CHRYSOPRASUS
MR. GRAHAM arrived the next day. Harebell flew into his arms with a
little choking sob.
"I've not properly enjoyed myself once, since we said good-bye," she
cried pathetically; "and England isn't 'home' as everybody calls it in
India. It isn't one bit home to me! And I haven't even seen an animal
since I came! Not a single one!"
Mrs. Keith had left the room, so Harebell poured out her soul with
perfect freedom.
"How very disobliging of the animals!" said Mr. Graham with twinkling
eyes. "For we do have some in England, you know."
"There ought to be horses, and cows, and cats, and dogs, and all kinds
of pigs and chickens," went on Harebell gravely. "I've seen them in
books that come from England, so I know. And there isn't one; no, not a
little one in this house!"
She spread out her small hands tragically.
"At the bottom of the garden there is a stable," she continued. "Andy
uses it for wood, and all kinds of rubbish. He says when this house was
first built, the man of it kept a horse and trap. Aunt Diana doesn't
like animals; but then, she can't like anything, poor thing—"
Harebell dropped her voice to a whisper.
"She's the snow queen, and has a lump of ice where her heart used to
be!"
With big eyes she waited to see the result her statement would have
upon Mr. Graham.
He looked at her gravely; then he said:
"Ice is easily melted, you know."
"By tears, hot tears," said Harebell very thoughtfully; "or by fire and
sun. That's what people tell me. I haven't seen any ice yet, you know.
But I feel it from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes. It's
all over the house."
Here she waved her hands again.
"And, Mr. Graham, I'm getting silenter and silenter; and if it wasn't
for doing lessons with the Rectory children, I think my heart would
break."
"It's only grown-up hearts that break," said Mr. Graham. "I assure you
that yours will be quite safe for a long time yet."
"That's how Andy talks; but I thought you'd understand better. Andy
laughs at everything I say—every single thing!"
"I'm not laughing, but I'm glad to hear about the Rectory children. Who
are they?"
"Well, you see, I haven't really got to know them yet; but they're sure
to be nice, don't you think so? The boy is called Peter, that's an ugly
name I think. I wonder and wonder who will be my real friend. I don't
think I can like them both; not for a private and special friend, you
know. It must be one or the other."
"I should think you and the girl would chum up; you would have the same
tastes."
"But we mightn't at all," said Harebell hastily. "I like animals, not
dolls; and I like men and boys much better than women and girls. I
always wish I'd been born a boy."
"You're a thorough little woman," said Mr. Graham emphatically. "Don't
you make any mistake about it. You're mass of contradiction and moods."
Harebell's under-lip quivered.
In moment Mr. Graham altered his tone.
"My dear child, you'll enjoy both your young friends. And now listen to
an idea that has just come into my head!"
Harebell brightened up and clapped her hands.
"There! That's how you used to speak on board! And your ideas were
always lovely."
"I know what a daring little rider you were in India. Supposing I were
to produce a small pony from somewhere, do you think your aunt would
give him a home in her stable?"
Of course Harebell went into ecstasies. She danced up and down and
flung her arms round Mr. Graham's neck.
"Oh, you darling! Oh, what a glorious idea! Oh, let me call Aunt Diana
at once!"
"No, no; I am a prudent man. I will talk to her about it when you are
not here."
She sobered down then, but her tongue went chattering on, and when Mrs.
Keith came back into the room, she could not keep it still.
Mr. Graham stayed to lunch, and then had his private interview with
Mrs. Keith. She was very hard to persuade.
"I have no one to attend to a pony."
"Couldn't a lad come in from the village? Let me stand the extra
expense. She has always ridden. It seems a pity to drop it."
"She will not be able to indulge in such expensive tastes when she
grows up."
"We will hope her future husband may be able to gratify them," said Mr.
Graham. "I don't think Harebell is the sort to remain unmarried for
long."
Mrs. Keith looked very stern; then suddenly she gave way.
"If you really wish to make her a present of a pony, I will make
arrangements for its keep. But I do not know who will accompany her
when she rides out."
"Let her trot about the country lanes alone. It won't hurt her. Limit
her to a certain time and locality, if you like. You will find her
obedient; but she needs a certain amount of freedom to grow. I have
known her since she was a baby."
He got his way, and his departure was sweetened to Harebell by the
thought of the pleasure in front of her. She got hold of her aunt's
hand and squeezed it in her excitement.
"I do thank you. I shall always and for ever be good now. A pony of
my own will be simply glorious! You see, Aunt Diana, horses really
understand you if you talk to them; they're like dogs, and I do want
somebody to talk to."
"You will have the Rectory children as companions," said her aunt
coldly. "I want you to understand that this pony must not distract you
from your lessons. You are a very ignorant little girl, and have a
great deal of lost time to make up."
Harebell could not be quenched. She fled out to Andy and informed him
that she was simply "riotously happy."
"I can't think where you get your words from!" he said, shaking his
head. "'Happy' is good enough for any one."
"Daddy used to say 'riotously.' I've heard him often. It means, Andy,
that I'm bursting with joy! Just think what I've got in front of me!"
In a few days' time her lessons began. She walked to the Rectory one
bright morning and was received by Mrs. Garland, who took her straight
to the schoolroom. It was not yet nine o'clock. The governess was not
there; but Peter and Nan came forward and shook hands with her.
"You'll have to know me now," said Harebell with twinkling eyes.
Mrs. Garland left them together. The little girls eyed each other
silently.
"I wish you were a boy," said Peter gloomily.
Harebell laughed.
"So do I! But I like to play with boys. I knew two boys in India; they
had a screechy whiny sister, who always wanted to play with us, and
then cried when she did. They had to go to school in England. I was
sorry when they went."
"I'm not a screechy whiny sister," said Nan, tossing her head like a
war horse. "I can do everything the same as Peter, and I can run as
fast."
Then Harebell began to tell them of the pony she was going to have.
"I feel he'll be a more deep friend than you," she announced. "Because
he'll belong to me, and to no one else."
"We have a donkey," said Nan, "who gallops faster than a horse."
"Then we can have races."
Miss Forster's entrance at this moment stopped further conversation.
She greeted Harebell kindly, but in a business-like fashion, and
lessons began without further delay.
Of course Harebell was woefully backward, though in reading and writing
she was as good as the other two children. But though backward, she was
intelligent, and interested in everything that she was told. In the
middle of lessons, she suddenly looked up at the governess with her
bright eyes.
"I suppose you know all about everything?" she said.
"Not by any means. I only know so much more than you do, that it is my
business to teach you."
Harebell thought over this, then she leant her arms on the table and
asked earnestly:
"Are there enough books in the world to tell you about everything?
There are simply thousands of things I want to know!"
"Take your arms off the table and go on with your sum. After lessons
are over, you can ask me questions."
Harebell obeyed instantly, but she was ready with her questions before
she went home.
"Grown-up people always turn away when I ask them about things, or they
laugh," said Harebell. "Now you promise not to do either, will you?"
Miss Forster promised, a glint of amusement in her eyes, which happily
Harebell did not see. Nan and Peter stared at her with open mouth and
eyes. She talked to their governess as if she were her equal.
"The first thing I want to know is about spells," Harebell said
earnestly. "Spells for making ice people melt specially. There must be
some. And spells for making poor dumb things talk; or for making us
understand what they say. Chairs and tables have their lives as well
as us, haven't they? They were alive and moving when they were trees.
You see, I like talking, and if I'm in a room by myself, I look round
to see who I'd like to talk to. But they never answer back, and I'm
perfectly certain if I could find the right spell, they would. Perhaps
I mean I want to break the spell and make them speak; that's what I
want."
"You're a funny child," Miss Forster said gravely. "I suppose you
believe in witches, and fairies, and all that sort of thing?"
Harebell's eyes glowed. She gave a little mysterious nod.
"In India I've seen—oh, I can't tell you—but I know there are fairies
in England! Dad used to tell me about them. They dance in the woods. I
haven't seen a wood yet. It's like a jungle without the wild beasts and
snakes. Do tell me if there's a book of spells."
"Oh yes, there are a good many," said Miss Forster; "but they belong to
a past age. I can give you a spell for making an ice person melt—only
one thing will do it."
"Do tell me."
"I'll write it on a paper and give it to you. You can read it, and
think over it, and try it when you get home."
Harebell was enchanted. She hardly spoke to Nan and Peter, but trotted
home with a piece of paper squeezed tightly in her hand. When she got
up to her room she read it. Only two words:
"Love them."
She was very disappointed at first; then she thought about it, and
nodded approval.
"Gerda loved Kay, and I have to love Aunt Diana, but mustn't say
anything about it to any one. I must do it in secret. I don't quite
know how to do it, but I'll try."
It was a happy day when her pony arrived. Andy insisted on taking
charge of it himself. He only asked his mistress for a little lad,
three days a week, to help him in the garden.
"I was brought up in a stable myself," said Andy proudly, as he patted
the brown, silky coat of the little Welsh pony. And Harebell promptly
added:
"Like Jesus Christ. I'm sure you must have been a very good child,
Andy. You ought to have been."
"There you go now," remonstrated Andy, "like lightning for coupling up
things, and never very seemly or respectful to the Almighty, I says! My
father was head groom to Lord Walters, and I sat on a horse afore I was
in breeches."
Mrs. Keith inspected the pony in silence. Harebell covered him with
kisses.
"I am so glad Mr. Graham did not tell me his name. For I shall choose
one myself for him. He is my pony and he must have a beautiful name."
When she went to the Rectory the next day her thoughts were full of
it. The children had half an hour's interval in the morning, when
they generally played in the garden; but it was wet, and Harebell was
perfectly content to be in the schoolroom.
"I have to find a name for him, and I shall get it from the Bible," she
announced. "It's sure to be a good one, then."
"There are no ponies mentioned in the Bible," said Peter. "I can give
you a dozen. 'Soft Eye,' Tommy, Brownie, Silky. Is he a he?"
Harebell nodded.
"I shall choose it from the Revelations," she said, "because that's the
book of glories."
She took hold of her Bible, which was in her satchel, and sat down on
the floor by the window to study it.
"Let me help you," said Nan.
But Harebell shook her off.
"You don't understand what I want, Nan; it must be a name which no one
else on earth has. He is so very special!"
"You make such a fuss over everything," said Nan a little sulkily.
She and her brother were not quite sure whether they liked this new
comrade of theirs. She was so very self-sufficient and dictatorial.
They longed to snub her, but at present were rather afraid of her. The
half-hour had nearly gone, before Harebell found her name, then she
lept to her feet.
"Hurrah! I've found it. I shall call him 'Chrysoprasus.'"
She could hardly pronounce the word.
"I've never heard that before," said Peter.
"It's almost the last chapter; it's one of the precious stones in the
beautiful city. I love a long name, don't you? A precious stone is a
jewel. All the natives have lots of jewels in India. I know all about
them, and my pony is a jewel to me, and very, very, very precious."
Then her thoughts took another turn.
"Do you know Miss Triggs? She likes Revelations, she told me so. She
talks very interesting about heaven."
"She's a dressmaker," said Nan; "what a funny girl you are, to talk to
a dressmaker about heaven!"
"Why? She likes it. She was talking to me of the Door into the Kingdom.
Have you got through yet? Sometimes I think I have, and sometimes I
think I haven't!"
"What door?" asked Nan with interest.
"The Door," replied Harebell a little impatiently. "We're all outside
or inside the Kingdom, and the Door gets us in."
"Do you mean the Kingdom of England?" questioned Peter. "We only read
about kingdoms in our history-books."
"No, I mean God's kingdom. The Kingdom of Heaven."
"We can't get into heaven before we die," said Peter conclusively.
"We can get into this kingdom any day we want to; Miss Triggs said so."
Harebell was beginning to get rather hot in the discussion. Then Miss
Forster came into the room, and lessons were recommenced. When they
were over, Harebell put on her hat and coat to return home, and Peter
and Nan accompanied her to the garden gate. They met the Rector who was
coming in. He always had a kindly word for Harebell, and she at once
seized the opportunity.
"Mr. Garland, you know all about God's Kingdom, don't you? And what you
say must be right. Peter and Nan won't believe me. Can't we get into
the Kingdom of Heaven before we die?"
"Indeed you can," said the Rector, smiling down upon the eager face
uplifted to him. "We ought to be the subjects of that kingdom down
here."
Then he looked at the children in front of him, and said: "Of such is
the Kingdom of Heaven."
"And we ought to get inside it, oughtn't we?" pursued Harebell. "Not
stay outside."
"I hope you are inside it," said the Rector gravely.
Harebell shook her head doubtfully. "I'm not so sure about it."
Then she remembered her pony, and flew off along the road, waving a
farewell to the children.
"She's a funny girl," said Peter, "her mind is all tumbled up and pours
out anyhow!"
His father laughed.
"I think I like her," said Nan, "because she says things so different
to everybody else; but, dad dear, she's going to call her pony a most
awful name in Revelations—a Chris—something!"
"That doesn't tell me much," said the Rector. "Now run along in, I want
to speak to your mother."
"Aunt Diana," said Harebell at dinner; "do you know much about
christenings? When I was in India a lady—the governor's wife—christened
a yacht. There were pictures of it, and dad told me she poured a bottle
of wine over it. Babies have water—what should my pony have? Would it
be wicked to christen him like a baby? God made him, didn't he? He
belongs to God just as much as a baby does."
"Don't you know that animals have no souls?" said Mrs. Keith. "You
cannot play at such games. Ponies don't require christening."
"But I'm giving him a name," said Harebell. "Couldn't I have a little
drop of wine, just in a medicine bottle?"
"Most certainly not. You are talking nonsense. Go on with your dinner."
Harebell next consulted Andy.
"I don't see why Chrysoprasus shouldn't have a proper christening. Will
you come into the stable this afternoon and let us do it?"
"Oh, I'll come fast enough. But I don't like your name. 'Tis a foreign
one, reckon. Indian, I should say."
"It's in the Bible; it's a beautiful one."
She insisted upon having a ceremony, and dragged Andy off with her.
Then she persuaded Lucy, the housemaid, to come as a looker-on. She
robed herself in a soft Indian shawl, and having coaxed Mrs. Andrew
to give her some home-made lemonade in a bottle, she poured it very
solemnly over her pony's head.
"I name thee Chrysoprasus. And Chrysoprasus thou shalt be called to the
end of thy life."
Then she made Lucy and Andy cry out with her: "Long life to
Chrysoprasus! Hip, hip, hurrah!"
And after this performance was over she went out for her first ride.
Her Aunt had stipulated that Andy should go with her for the first
time. The old man came back and informed his mistress that Harebell was
a born rider, and had a perfect seat and hand.
"And the pony is as quiet with her as a sheep," he ejaculated. "She
won't come to harm in our quiet lanes."
So Harebell was allowed an hour's ride every day, directly after lunch
in the afternoon, and that hour was a golden time with her. Her cheeks
began to get rosy, and her thin little face to fill out.
Mrs. Keith took very little notice of her, beyond seeing her at her
meals, and for a short time in the evening before she went to bed.
Harebell grew accustomed to her aunt's silent ways, and lost her first
awe of her; but she told herself over and over again that she could
never love her. She talked a great deal to her pony, and no longer felt
lonely.
And her lessons at the Rectory became more and more interesting to her.
Peter, Nan, and herself soon became the greatest friends.
"England is a very nice place after all," she told Goody one day.
And Goody assented to the sentiment with much fervour.