branch too good not to be used; and Ful has already
hung himself up like a two-toed sloth.'
Then began the real festivity--the swinging, the flower and fern
hunting, the drawing, the racing and shouting, the merry calls and
exchange of gay foolish talk and raillery.
Mr. Underwood lay back on a slope of moss, with a plaid beneath him,
and a cushion under his head, and said that the Elysian fields must
have been a prevision of this beech-wood. Mrs. Underwood, with Felix
and Wilmet, tied up the plates, knives, and forks; and then the
mother, taking Angela with her, went to negotiate kettle-boiling at
the cottage. Geraldine would fain have sketched, but the glory and the
beauty, and the very lassitude of delight and novelty, made her eyes
swim with a delicious mist; and Edgar, who had begun when she did,
threw down his pencil as soon as he saw Felix at liberty, and the two
boys rushed away into the wood for a good tearing scramble and climb,
like creatures intoxicated with the freedom of the greenwood.
After a time they came back, dropping armfuls of loose-strife,
meadow-sweet, blue vetch, and honey-suckle over delighted Cherry;
and falling down by her side, coats off, all gasp and laughter, and
breathless narrative of exploits and adventures, which somehow died
away into the sleepiness due to their previous five-mile walk. Felix
went quite off, lying flat on his back, with his head on Cherry's
little spreading lilac cotton frock, and his mouth wide open, much
tempting Edgar to pop in a pebble; and this being prevented by tender
Cherry in vehement dumb show, Edgar consoled himself by a decidedly
uncomplimentary caricature of him as Giant Blunderbore (a name derived
from Fee, Fa, Fum) gaping for hasty pudding.
'That's a horrid shame!' remonstrated Geraldine. 'Dear old Fee, when
the whole treat is owing to him!'
'It is a tidy little lark for a Blunderbore to have thought of,' said
Edgar. ''Tis a good sort of giant after all, poor fellow!'
'Poor!' said Cherry indignantly. 'Oh, you mean what Papa said--that he
is the greatest loser of us all. I wonder what made him talk in that
way? He never did before.'
'I am sorry for _him_,' said Edgar, indicating his brother. 'He is
famous stuff for a landlord and member of parliament--plenty of wits
and brains--only he wants to be put on a shelf to be got at. Wherever
he is, he'll go on there! Now, a start is all I want! Give me my one
step--and then--O Gerald, some day I'll lift you all up!'
'What's that?' said Felix, waking as the enthusiastic voice was raised.
'Edgar lifting us all! What a bounce we should all come down with!'
'We were talking of what Papa said at dinner,' explained Cherry. 'What
did you think about it, Fee?'
'I didn't think at all, I wished he hadn't,' said Felix, stretching
himself.
'Why not?' said Cherry, a little ruffled at even Felix wishing Papa had
not.
'There's no use having things put into one's head.'
'O Felix, you don't want to change?' cried Cherry.
'No,' he said; but it was a 'no' in a tone she did not understand. The
change he saw that hardship was working was that from which he recoiled.
'That's like you, Blunderbore,' said Edgar. 'Now, the very reason I am
glad not to be born a great swell, but only a poor gentleman, is that
so much is open to one; and if one does anything great, it is all the
greater and more credit.'
'Yes,' said Felix, sitting up; 'when you have once got a scholarship,
there will be the whole world before you.'
'Papa got a scholarship,' said Cherry.
'Oh yes!' said Edgar; 'but every one knows what happens to a man that
takes Orders and marries young; and he had the most extraordinary
ill-luck besides! Now, as Ryder says, any man with brains can shine.
And I am only doubting whether to take to scholarship or art! I love
art more than anything, and it is the speediest.'
The conversation was broken, for just then Wilmet was seen peering
about with an anxious, careful eye.
'What is it, my deputy Partlet?' asked her father. 'Which of your brood
are you looking for?'
'I can't see Robina,' said Wilmet anxiously. 'She was swinging just
now, but neither she nor Lance is with the big boys.'
'Flown up higher,' said Mr. Underwood, pretending to spy among the
branches. 'Flapsy, come down! Bobbie, where are you?'
A voice answered him; and in another moment Robina and Lance stood in
the glade, and with them a girl newly come to her teens, whom they
pulled forward, crying, 'She says she's our cousin!'
'Indeed,' said Mr. Underwood: 'I am sure you are very much obliged to
her.'
'I am Mary Alda Underwood,' said the girl abruptly; 'and I'm sure there
must be a very naughty boy here. He had put these poor little things up
a tree, and run away.'
'No, no! He only put us up because Tina bothered about it!' screamed
Lance and Robina at once; 'he wasn't naughty. We were being monkeys.'
'Black spider-monkeys,' added Robina.
'And I swung about like a real one, Father,' said Lance, 'and was
trying to get Bobbie down, only she grew afraid.'
'It was ten feet from the ground,' said Mary Alda, impressively, 'and
they had lost their way; but they told me who they were. I'm come down
with my father to see the place.'
Mr. Underwood heartily shook hands with her, thanked her, and asked
where her father was.
'Gone out with the man to see a farm two miles off,' she said. 'He told
me I might stay in the house, or roam where I liked, and I saw you all
looking so happy; I've been watching you this long time.'
'Indeed!' said Mr. Underwood, 'till you captured two of us! Well, we
are obliged for the introduction, especially if you are to be our
neighbour.'
'And my cousins will be friends with me,' continued Mary Alda. 'I'm all
alone, you know.'
'No, I did not know,' said Mr. Underwood. 'Are you the only child?'
'Yes,' she said, looking wistfully at the groups around her; 'and it is
very horrid--oh dear! who is that pretty one? No, there's another of
them!'
Mr. Underwood laughed heartily. 'I suppose you mean Wilmet and
Alda,' he said. 'Come, girls, and see your new cousin--Mary, did you
say?--Your name backward, Alda Mary.'
'Mary,' she repeated. 'Papa calls me Mary, but Mamma wants it to be
Marilda all in one word, because she says it is more distinguished; but
I like a sensible name like other people.'
Mr. Underwood was much amused. He felt he had found a character in
his newly-discovered cousin. She was Underwood all over in his eyes,
used to the characteristic family features, although entirely devoid
of that delicacy and refinement of form and complexion that was so
remarkable in himself and in most of his children, who were all, except
poor little Cherry, a good deal alike, and most of them handsome.
There was a sort of clumsiness in the shape of every outline, and a
coarseness in the colouring, that made her like a bad drawing of one of
his own girls; the eyes were larger, the red of the cheeks was redder,
the lips were thicker, the teeth were irregular; the figure, instead
of being what the French call _élancé_, was short, high-shouldered,
and thick-set, and the head looked too large. She was over-dressed,
too, with a smart hat and spangled feather, a womanly silk mantle and
much-trimmed skirt, from which a heavy quilling had detached itself,
and was trailing on the ground; her hands were ungloved, and showed
red stumpy fingers, but her face had a bright open honest heartiness
of expression, and a sort of resolute straightforwardness, that
attracted and pleased him; and, moreover, there was something in the
family likeness, grotesque as it was, that could not but arouse a
fellow-feeling in his warm and open heart, which neither neglect nor
misfortune had ever chilled.
'I think I should have known you,' he said, smiling. 'Here! let me
introduce you; here is our little lame white-hearted Cherry, and the
twins, as like as two peas. Wilmet, Alda--here!'
'Shall I mend your frock?' was Wilmet's first greeting, as she put her
hand in her pocket, and produced a little housewife.
'Oh, thank you! You've got a needle and thread! What fun!'
'The little ones are very apt to tear themselves, so I like to have it
ready.'
'How delicious! And you mend for them? I wish I had any one to mend
for. Please show me, and let me do it. I tried to tear the nasty thing
off, but it would not come. I wish Mamma would let me wear sensible
print like yours.'
'Are you laughing at us?' said Wilmet rather bluntly.
'No, indeed, not a bit,' said Marilda, or Mary Alda, eagerly. 'If you
only knew how tiresome it all is.'
'What is?'
'Why, being fine--having a governess, and talking French, and learning
to dance, and coming down into the drawing-room. Then Grandmamma Kedge
tells me how she used to run about in pattens, and feed the chickens,
and scrub the floor, and I do so wish I was her. Can you scrub, and do
those nice things?'
'Not a floor,' said Wilmet; 'and we live in the town.'
'So have we done till now; but Papa is going to get this place, because
he says it is family property; and I hope he will, for they will
never be able to screw me up here as they do at home. I say, which is
Fulbert? Won't your father punish him?'
'Oh, no! You should not have told, Marilda. We never tell Papa of
little tricks of the boys.'
'But the little darling might have broken her neck.'
'Oh! life in a large family is made up of _might haves_,' said Alda.
'Why, I do declare there's a smaller still! What a little duck!' and
she pounced upon Angela.
'We have a smaller than that,' said Wilmet--'Bernard, only we left him
at home.'
'Tell me all your names!' cried Marilda, delighted.
She was perfectly happy, and chattered on in great delight in her
downright voice, as much at ease as if she had known them all her life.
She shared their tea, and wanted Mr. Underwood to come and see her
father at the house; but as she could not promise his early return, and
it was necessary to get the van under weigh before five, this could not
be.
However, she would not leave them till they were all packed into the
van, and then only parted with repeated kisses and auguries of many
future meetings; so that the children looked down a vista of unlimited
enjoyment of Centry Park. Edgar, little gentleman as he was, saw her as
far back on the way as he could venture.