HETTY TURNS REBEL.
Hetty cried herself to sleep as she had done the night before, and her
last thought was of Scamp. About the middle of the night she had a dream
in which she fancied that Scamp's paws were round her neck, and that he
was barking in her ear his delight at seeing her. The barking went on
so long that it wakened her, for it was real barking that had caused the
dream.
Hetty sat up in her bed and listened. Surely that was Scamp's bark,
loud, sharp, and impatient, as if he was saying, "Where's Hetty? I want
Hetty. I will not go away till I have found Hetty." In the stillness of
the night it sounded to the lonely child like the voice of a dear friend
longing to comfort her. She jumped out of bed, threw open the window,
and listened again. Could it be that he had found the way from Amber
Hill, and come so many miles to look for her? Darling old Scamp, was it
possible he loved her so much? Yes, it was indeed his voice; he was
outside the house, almost under her window, and she must and would go
down and take him in.
She opened the door cautiously and went out into the passage. The
barking was not heard so distinctly here, and she hoped that no one
would hear it but herself. How dreadful if somebody should go and beat
him away before she could reach him! She pattered down-stairs with her
little bare feet and made her way through the darkness to the great hall
door. But she had forgotten how great and heavy that door was, and had
not thought of the chain that hung across it at night, and the big lock
in which she could not turn the key. Scamp heard her trying to open the
door, and barked more joyfully. Unable to unfasten this door she made
her way to another at the back of the house, and, withdrawing a bolt,
she stood in the doorway, her little white night-dress blowing in the
winter's night air, and her bare feet on the stones of the threshold.
"Scamp, Scamp!" she called in a soft voice, and, wonderful to tell, he
heard her and came flying round the house.
"Oh, Scampie, dear, _have_ you come, and do you really love me still?"
whispered Hetty as the dog leaped into her arms, and she clasped his
paws round her neck and kissed his shaggy head.
Scamp uttered a few short rapturous exclamations and licked her face and
hands all over.
"But you must be very quiet," she said, "or you will wake the house and
we shall be caught. Come now, lovie, and I'll hide you in my own room."
She closed the door as quietly as possible and crept upstairs again,
carrying the dog hugged in her arms.
As she stole along the passage to her room, one of the maids whispered
to another who was sleeping in the room with her:
"Oh, I have heard a great noise down-stairs, and one of the dogs was
barking. And just now I am sure I heard feet in the passage."
"Some one has got into the house then," said the other maid listening.
"Oh, lie still, don't get up!" said the first maid. "It must be
burglars."
"I will go and waken the men," said the other courageously. And
down-stairs she went and wakened the butler and footman. Soon they were
all searching the house, the butler armed with a gun, the others with
large pokers. No burglars were to be found, and the butler was very
cross at having been called out of his bed for nothing at all.
The maids persisted that some one had been in the house, some one who
must have escaped while they were giving the alarm. Mr. Enderby heard
the noise and came out of his room and learned the whole story. After an
hour of searching and questioning and discussion all went to bed again,
everybody blaming everybody else for the silly mistake that had been
made.
Next morning Hetty slept long and soundly after her midnight adventure,
and when the maid who called her went into her room she was astonished
to see a dog's head on the pillow by the sleeping child. Scamp put up
his nose and barked at the intruder, and Hetty wakened.
"Laws, Miss Hetty, you are a strange little girl," said the maid, who
was the very girl who had alarmed the house during the night. "How ever
did you get a dog into your room?"
"It's only Scamp, my own Scamp, and he wouldn't hurt anybody," said
Hetty; "please don't beat him away, Lucy. He came in the middle of the
night trying to find me, and I took him in. Perhaps Mrs. Enderby will
let me keep him now."
"That I am sure she will not," said Lucy. "You naughty little girl. And
so it was you who disturbed the house last night, frightening us all out
of our senses, and getting me scolded for giving an alarm. Wait till Mr.
Enderby hears about it."
"You are _very_ unkind," said Hetty; "as if I could help his coming in
the night-time!"
"And I suppose you could not help letting him into the house and taking
him into your bed?" said Lucy scornfully.
"No, I couldn't," said Hetty. "And you can go and tell Mr. Enderby as
soon as you please."
At this Lucy flounced out of the room quite determined to complain of
the enormity of Hetty's conduct.
When the little girl appeared in the school-room with Scamp following at
her heels she was not in the best of tempers, and held her chin very
high in the air. Miss Davis met her with a stern face.
"Hetty, what is this I hear of you? How could you dare to bring a
strange dog into the house in the middle of the night?"
"It wasn't a strange dog; it was Scamp," said Hetty, putting on her most
defiant air. "I don't think it was any harm to let him in."
"Not, though I tell you it was?" said Miss Davis.
"No," said Hetty.
"Then I must ask Mrs. Enderby to talk to you," said Miss Davis.
"Meantime the dog cannot stay here while we are at breakfast."
And she rang the bell.
"Tell Thomas to come and fetch this dog away to the stable-yard," she
said to the maid who answered the bell.
"Scamp always stayed in the room with me at Amber Hill," said Hetty, two
red spots burning in her cheeks.
"You must learn to remember that you are no longer at Amber Hill," said
Miss Davis.
Phyllis and Nell now came into the school-room and looked greatly
surprised at sight of the dog, Hetty's angry face, and Miss Davis's
looks of high displeasure. They took their places in silence at the
breakfast table.
"I am not likely to forget it," retorted Hetty bitterly. "At Amber Hill
everybody was kind to me. Nobody is kind here."
"You are a most ungrateful girl," said Miss Davis. "What would have
become of you if Mr. and Mrs. Enderby had not been kind?"
At this moment Thomas entered.
"Take away that dog to the stable-yard," said Miss Davis.
Hetty threw her arms round Scamp's neck and clung to him.
"You shall not turn him out," she cried. "He came and found me, and I
will not give him up."
"Do as I have told you, Thomas," said Miss Davis; and Thomas seized
Scamp in spite of Hetty's struggles, and carried him off, howling
dismally.
"Now, you naughty girl, you may go back to your own room, and stay there
till you are ready to apologize to me for your conduct," said Miss
Davis.
"Oh, please don't send Hetty away without her breakfast," pleaded Nell.
"I will go. I will not stay here. I will run away!" cried Hetty wildly.
"Let her go, Nell," said Phyllis, giving her sister a warning look; and
Miss Davis said:
"When she is hungry she can apologize for her conduct. In the meantime
she had better go away and be left alone till she recovers her senses."
Hetty fled out of the room and away to her own little chamber, where she
locked herself in and flung herself in a passion of rage and grief on
the floor.
"I _will_ go away," she sobbed. "I will run away with Scamp and seek my
fortune. Miss Davis is going to be as bad as Grant, reminding me that I
am a charity child. Oh, why was I not born like Phyllis and Nell, with
people to love me and a home to belong to? It is easy for them to be
good. But I shall never be good. I know, I know I never shall!"
After half an hour had passed a knock came to the door, and Lucy
demanded to be admitted.
"Go away, you cruel creature!" cried Hetty. "I will not have you here."
Lucy went away, and after some time Hetty heard Mrs. Enderby's voice at
the door.
"I hope you will not refuse to let me in," she said. "I request that you
will open the door."
Hetty rose from the floor very unwillingly and opened the door, and Mrs.
Enderby came in.
"Hetty, what is the meaning of this strange conduct?" she said, looking
at the marks of wild weeping on the child's swollen face.
"Everybody's conduct has been bad to me," wailed Hetty.
"What has been done to you?" asked Mrs. Enderby.
"Everyone hates Scamp, and they have taken him away. And I have no one
to love me but him."
"Perhaps people would love you if you were not so fierce and wild,
Hetty," said Mrs. Enderby. "Now, try and listen to me while I talk to
you. It was very wrong of you to get up in the night and open the door,
so as to alarm the house by the noise. And it was very wrong of you to
take a dog into your room and into your bed."
"It was Scamp," mourned Hetty. "Scamp loves me. And how could I leave
him outside when he wanted to be with me?"
"You could have done so because it would have been right," said Mrs.
Enderby. "You knew that Mr. Enderby had refused to allow the dog to come
here. You ought to have remembered his wishes. He has been very good to
you, and you must learn to obey him."
"It is cruel of him not to let me have Scamp," persisted Hetty; "he
never bites anyone, and he is better than the other dogs. Why can I not
have him for my own?"
"I will not answer that question, Hetty; it must be enough for you that
you are to obey. You must stay here by yourself till you are in a better
state of mind."
Then Mrs. Enderby went away, and Hetty fell into another agony of grief,
thinking about Scamp.
She forgot the breakfast which she had not yet tasted, and felt every
moment a greater longing to see her dog again. Where had they taken him?
she wondered. Was he still in the stable-yard? Perhaps they would drown
him to get rid of him. Possessed by this fear she seized her hat and
flew out of the room, quite reckless of consequences, and as it chanced,
she met no one on her way down-stairs and along all the back passages
leading towards the stable-yard.
Arrived there she was guided by his barking to the spot where Scamp was.
He was chained in a kennel in a corner of the yard, where it was
intended he should remain till a new master or mistress could be found
for him. Hetty watched her opportunity, and when there was no one about
flew into the yard, slipped the chain off his neck, and sped out of the
place again, with the dog following joyfully at her heels.
In acting thus the little girl had merely followed a wild impulse, and
had formed no plan for her future conduct with regard to Scamp. Finding
herself in his company now, she thought only of prolonging the pleasure
and escaping with him somewhere out of the reach of unfriendly eyes. She
darted through the outer gate of the stable-yard just as the great clock
above the archway was striking ten; and was soon plunging through a
copse on the outskirts of the village, and making for the open country.
Scamp snuffed the breeze and barked for joy, and Hetty danced along over
the grass and through trees, forgetting everything but her own intense
enjoyment of freedom in the open air that she loved. Over yonder lay the
forge, where, as a baby of four, she had watched the great horses being
shod, and the sparks flying from their feet; and further on were the
fields and the bit of wood where she had roamed alone, up to her eyes in
the tall flag leaves and mistaking the yellow lilies for butterflies of
a larger growth. She did not remember all that now, but some pleasant
consciousness of a former free happy existence in the midst of this
fresh peaceful landscape came across her mind at moments, like gales of
hawthorn-scented air. Mrs. Enderby's mild lectures, Phyllis's contempt,
Miss Davis's shocked propriety, even Nell's easily snubbed efforts to
stand her friend, all vanished out of her memory as she went skimming
along the grass like a swallow, thrilling in all her young nerves with
the freshness and wildness of the breeze of heaven, and the vigour and
buoyancy of the life within her veins.
Five miles into the open country went Hetty, by a road she had never
seen before. She knew not, nor did she think at all of where she was
going; she only had a delightful sense of exploring new worlds. However,
about the middle of the day she felt very hungry. She began to remember
then that she could not keep on roving for ever, and that there was
probably trouble before her at Wavertree, waiting for her return.
She sat down on a bank to rest, and Scamp nestled beside her,
alternately looking in her face and licking her hands. It occurred to
Hetty that perhaps he was hungry too, and that if she had left him in
the stable-yard he would at least have got his dinner. Remorse troubled
her, and she cast about to try and discover something they two could
eat. A tempting-looking bunch of berries hung from a tree near her, and
she thought that if she could reach them they might be of some slight
use in allaying the pangs of hunger felt by both her and her dog. She
was at once on her feet, and straining all her limbs to reach the
berries.
They were caught, the branch broke, and Hetty fell down the bank,
twisting her foot and spraining her ankle badly.
After the first cry wrung from her by the shock she was very silent; and
having gathered herself up as well as she could, she sat on the ground,
unable to attempt to stand. The pain was excessive, and great tears
rolled down her cheeks as she endured it. Scamp gazed at her piteously,
snuffed all round her, and looked as if he would like to take her on his
back and carry her home. She threw her arms round his neck and hugged
him.
"No, you can't help me, Scampie, dear, and I don't know what is to
become of us. I can't move, and nobody knows where I have gone to. Of
course it is all my fault, for I know I have been very disobedient. But
I didn't feel wicked, not a bit."
Scamp licked her face and huffed and snuffed all round her. Then he made
several discontented remarks which Hetty understood quite well, though
it is not easy to translate them here. Then he hustled round her, and
scurried up and down the road looking for help; and finally sat on his
tail on the top of the bank, and pointing his nose up at the unlucky
tree on which the berries had hung, howled out dismally to the world in
general that Hetty was in real trouble now, and somebody had better
come and look to it.
After a long time some one did come at last. The wintry evening was just
beginning to close in and the short twilight to fall on the lonely road,
blotting out the red berries on the trees, when a sound of wheels and
the cracking of a carter's whip struck upon Hetty's ears. Scamp had
heard them first and rushed away barking joyfully in the direction of
the sound, to meet the carter, whoever he might be, and to tell him to
come on fast and take up Hetty in his cart and bring her safely home.
Presently Scamp came frolicking back, and soon after came a great team
of powerful horses, drawing a long cart laden with trunks of trees,
which John Kane, the carter, was bringing from the woods to be chopped
up for firewood for the use of the Hall. At this sight a dim
recollection of the past arose in Hetty's brain. Had she not seen this
great cart and horses long ago, and was not the face of the man like a
face she had seen in a dream? She had not had time to think of all this
when John Kane pulled up his team before her and spoke to her.
"Be you hurt, little miss?" he said good-naturedly; "I thought something
was wrong by the bark of your dog. He told me as plain as print that I
was wanted. 'Look sharp, John Kane!' he said; and how he knows my name I
can't tell. There, let me sit you in the cart, and I'll jolt you as
little as may be."
Hetty was thankful to be put in the cart, and it seemed to her a very
strange chance that had brought John Kane a second time in her life to
rescue her. He did not know her at all, and she did not like to tell him
who she was.
"Now, where can I take you to?" he said, as they neared the village.
"I came from Wavertree Hall," said Hetty, hanging her head, "and," she
added with a great throb of her heart, "my name is Hetty Gray."
"Law, you don't say so!" said honest John; "our little Hetty that is
turned into a lady! Well, child, it's not the first time you have got a
ride in John Kane's cart. You cannot remember, but you used to be main
fond of these very horses, watching them getting shod and running among
their feet. However, bygones is bygones, and you won't want to hear
anything of all that. Now, I can't drive you up to the door of the Hall
in this lumbering big vehicle; but if you'll condescend to come to our
cottage for an hour, I'll take a message to say where you are, and Mrs.
Enderby will send for you properly, no doubt."
Hetty's heart was full as she thanked John Kane for his kindness. She
had almost been afraid that he would break out into raptures and want to
hug her as Mrs. Kane had done; but when she found him so cold and
respectful a lump rose in her throat, and something seemed to tell her
that as she had pushed away from her the love of these good honest
people, she deserved to be as lonely and unloved as she was.
Fortunately it was quite dark when the cart passed through the village,
so that no one noticed whom John Kane had got cowering down in his cart
behind the logs of timber. When he stopped at his own door his wife came
out, and he said to her in a low voice:
"Look you here, Anne, if I haven't brought you home little Hetty a
second time out of trouble. Found her on the road I did, with her ankle
sprained. We'll take her in for the present, and I'll go to the Hall and
tell the gentlefolks."
Mrs. Kane had just been making ready her husband's tea, and the fire was
burning brightly in her tidy kitchen, making it look pretty and
homelike. She was greatly astonished at her husband's news, and came to
the cart at once, though with a soreness at heart, remembering her last
meeting with Hetty, and thinking how little pleasure the child would
find in this enforced visit to her early home.
"Now hurry away to the Hall and give the message," said Mrs. Kane; "your
tea will keep till you come back. Little Miss Gray will be anxious to
get home to those who are expecting her."
"Oh, please let him take his tea first," cried Hetty; "there will be no
hurry to get me back. I have been very naughty and everyone will be
angry with me. Please, Mr. Kane, take your tea before you go."
John Kane smiled. "Thank you, little maid; but you see the horses are
wanting to go home to their stable. And I'd rather finish all my work
before I sit down."
He went away and Hetty was left alone in the firelight with her first
foster-mother.
"Perhaps you are hungry, little miss," said Anne. "You have had a long
walk, maybe, with your dog."
Scamp had curled himself up on the "settle" at Hetty's feet.
Hetty felt a pang at the words "little miss," but she knew it was her
own pride that had brought this treatment upon her. Perhaps Mrs. Kane
had once loved her as Scamp did now; but of course she would never love
her again. At all events she was dear and good for taking Scamp in
without a word of objection, and allowing him to rest himself
comfortably at her fireside.
"I am _dreadfully_ hungry," said Hetty, in a low ashamed voice, and
looking up at Mrs. Kane with serious eyes. "I have not eaten anything
to-day. I sprained my ankle getting the berries, and they fell so far
away I could not pick them up."
"Not eaten to-day? What,--no breakfast even?"
"No," said Hetty. "I was bad in the morning, or I should have got some.
At least they said I was bad, but I did not feel it."
"What did you do?"
"I took in Scamp in the night when he barked at the window, and I wanted
to keep him, though Mr. Enderby would not have him about the place; and
I fought to get him. And I told Mrs. Enderby that I ought to have him.
And then I took him out of the stable-yard and ran away with him."
"I'm afraid that was badness in the end," said Mrs. Kane. "It began with
goodness, but it ran to badness. Deary me, it's often the same with
myself. I think I'm so right that I can't go wrong. But all comes
straight again when we're sorry for a fault."
"But I can't be sorry for keeping Scamp when he loves me so. Nobody else
loves me," cried Hetty, with a burst of tears.
Mrs. Kane was by her side in a minute. "Not love you! don't they, my
dear? Well, there's somebody that loves you more than Scamp, _that_ I
know. Come, now, dry your eyes and eat a bit. There's a nicer cup of tea
than they'd give you at the Hall; for the little brown pot on the hearth
makes better tea than ever comes out of silver. I was a maid in a big
house once myself, and I know the difference."
In answer to this Hetty sat up as well as the pain of her foot would
allow, and flung her arms round Mrs. Kane's neck.
"Oh, keep me here with you!" she cried. "I am tired of being grand. I
will stay with you and learn to be a useful girl, if only you will love
me."
Mrs. Kane heaved a long sigh as Hetty's arms fastened round her neck.
Now she felt rewarded for all the love and care she had poured out on
the child during the three years she had had her for her own. A little
bit of hard ice that had always been lying at the bottom of her heart
ever since Hetty had left her, now melted away, and she said, half
laughing and half crying:
"Come now, deary, don't be talking nonsense. Nice and fit you'd be to
bear with a cottage life after all you've been seeing. Don't you think
the gentlefolks would give you up so easily as that. But whenever you
want a word of love and a heart to rest your bit of a head upon like
this, mind you remember where they're always waiting for you, Hetty."
Hetty sobbed and clung to her more closely, and it was some time before
she could be induced to eat and drink. When she did so the homely meal
set before her seemed to her the most delicious she had ever tasted.
"Oh I am so glad I have found my way back to you," she said; "I never
should have done it if I hadn't got into such trouble. Oh, you don't
know how proud and bad I have been! I know I've been bad, now that you
are so good to me."
After about an hour John Kane came back. He had been obliged to wait to
put up his horses and see to their wants for the night before he could
come home. The message he brought from the Hall was that Hetty must stay
where she was till her foot was better, as moving about was so bad for a
sprain. Mrs. Enderby would see Mrs. Kane about her to-morrow.
The tiny whitewashed room where she slept that night was the one in
which she had slept when a toddling baby, and Hetty wondered at herself
as she looked round it thankfully. A patchwork quilt covered the bed,
and a flower-pot in the one small window, and some coloured prints on
the wall, were its only adornments. But it was extremely clean and neat,
and, in spite of the pain in her foot, Hetty felt more content as she
laid her head on the coarse pillow than she had felt for a great many
weeks past.