The sisters were not so fatigued with their journey but that they were
early in the open air the next morning. In the shrubbery they met the
twins, walking hand in hand, each with a doll on the disengaged arm.
"You are giving your dolls an airing before breakfast," said Hester,
stopping them as they would have passed on.
"Yes; we carry out our dolls now because we must not run before
breakfast. We have made arbours in our own gardens for our dolls, where
they may sit when we are swinging."
"I should like to see your arbours and your gardens," said Margaret,
looking round her. "Will you take me to them?"
"Not now," answered they; "we should have to cross the grass, and we
must not go upon the grass before breakfast."
"Where is your swing? I am very fond of swinging."
"Oh! it is in the orchard there, under that large tree. But you
cannot--"
"I see; we cannot get to it now, because we should have to cross the
grass." And Margaret began to look round for any place where they might
go beyond the gravel-walk, on which they stood. She moved towards the
greenhouse, but found it was never unlocked before breakfast. The
summerhouse remained, and a most unexceptionable path led to it. The
sisters turned that way.
"You cannot go there," cried the children; "Miss Young always has the
schoolroom before breakfast."
"We are going to see Miss Young," explained Hester, smiling at the
amazed faces with which the children stared from the end of the path.
They were suddenly seen to turn, and walk as fast as they could, without
its being called running, towards the house. They were gone to their
mother's dressing-room door, to tell her that the Miss Ibbotsons were
gone to see Miss Young before breakfast.
The path led for some little way under the hedge which separated Mr
Grey's from Mr Rowland's garden. There were voices on the other side,
and what was said was perfectly audible. Uneasy at hearing what was not
meant for them, Hester and Margaret gave tokens of their presence. The
conversation on the other side of the hedge proceeded; and in a very
short time the sisters were persuaded that they had been mistaken in
supposing that what was said was not meant for them.
"My own Matilda," said a voice, which evidently came from under a lady's
bonnet which moved parallel with Hester's and Margaret's; "My own
Matilda, I would not be so harsh as to prevent your playing where you
please before breakfast. Run where you like, my love. I am sorry for
little girls who are not allowed to do as they please in the cool of the
morning. My children shall never suffer such restriction."
"Mother," cried a rough little person, "I'm going fishing with Uncle
Philip to-day. Sydney Grey and I are going, I don't know how far up the
river."
"On no account, my dear boy. You must not think of such a thing. I
should not have a moment's peace while you are away. You would not be
back till evening, perhaps; and I should be fancying all day that you
were in the river. It is out of the question, my own George."
"But I must go, mother. Uncle Philip said I might; and Sydney Grey is
going."
"That is only another reason, my dear boy. Your uncle will yield to my
wishes, I am sure, as he always does. And if Mrs Grey allows her son
to run such risks, I am sure I should not feel myself justified. You
will stay with me, love, won't you? You will stay with your mother, my
own boy."
George ran roaring away, screaming for Uncle Philip; who was not at
hand, however, to plead his cause.
"My Matilda," resumed the fond mother, "you are making yourself a sad
figure. You will not be fit to show yourself at breakfast. Do you
suppose your papa ever saw such a frock as that? There! look--dripping
wet! Pritchard, take Miss Matilda, and change all her clothes directly.
So much for my allowing her to run on the grass while the dew is on!
Lose no time, Pritchard, lest the child should catch cold. Leave Miss
Anna with me. Walk beside me, my Anna. Ah! there is papa. Papa, we
must find some amusement for George today, as I cannot think of letting
him go out fishing. Suppose we take the children to spend the morning
with their cousins at Dingleford?"
"To-morrow would suit me better, my love," replied the husband. "Indeed
I don't see how I can go to-day, or you either." And Mr Rowland
lowered his voice, so as to show that he was aware of his liability to
be overheard.
"Oh, as to that, there is no hurry," replied the lady, aloud. "If I had
nothing else to do, I should not make that call to-day. Any day will do
as well."
As Hester and Margaret looked at each other, they heard the gentleman
softly say "Hush!" But Mrs Rowland went on as audibly as ever.
"There is no reason why I should be in any hurry to call on Mrs Grey's
friends, whoever and whatever they may be. Any day will do for that, my
dear."
Not having been yet forbidden to run before breakfast, Hester and
Margaret fled to the summer-house, to avoid hearing any more of the
domestic dialogues of the Rowland family.
"What shall we do when that woman calls?" said Hester. "How will it be
possible to speak to her?"
"As we should speak to any other indifferent person," replied Margaret.
"Her rudeness is meant for Mrs Grey, not for us; for she knows nothing
about us: and Mrs Grey will never hear from us what has passed.--Shall
we knock?"
In answer to the knock, they were requested to enter. Miss Young rose
in some confusion when she found her visitors were other than her
pupils: but she was so lame that Hester made her sit down again, while
they drew seats for themselves. They apologised for breaking in upon
her with so little ceremony, but explained that they were come to be
inmates at Mr Grey's for some months, and that they wished to lose no
time in making themselves acquainted with every resort of the family, of
which they considered themselves a part. Miss Young was evidently
pleased to see them. She closed her volume, and assured them they were
welcome to her apartment; "For," said she, "everybody calls it my
apartment, and why should not I?"
"Do you spend all your time here?" asked Hester.
"Almost the whole day. I have a lodging in the village; but I leave it
early these fine mornings, and stay here till dark. I am so lame as to
make it inconvenient to pass over the ground oftener than is necessary;
and I find it pleasanter to see trees and grass through every window
here, than to look out into the farrier's yard,--the only prospect from
my lodging. The furnace and sparks are pretty enough on a winter's
evening, especially when one is too ill or too dismal to do anything but
watch them; but at this season one grows tired of old horse-shoes and
cinders; and so I sit here."
To the sisters there seemed a world of desolation in these words. They
were always mourning for having no brother. Here was one who appeared
to be entirely alone. From not knowing exactly what to say, Margaret
opened the book Miss Young had laid aside. It was German--Schiller's
Thirty Years' War. Every one has something to say about German
literature; those who do not understand it asking whether it is not very
mystical, and wild, and obscure; and those who do understand it saying
that it is not so at all. It would be a welcome novelty if the two
parties were to set about finding out what it is to be mystical,--a
point which, for aught that is known to the generality, is not yet
ascertained. Miss Young and her visitors did not enter upon precise
definitions this morning. These were left for a future occasion.
Meantime it was ascertained that Miss Young had learned the German
language by the aid of dictionary and grammar alone, and also that if
she should happen to meet with any one who wished to enjoy what she was
enjoying, she should be glad to afford any aid in her power. Hester was
satisfied with thanking her. She was old enough to know that learning a
new language is a serious undertaking. Margaret was somewhat younger,
and ready for any enterprise. She thought she saw before her hours of
long mornings, when she should be glad to escape from the work-table to
Miss Young's companionship and to study. The bright field of German
literature seemed to open before her to be explored. She warmly thanked
Miss Young, and accepted her offered assistance.
"So you spend all your days alone here," said she, looking round upon
the rather bare walls, the matted floor, the children's desks, and the
single shelf which held Miss Young's books.
"Not exactly all the day alone," replied Miss Young; "the children are
with me five hours a day, and a set of pupils from the village comes to
me besides, for a spare hour of the afternoon. In this way I see a good
many little faces every day."
"And some others too, I should hope; some besides little faces?"