The afternoon arrived when the children were to have their feast in the
summer-house. From the hour of dinner the little people were as busy as
aldermen's cooks, spreading their table. Sydney thought himself too old
for such play. He was hard at work, filling up the pond he had dug in
his garden, having tried experiments with it for several weeks, and
found that it never held water but in a pouring rain. While he was
occupied with his spade, his sisters and the little Rowlands were
arranging their dishes, and brewing their cowslip-tea.
"Our mamma is coming," said Fanny to Matilda: "is yours?"
"No; she says she can't come--but papa will."
"So will our papa. It was so funny at dinner. Mr Paxton came in, and
asked whether papa would ride with him; and papa said it was out of the
question; it must be to-morrow; for he had an engagement this
afternoon."
"A very particular engagement, he said," observed Mary: "and he smiled
at me so, I could not help laughing. Fanny, do look at Matilda's dish
of strawberries! How pretty!"
"There's somebody coming," observed little Anna, who, being too young to
help, and liable to be tempted to put her fingers into the good things,
was sent to amuse herself with jumping up and down the steps.
"There now! That is always the way, is not it, Miss Young?" cried
Fanny. "Who is it, George? Mr Enderby? Oh, do not let him come in
yet! Tell him he must not come this half-hour."
Mr Enderby chose to enter, however, and all opposition gave way before
him.
"Pray don't send me back," said he, "till you know what I am come for.
Now, who will pick my pockets?"
Little Anna was most on a level with the coat pocket. She almost buried
her face in it as she dived, the whole length of her arm, to the very
bottom. George attacked its fellow, while the waistcoat pockets were at
the mercy of the taller children. A number of white parcels made their
appearance, and the little girls screamed with delight.
"Miss Young!" cried Fanny, "do come and help us to pick Mr Enderby's
pockets. See what I have got--the very largest of all!"
When every pocket had been thoroughly picked without Miss Young's
assistance, the table did indeed show a goodly pile of white
cornucopia,--that most agitating form of paper to children's eyes. When
opened, there was found such a store of sweet things as the little girls
had seldom before seen out of the confectioner's shop. Difficulties are
apt to come with good fortune; and the anxious question was now asked,
how all these dainties were to be dished up. Miss Young was, as usual,
the friend in need. She had before lent two small china plates of her
own; and she now supplied the further want. She knew how to make pretty
square boxes out of writing-paper; and her nimble scissors and neat
fingers now provided a sufficiency of these in a trice. Uncle Philip
was called upon, as each was finished, to admire her skill; and admire
he did, to the children's entire content.
"Is this _our_ feast, Mr Enderby?" inquired Mary, finally, when Anna
had been sent to summon the company. "May we say it is ours?"
"To be sure," cried Fanny. "Whose else should it be?"
"It is all your own, I assure you," said Mr Enderby. "Now, you two
should stand at the head of the table, and Matilda at the foot."
"I think I had better take this place," said Sydney, who had made his
appearance, and who thought much better of the affair now that he saw
Mr Enderby so much interested in it. "There should always be a
gentleman at the bottom of the table."
"No, no, Sydney," protested Mr Enderby; "not when he has had no cost
nor trouble about the feast. March off. You are only one of the
company. Stand there, Matilda, and remember you must look very polite.
I shall hide behind the acacia there, and come in with the ladies."
A sudden and pelting shower was now falling, however; and instead of
hiding behind a tree, Mr Enderby had to run between the house and the
schoolroom, holding umbrellas over the ladies' heads, setting clogs for
them, and assuring Mrs Grey at each return that the feast could not be
deferred, and that nobody should catch cold. Mr Grey was on the spot;
to give his arm to Mrs Enderby, who had luckily chanced to look in,--a
thing which "she really never did after dinner." Mr Hope had been seen
riding by, and Mrs Grey had sent after him to beg he would come in.
Mr Rowland made a point of being present: and thus the summer-house was
quite full,--really crowded.
"I am glad Mrs Rowland keeps away," whispered Mrs Grey to Sophia.
"She would say it is insufferably hot."
"Yes; that she would. Do not you think we might have that window open?
The rain does not come in on that side. Did you ever see such a feast
as the children have got? I am sure poor Elizabeth and I never managed
such a one. It is really a pity Mrs Rowland should not see it. Mr
Rowland should have made her come. It looks so odd, her being the only
one to stay away!"
The room resounded with exclamations, and admiration, and grave jokes
upon the children. Notwithstanding all Uncle Philip could do, the
ingenuous little girls answered to every compliment--that Mr Enderby
brought his, and that that and the other came out of Uncle Philip's
pocket. They stood in their places, blushing and laughing, and served
out their dainties with hands trembling with delight.
Maria's pleasure was, as usual, in observing all that went on.
She could do this while replying, quite to the purpose, to Mrs
Enderby's praise of her management of the dear children, and to George's
pressing offers of cake; and to Mr Rowland's suspicions that the
children would never have accomplished this achievement without her, as
indeed he might say of all their achievements; and to Anna's entreaty
that she would eat a pink comfit, and then a yellow one, and then a
green one; and to Mrs Grey's wonder where she could have put away all
her books and things, to make so much room for the children. She could
see Mr Hope's look of delight when Margaret declined a cup of
chocolate, and said she preferred tasting some of the cowslip-tea. She
saw how he helped Mary to pour out the tea, and how quietly he took the
opportunity of getting rid of it through the window behind Margaret,
when she could not pretend to say that she liked it. She observed Mr
Rowland's somewhat stiff politeness to Hester, and Mr Enderby's equal
partition of his attentions between the two sisters. She could see Mrs
Grey watching every strawberry and sugar-plum that went down the throats
of the little Rowlands, and her care, seconded by Sophia's, that her own
children should have an exactly equal portion of the good things. She
believed, but was not quite sure, that she saw Hester's colour and
manner change as Mr Hope came and went, in the course of his service
about the table; and that once, upon receiving some slight attention
from him, she threw a hasty glance towards her sister, and turned quite
away upon meeting her eye.
The rain had not prevented the servants from trying to amuse themselves
with witnessing the amusement of the family. They were clustered
together under umbrellas at the window nearest the stables, where they
thought they should be least observed. Some commotion took place among
them, at the same moment that an extraordinary sound became audible,
from a distance, above the clatter of plates, and the mingling of
voices, in the summer-house.
"What in the world is that noise?" asked Margaret.
"Only somebody killing a pig," replied Sydney, decidedly.
"Do not believe him," said Mr Enderby. "The Deerbrook people have
better manners than to kill their pigs in the hearing of ladies on
summer afternoons."
"But what is it? It seems coming nearer."
"I once told you," said Mr Enderby, "that we possess an inhabitant,
whose voice you might know before her name. I suspect it is that same
voice which we hear now."
"A human voice! Impossible!"
"What is the matter, Alice?" Mrs Grey asked of her maid out of the
window.
"Oh, ma'am, it is Mrs Plumstead! And she is coming this way, ma'am.
She will be upon us before we can get to the house. Oh, ma'am, what
shall we do?"
Mrs Grey entreated permission of the ladies to allow the maid-servants
to come into the summer-house. Their caps might be torn from their
heads before they could defend themselves, she said, if they remained
outside. Of course, leave was given instantly, and the maids crowded
in, with chattering teeth and many a tale of deeds done by Mrs
Plumstead, in her paroxysms of rage.
The children shared the panic, more or less: and not only they. Mr
Grey proposed to put up the shutters of the windows nearest to the scene
of action; but it was thought that this might draw on an attack from the
virago, who might let the party alone if she were left unnoticed by
them. She was now full in sight, as, with half Deerbrook at her heels,
she pursued the object of her rage through the falling shower, and
amidst the puddles in front of the stables. Her widow's cap was at the
back of her head, her hair hanging from beneath it, wet in the rain: her
black gown was splashed to the shoulders; her hands were clenched; her
face was white as her apron, and her vociferations were dreadful to
hear. She was hunting a poor terrified young countrywoman, who, between
fright and running, looked ready to sink.
"We must put a stop to this," cried Mr Grey and Mr Rowland, each
speaking to the other. It ended with their issuing forth together,
looking as dignified as they could, and placing themselves between the
scold and her victim. It would not do. They could not make themselves
heard; and when she shook her fist in their faces, they retired
backwards, and took refuge among their party, bringing the victim in
with them, however. Mr Enderby declared this retreat too bad, and was
gone before the entreaties of his little nieces could stop him. He held
his ground longer; and the dumb show he made was so energetic as to
cause a laugh in the summer-house, in the midst of the uneasiness of his
friends, and to call forth shouts of mirth from the crowd at the
virago's heels.
"That will not do. It will only exasperate her the more," said Mr
Hope, pressing his way to the door. "Let me pass, will you?"
"Oh, Mr Hope! Oh, sir!" said Alice, "don't go! Don't think of going,
sir! She does not mind killing anybody, I assure you, sir."
"Oh, Mr Hope, don't go!" cried almost everybody. Maria was sure she
heard Hester's voice among the rest. The young countrywoman and the
children grasped the skirts of his coat; but he shook them off,
laughing, and went. Little Mary loved Mr Hope very dearly. She shot
out at the door with him, and clasped her hands before Mrs Plumstead,
looking up piteously, as if to implore her to do Mr Hope no harm.
Already, however, the vixen's mood had changed. At the first glimpse of
Mr Hope, her voice sank from being a squall into some resemblance to
human utterance. She pulled her cap forward, and a tinge of colour
returned to her white lips. Mr Enderby caught up little Mary and
carried her to her mamma, crying bitterly. Mr Hope might safely be
left to finish his conquest of the otherwise unconquerable scold. He
stood still till he could make himself heard, looking her full in the
face; and it was not long before she would listen to his remonstrance,
and even at length take his advice, to go home and compose herself. He
went with her, to ensure the good behaviour of her neighbours, and had
the satisfaction of seeing her lock herself into her house alone before
he returned to his party.
"It is as you told me," said Margaret to Mr Enderby; "Mr Hope's power
extends even to the temper of the Deerbrook scold. How she began to
grow quiet directly! It was like magic."
Mr Enderby smiled; but there was some uneasiness in his smile.
The countrywoman was commended to the servants, to be refreshed, and
dismissed another way. There was no further reason for detaining her
when it appeared that she really could give no account of how she had
offended Mrs Plumstead in selling her a pound of butter. It remained
to console little Mary, who was still crying,--more from grief for Mrs
Plumstead than from fear, Maria thought, though Mrs Grey was profuse in
assurances to the child that Mrs Plumstead should not be allowed to
frighten her any more. All the children seemed so depressed and
confounded, that their guests exerted themselves to be merry again, and
to efface, as far as was possible, the impression of the late scene.
When Mr Hope returned, he found Mr Grey singing his single ditty,
about Dame Dumshire and her crockery-ware, amidst great mirth and
unbounded applause. Then Mrs Enderby was fluttered, and somewhat
flattered, by an entreaty that she would favour the company with one of
the ballads, for which she had been famous in her time. She could not
refuse on such an occasion,--if indeed she had ever been able to refuse
what she was told would give pleasure. She made her son choose for her
what she should sing; and then followed a wonderful story of Giles
Collins, who loved a lady: Giles and the lady both died of true love;
Giles was laid in the lower chancel, and the lady in the higher; from
the one grave grew a milk-white rose, and from the other a briar, both
of which climbed up to the church top, and there tied themselves into a
true-lover's knot, which made all the parish admire. At this part, Anna
was seen looking up at the ceiling; but the rest had no eyes but for
Mrs Enderby, as she gazed full at the opposite wall, and the shrill,
quavering notes of the monotonous air were poured out, and the words
were as distinct as if they were spoken.
"Is that true, grandmamma?" asked Anna, when all was over.
"You had better ask the person who made the song, my dear. I did not
make it."
"But did you ever see that church with the briar growing in it, before
the sexton cut it down?"
"Do not let us talk any more about it," said Philip, solemnly. "I
wonder grandmamma dares sing such a sad song."
"Why, you asked her, Uncle Philip."
"Oh, ay, so I did. Well, we are much obliged to her; and now we will
have something that is not quite so terrible.--Miss Grey, you will
favour us with a song?"
Sophia's music-books were all in the house, and she could not sing
without. Mr Enderby would fetch some, if she would give him directions
what to bring. No; she could not sing without the piano. As it was
clearly impossible to bring that, Philip feared the company must wait
for the pleasure of hearing Miss Grey till another time. Mr Grey would
have Hester and Margaret sing; and sing they did, very simply and
sweetly, and much to the satisfaction of all present. One thing led on
to another; they sang together,--with Mr Grey,--with Mr Enderby; Mr
Hope listening with an unlearned eagerness, which made Mrs Grey wink at
her husband, and nod at Sophia, and exchange smiles with Mrs Enderby.
They proceeded to catches at last; and when people really fond of music
get to singing catches in a summer-house, who can foresee the end?
"`Fair Enslaver!'" cried Mr Enderby. "You must know `Fair Enslaver:'
there is not a sweeter catch than that. Come, Miss Ibbotson, begin;
your sister will follow, and I--"
But it so happened that Miss Ibbotson had never heard `Fair Enslaver.'
Margaret knew it, she believed; but she did not. With a gay eagerness,
Mr Enderby turned round to Maria, saying that he knew she could sing
this catch; and everybody was aware that when she had the power of doing
a kindness, she never wanted the will;--he remembered that she could
sing `Fair Enslaver.' He might well remember this, for often had they
sung it together. While several of the company were saying they did not
know Miss Young could sing, and the children were explaining that she
often sang at her work, Mr Enderby observed some signs of agitation in
Maria, and hastened to say,--"You had rather not, perhaps. Pray do not
think of it. I will find something else in a moment. I beg your
pardon: I was very inconsiderate."
But Maria thought she had rather not accept the consideration; and
besides, the children were anxious that she should sing. She bore her
part in a way which made Mr Rowland and Mrs Grey agree that she was a
very superior young woman indeed; that they were singularly fortunate to
have secured her for their children; and that she was much to be pitied.
"I think Miss Young has got a little cold, though," observed Sydney.
"Her voice is not in the least husky when she sits singing here by
herself.--Father! look there! there are all the servants huddled
together under the window again, to listen to the singing."
This was true; and the rain was over. It was presently settled that the
schoolroom should be evacuated by the present party; that the children
should be allowed to invite the servants in, to dispense to them the
remains of the feast; and that Miss Young must favour Mrs Grey with her
company this evening.
Mr Rowland was obliged to return home to business; but, before his
friends dispersed, he must just say that Mrs Rowland and he had never,
for a moment, given up the hope of the pleasure of entertaining them at
dinner in the Dingleford woods; and, as the rains were now daily
abating, he might perhaps be allowed to name Wednesday of the next week
as the day of the excursion. He hoped to see the whole of the present
company, from the oldest to the youngest,--bowing, as he spoke, to Mrs
Enderby and to his own little daughter Anna. This was one of Mr
Rowland's pieces of independent action. His lady had given him no
commission to bring the affair to an issue; and he returned home,
involuntarily planning what kind of an unconcerned face and manner he
should put on, while he told her what he had done.