THE GOLDEN CAGE.
"Here secure from every danger,
Hop about, and chirp, and eat."
"Yes," repeated Hoodie to herself, as she followed her cousin into the
house, "I'll keep the little bird _alvays_, and I'll teach it to love
me; I'll be so _vezzy_ kind to it."
And as they entered the billiard-room where, true to her charge,
faithful little Maudie was drying and warming the twins' feet by the
fire, Hoodie exclaimed with great triumph--
"It's a bird, Maudie, a most bootiful bird, and I'm going to have it all
for my vezzy own and keep it in a cage alvays. Cousin Magdalen is going
to ask Mamma. May I go and tell her to come now quick, Cousin
Magdalen?"
"No, my dear, certainly not. Your mother's busy and must not be
interrupted. You may go and ask for a little milk and a bit of bread,
and I'll try if I can make the little bird eat something. It's opening
its mouth as if it was hungry. But no--stop, Hoodie. I was forgetting
what a state you are in. Maudie, take off her shoes and stockings
too--that's a kind little girl. I'll help you in a minute when I've
found a safe place for the little bird. There now--that'll do
beautifully," as she spoke taking the skeins of wool out of her little
work-basket and putting the bird in instead and carefully closing the
lid. The children looked on with great interest.
"Is him always to live in zere, Cousin Magdalen?" inquired Hec.
Magdalen was by this time employed in examining into the state of
Hoodie's garments. It was rather deplorable!
"It's no good, Maudie," she exclaimed at last. "She must be thoroughly
undressed, for she's damp all over. I _must_ take her up to Martin--oh,
dear, what a pity! Just when we had had such a nice morning."
"But it was a vezzy good thing I saw the little bird felling down,
wasn't it?" said Hoodie complacently, as she trotted off with her
cousin's hand. "And Martin won't 'cold _me_, 'cos it was your fault for
letting me go out in the wet; wasn't it, Cousin Magdalen?" she added
with great satisfaction.
Magdalen, to tell the truth, found it rather difficult to keep her
temper with Hoodie just then.
"_Hoodie_," she said sharply. "It is not right to speak like that. You
_know_ you ran away out before I could stop you."
"But if you hadn't opened the door, I couldn't have goned," was Hoodie's
calm reply, with mischievous triumph in her bright eyes.
Martin received the misfortune very philosophically--perhaps she was not
sorry, at the bottom of her heart, that some one else should have some
experience of the trials she had with Hoodie.
"Not that she means always to be naughty, of course, Miss," she
explained to Magdalen. "But she's that heedless and tiresome--oh dear!
Though one could manage that if it wasn't for her queer temper--_queer_
indeed! queer's no word for it."
"Martin, Martin," came in Hoodie's shrill voice from the inner room,
where she was sitting, minus the greater part of her attire, while
Martin "aired" the clean clothes, unexpectedly required, at the nursery
fire. "Martin, you must go down to the kitchen _at oncest_, and get
some bread and milk for my bird. I'm going to keep it _alvays_, Martin,
and you mustn't let Duke and Hec touch it never."
"Well, well, Missie, we'll see," said Martin; "you must get your Mamma's
leave first, you know."
"By the bye, I'd better go and speak to her about it," said Magdalen.
"Shall I tell the other children to come up-stairs, Martin? And my poor
letter," she said, smiling rather dolefully, as she went out of the
nursery, "I'll never get it written before luncheon, for I must
superintend the feeding of the bird, otherwise the children will
certainly kill it with kindness."
Magdalen had a good deal of experience in rearing little birds and
little lambs, and all such small unfortunates. She had always lived in
the country, and having neither brothers nor sisters her tender heart
had given its affections to the dumb creatures about her. It was
fortunate for the foundling bird that it fell into her hands, as had it
been left to Hoodie's affectionate cares its history would certainly
have been quickly told. She was very indignant with Magdalen for the
very tiny portions of bread and milk, which was all she would allow it
to have, and asked her indignantly if she meant to "'tarve" the poor
little pet.
"Hush, Hoodie," said her mother, who had come to see the little bird.
"If you speak so to Cousin Magdalen I certainly will not let you keep
the bird. You should thank her _very_ much for being so kind to you and
giving up all her morning to you."
Hoodie did not condescend to take any notice of her mother's reproof.
"Hoodie," said Mrs. Caryll, "do you not hear what I say?"
No reply.
"_Hoodie_," more sternly.
Hoodie looked up at last.
"Mamma dear," she said sweetly, "may I keep the little bird for my vezzy
own? Cousin Magdalen said she would ask you if I might."
Her mother looked puzzled.
"If you are good perhaps I will let you keep it," she replied.
Hoodie looked up sharply.
"Did Cousin Magdalen ask you to let me keep it, Mamma?" she inquired.
"Yes," said her mother.
Hoodie turned to Magdalen.
"Thank you, Maudie's godmother," she said condescendingly. "I thought
perhaps you had forgottened."
"And you wouldn't thank me till you were sure--was that it--eh, Hoodie?"
said Magdalen.
One of her funny twinkles came into Hoodie's green eyes.
"I like peoples what doesn't forget," she remarked, with a toss of her
shaggy head.
Magdalen turned away to hide her amusement, but Hoodie's mother
whispered rather dolefully, "Magdalen, was there _ever_ such a child?"
And Hoodie heard the words, and her little face grew hard and sullen.
"I'm always naughty," she said to herself. "Naughty when I tell true,
and naughty when I don't tell true. Nobody loves me, but I'll teach my
bird to love me."
"What is to be done about a cage for this little creature?" said
Magdalen, looking up from her occupation of feeding the greenfinch with
quillfuls of bread and milk. "Isn't there an old one anywhere about,
that would do?"
"I'm afraid not," said Hoodie's mother. "What can we do?"
"Leave it in the basket for the present," said Magdalen. "And--if Hoodie
is _very_ good, perhaps----"
"Perhaps what?" said Hoodie, very eagerly.
"Perhaps some kind fairy will fly down with a cage for the poor little
bird," said Magdalen, mysteriously.
Again Hoodie's eyes twinkled with fun.
"_I_ know who the kind fairy will be," she said, skipping about in
delight. Then suddenly she flung herself upon her cousin and hugged her
valorously.
"I do love _you_, Cousin Magdalen," she whispered. "I do. I _do_. And
I'd love Mamma too," she added--her mother having left the room--"if she
wouldn't _alvays_ say I'm naughty."
"But Hoodie, my dear little girl, do you really think you are always
good?" said Magdalen.
"In course not," said Hoodie, "but I'm not _alvays_ naughty neither."
Just then the luncheon-bell rang, and the interesting discussion,
greatly, it is to be feared, to Hoodie's satisfaction, could not be
continued.
"You're going to be very good to-day, any way, aren't you, Hoodie?"
whispered Magdalen, as they went into the dining-room, where the
children dined at the big people's luncheon.
"P'raps," replied Hoodie.
"Because you know the kind fairy can't give you the cage if you're not,"
said Magdalen, smiling.
"I forgot about that," observed Hoodie, coolly.
And her behaviour during the meal left nothing to be desired. But to do
her justice, her naughtiness did not as a rule show itself in such
circumstances, and according to Martin this was the "provokingest" part
of it. "That a little lady who could be so pretty behaved if she chose
should stamp and scream and rage like a little wild bear"--though where
Martin had seen these wonderful performances of little wild bears, I am
sorry to say I cannot tell you--_was_ aggravating, there is no doubt.
And as Magdalen watched Hoodie through luncheon, and saw her pretty way
of handling her knife and fork, and noticed how she never asked for
anything but waited till it was offered her, never forgot her "if you
please's" and "thank you's," and was always perfectly content with
whatever was given her, she repeated to herself in other words Martin's
often expressed opinion.
"What a nice child she might be! What a nice child she _is_, when she
likes! Oh, Hoodie, what a pity it is that you ever let the little black
dog climb on to your shoulders or the little cross imps get into your
heart!"
Just at that moment Hoodie caught her eye. She drew herself straight up
on her chair with a little air of inviting approval.
"Am I not _vezzy_ good?" Magdalen could almost fancy she heard her
saying, and in spite of herself, she could not help smiling back at the
funny little girl.
Luncheon over, the children were dismissed for their walk, for the rain
was now quite over and the afternoon promised to be fine and sunny. As
they were leaving the room Hoodie threw her arms round Magdalen's neck
and drew her head down that she might whisper into her ear.
"Will the fairy come, does you think?" she asked.
"I hope so," said Magdalen, in the same tone; "but, Hoodie, you must
promise me one thing. You must not touch the little bird while I am
away. I have put it on my table in the basket and it will be quite safe
there. You may go in to look at it with Maudie, but you must not touch
it."
"Won't it be hungry?" inquired Hoodie.
"Oh no, I'll give it a little more before I go out, and then it will be
all right till I come in. You promise, Hoodie?"
Hoodie nodded her head.
"P'omise," she repeated.
Magdalen looked after her anxiously.
"Poor little Hoodie," she said to herself, as she watched the neat
little figure tripping out of the room. Just then the children's mother
came over to her.
"Magdalen, my dear child," she said, "you must not worry yourself about
these children. You have been looking quite careworn all the morning,
and I can't have it."
"But I wanted to help you with them, so that you might have a little
rest and get quite strong again, dear Beatrice," said Magdalen. "You
have never been really well since your illness last winter, and Mamma
and I thought I should be able to help you--and--and--" the tears came
into Cousin Magdalen's pretty eyes.
"Well, dear, and who could have done more to help me than you, since you
have been here? I shall miss you terribly when you go, especially about
Hoodie," and in spite of her wish to cheer Magdalen, Hoodie's mother
gave a little sigh.
"It was about Hoodie I was thinking," said Magdalen. "I was so anxious
to do her good."
"And don't you think you have?"
Magdalen hesitated.
"I don't know. Sometimes I think I have made an impression on her, and
then it seems all to have gone off again. She is such a queer
mixture--in some ways so old for her age, and in some ways such a
baby."
"Yes," said Mrs. Caryll. "It is so very difficult to know how to treat
her. But she is very fond of you, Magdalen, and I am so glad to see it.
We really used to think it wasn't in her to be fond of any one."
"But I am sure it is in her," said Magdalen, "only--I hardly can say
what I mean--if she could be made to believe that other people love
_her_, that she could be of use to others--I think that would take away
the sort of defiance and hardness one sees in her sometimes. It is so
unlike a child. She is always imagining people don't care for her, and
then she takes actual pleasure in being as naughty as she can be."
"Yes," said Hoodie's mother; "there really are days when she goes out of
her way to be naughty, one might say,--when it is enough for Martin to
tell her to do or not to do _anything_, for her to wish to do or not to
do the opposite. Still she _has_ been better lately, Magdalen, and it is
all thanks to you."
"Poor little Hoodie!" said her cousin, "I wonder why it should be so
very difficult for her to be good. But we must get ready now, must we
not, Beatrice? And _whatever_ I do I must not forget the cage, or any
good I can ever hope to do Hoodie will be at an end!"
"But she is only to have it if she really has been good?" said Mrs.
Caryll, who was sometimes afraid that Magdalen was rather inclined to
spoil Hoodie.
"Only if she has been good, you may be sure," said Magdalen. "And there
is one thing about Hoodie--she does keep a promise."
"You think she is honest and truthful?" said Mrs. Caryll.
"By nature I am sure she is. But her brain is so full of fancies that
she hardly understands herself, that I can quite see how sometimes it
must seem as if she were not straightforward. Not that the fancies would
do her any harm if they were all happy and pretty ones--but I do wish
she could get rid of the idea that no one cares for her. It is _that_
that sours her and spoils her, poor little girl."
Hoodie's mother looked affectionately at Magdalen.
"Where have you learnt to be so wise about children, Magda?" she said.
"You seem to understand them as if you had lived among them all your
life."
"It is only because I love them so much," said Magdalen, simply. "And
often somehow----" she hesitated.
"Often what?" said her cousin, smiling.
"I was going to say--but I stopped because I thought perhaps you would
not like it as we were talking of your children who have everything to
make them happy--" said Magdalen. "I was going to say that sometimes,
often, I am so very, very sorry for children. Even their naughtinesses
and sillinesses make me sorry for them. They are so strange to it
all--and it is so difficult to learn wisdom."
Hoodie's mother smiled again.
"You are such a venerable owl yourself, you funny child," she said.
"However, I do understand you, and I agree with you. I do feel very
sorry for poor Hoodie sometimes, even though she really goes out of her
way to make herself unhappy. But what _is_ one to do?"
"Yes, that is the puzzle," said Magdalen. "In the first place any way, I
am going to buy her a cage for her bird--it will be good for her to take
regular care of the bird. I am so glad you said she might keep it."
"I only hope we shall be able to rear it," said Mrs. Caryll. "Hoodie
would indeed think all the powers were against her if it died. That is
the worst of pets."
"I think this bird will get on, if it is taken care of and not
over-fed," said Magdalen. "It is a greenfinch, you know, and
greenfinches take kindly to domestic life. Besides, it is not so very
young a bird, and it looks quite bright and happy now that it has got
over its fright," and so saying she followed Hoodie's mother out of the
room to prepare for their drive.
It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when they returned. Cousin
Magdalen ran joyously up-stairs to the nursery carrying a very
funnily-shaped parcel in her hand. The children were all at tea. She
heard their voices and the clatter and tinkle that always accompanies a
nursery meal as she came along the passage, and she opened the door so
softly that for a moment or two she stood watching the little party
before any of them noticed her.
How nice and pretty and happy they looked! Martin, a perfect picture of
a kind, tidy nurse, sat pouring out the tea, looking for once quite
easy-minded and at rest; Maudie, a little model of neatness as usual,
her small sweet face wearing an expression of the utmost gravity as she
carefully spread some honey on Hec's bread and butter; Duke, frowning
with eagerness to understand some mysterious communication which his
neighbour Hoodie was making to him in a low voice, her eyes bright with
excitement, her cheeks rosy, and her pretty fat shoulders "shruggled"
up, as she bent to whisper to her little brother.
"_What_ do you say, Hoodie? I don't under'tand. How could it be all of
gold?" were the first words that met Magdalen's ears.
"_Hush_, Duke," said Hoodie, placing her sticky little hand on his
mouth, "you're _not_ to tell. I didn't say it would be all gold. I said
p'raps the little points at the top would be goldy--like the shiny top
of the point on the church. But you're too little to know what I mean.
You must wait till--Oh!" with a scream of delight, "_there's_ Maudie's
godmother! Oh, Maudie's godmother, Maudie's godmother, _have_ you got
it?"
She was off her seat and in Magdalen's arms in an instant--hugging,
jumping, kissing, dancing with eagerness. It was all Magdalen could do
not at once to hold out to her the parcel, but her promise to Hoodie's
mother must not be broken.
"Yes," she said, "I have got it. But first tell me, Hoodie dear--have
you been really a good little girl all the afternoon? Has she, Martin?"
"Oh, trually I've been good--vezzy good--haven't I, Martin?" said
Hoodie.
"Yes, Miss. I must really say she has been very good. I don't remember
ever having a more peacefuller afternoon," said Martin with great
satisfaction.
"I am so glad," said Magdalen. "And you didn't touch the bird, Hoodie?"
"No, oh no, I didn't touch it one bit," said Hoodie earnestly. "I went
and lookened at it, but I didn't touch it. Martin will tell you."
"No, Miss, she was quite good. She just stood and peeped at it, but she
didn't touch it, I'm sure, for I went with her to your room and stayed
there a few minutes while she looked at the bird."
"That was very nice," said Magdalen.
"We didn't let Hec and Duke go," said Hoodie, "for they'd have wanted to
touch the bird, wouldn't they? They're so little, you see, and Hec says
he likes smooving down the feavers on little birds's backs, so Martin
and me thought we'd better not let them be temptationed to touch the
bird."
"Ah, yes, that was very wise. And as Martin stayed with you, you weren't
temptationed either, were you, Hoodie?"
Somewhat to her surprise, at this Hoodie grew rather red.
"I didn't stay all the time, Miss," said Martin. "I heard the little
boys calling me, so I left Miss Hoodie for a minute or two feeling sure
I might trust her."
"So there's nothing to prevent my giving you the cage. That's very
nice," said Magdalen. She lifted the funny-looking parcel on to the
table and unfastened the paper. There stood the cage--and such a pretty
one! It was painted white and green, and greatly and specially to
Hoodie's satisfaction the pointed tops of the pagoda-like roof were
gilt.
"Didn't I tell you so," she said to Duke in a tone of great superiority,
"I told you there'd be goldy points on the top."
"Yes," said Duke, much impressed; "I wonder how you knowed, Hoodie?"
Hoodie tossed her head.
"Knowed, in course I knowed," she said.
Only Hec did not seem as much interested and delighted as the others. He
just glanced at the cage and then subsided again to his bread and honey.
"What's the matter with Hec?" said Cousin Magdalen. "He doesn't look as
bright as usual, does he, Martin?"
"He's been very quiet all the afternoon," said Martin, "but I don't
think he can be ill. He's eaten a good tea, hasn't he, Miss Maudie?"
"_Very_," said Maudie. "Three big slices first--only with butter, you
know, and then six with honey. We always have to eat three plain first,
on honey days," she added by way of explanation to her cousin.
"_Nine_ slices," said Magdalen, opening her eyes. "Martin, isn't that
enough to make him ill?"
"Bless you, no, Miss," said Martin, laughing. "As long as it's bread and
butter, there's not much fear."
"Or bread and honey," corrected Hoodie. "One day Duke and Hec and
me--Maudie wasn't there--one day Duke and Hec and me eatened firty-two
slices--Martin counted. It was when we was at the seaside."
"My dear Hoodie!" exclaimed Magdalen, and the astonishment on her face
made them all laugh.
The consumption of bread and butter and honey seemed however over for
the present, so Magdalen led the way to her own room, followed by Hoodie
carrying the precious cage which she would entrust to no other hands,
Maudie, the twins, and Martin bringing up the rear.
Magdalen opened the door and crossed the room, which was a large one, to
the side window, on the writing-table, in front of which, she had left
the basket containing the bird. She had placed it carefully, with a
little circle of books round it to prevent the bird's fluttering
knocking it over. As she came near the table, she gave an exclamation of
surprise and vexation. The circle of books was still there undisturbed,
but the basket was no longer in the centre--indeed, at the first glance
Magdalen could not see it at all.
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed. "Where can the basket be? Hoodie, you _surely_
didn't touch it?"
The moment she had said the words she regretted them--but just at first
she had not time to look at Hoodie to see how she had taken them, for
another glance at the table showed her the basket peeping up behind the
edge where it had slipped down, though fortunately the table was pushed
too near the wall for it to have fallen quite on to the floor.
Magdalen darted forward and carefully drew out the basket, in
considerable fear and trembling as to the state of the little bird
inside. But to her relief it seemed all right. It had had another
fright, no doubt, poor thing--it must have thought life a very queer
series of falls and bumps and knocks, I should think, judging by its own
experience, but still it seemed to have a happy faculty of recovering
itself, and though its position in the toppled-over basket could not
have been very comfortable, it looked quite bright and chirpy when
Magdalen gently lifted the lid to examine it.
"It is hungry, I'm sure," she said; "can't you give me a little bread
soaked in milk for it again, Martin. There's some milk on the nursery
table, isn't there?"
"To be sure, Miss," said Martin, starting off at once. To her surprise,
as she left the room she felt a hand slipped into hers. It was Hoodie's.
"I'll go with you," said the child, and Martin, thinking she only wanted
to go with her to see about the bread and milk, made no objection. It
was not till they reached the nursery that Martin noticed the expression
of the little girl's face. It was stormy in the extreme.
"I won't go back to Maudie's godmother's room," she exclaimed. "I won't
have the cage. I won't speak to her--nasty, _ugly_ Maudie's godmother."
"Miss Hoodie!" said Martin, in amazement and distress. "You speaking
that naughty way of your cousin who has been so very nice and kind to
you."
"I don't care," said Hoodie, fairly on the way to one of her grandest
tempers, "_I_ don't care. She's not nice and kind. She doesn't believe
what I say. I _toldened_ her I didn't touch the basket, and she said I
did."
"Oh no, Miss Hoodie, my dear, I'm sure she didn't say that. She only
asked you if you were quite sure you didn't. And who could have done it,
I'm sure I can't think," said Martin, herself by no means satisfied
that Hoodie's indignation was not a sign of her knowing herself to
blame. "No one was in the room but you and me this afternoon, for none
of the servants ever go near it till dressing time. Besides, they
wouldn't go touching the bird. If it had been one of the little boys
now. It's just what they might have done, reaching up to get it. But
they weren't there at all."
"_I_ don't care," reiterated Hoodie. "I didn't do it, but Maudie's
godmother doesn't believe me. _I_ don't care. But I won't have the
cage." And in spite of all Martin could say, the child resolutely
refused to leave the nursery.
Hoodie sat there alone, nursing her wrath and bitter feelings.
"_I_ don't care," she kept repeating to herself. "Nobody likes me. I'm
alvays naughty. What's the good of being good? I did so want to touch
the bird when Martin went out of the room and left me alone, but I
didn't, 'cos I'd p'omised. I might as well, 'cos Maudie's godmother
doesn't believe me. It's very unkind of God to make it seem that I'm
alvays naughty. It's not my fault. _I_ don't care."
In Magdalen's room Martin was relating Hoodie's indignation.
"Oh, how sorry I am for saying that," said Magdalen. "It will just make
her lose her trust in me. And I do believe her. I'm sure she didn't
touch it. Don't you think so, Martin?"
Martin hesitated.
"Yes, Miss, I do think I believe her. Only didn't you notice how red she
got when I said I wasn't with her _all_ the time in your room this
afternoon?"
"Yes," said Magdalen; "but I thought it was just that she felt so eager
for me to know she had kept her promise. I _don't_ think she touched it,
Martin. I really don't. But I am afraid it will be difficult to make her
believe I don't."
Just then a sudden sound of weeping made them all start, thinking for a
moment that it must be Hoodie herself, who had run back from the
nursery. But no--it was not Hoodie--it was Hec. The little fellow had
crept under the table unobserved, and there had been listening to the
conversation.
"What's the matter, dear? What's the matter, my darling? Don't cry so,
Master Hec," said Martin, as she drew him out.
"Poor Hec! Poor little Hec! Has he hurt himself?" exclaimed all the
others.
"No, no, I hasn't hurt myself," sobbed Hec. "I'm crying 'cos it was
_me_. It was _me_ that tumbled the basket down, and Cousin Magdalen
'colded Hoodie. It wasn't poor Hoodie. It was all me."
And for some minutes, conscience-stricken Hec refused to be comforted.
[Illustration: Hec refused to be comforted]