ELEANOR AND I ARE LATE FOR BREAKFAST--THE SCHOOL BREAKS UP--MADAME AND
BRIDGET.
Eleanor and I overslept ourselves one morning. We had been tired, and
when we did get up we hurried through our dressing, looking forward to
fines and a scolding to boot.
But as we crept down-stairs we saw both the Misses Mulberry and Madame
conversing together on the second landing. We felt that we were
"caught," but to our surprise they took no notice of us; and as we went
down the next flight we heard Miss Mulberry say, with a sigh,
"Misfortunes never come alone."
We soon learnt what the new misfortune was. Poor Lucy had been taken
ill. The doctor had been to see her early that morning, and had
pronounced it fever--"Probably scarlet fever; and he recommends the
school being broken up at once, as the holidays would soon be here
anyway." So one of the girls told us.
Presently Miss Mulberry made her appearance; and we sat down to
breakfast. She ate hers hurriedly, and then made a little speech, in
which she begged us, as a personal favour, to be good; and if it was
decided that we should go, to do our best to get our things carefully
together, and to help to pack them.
I am sure we responded to the appeal. I wonder if it struck Madame, at
this time, that it might be well to trust us a little more, as a rule? I
remember Peony's saying, "Madame told me to help myself to tea. I might
have taken two lumps of sugar, but I did not think it would be right."
We were all equally scrupulous; we even made a point of speaking in
French, though Madame's long absences from the school-room, and the
possibility of an early break-up for the holidays, gave both opportunity
and temptation to chat in English.
On Monday evening at tea, Miss Mulberry made another little speech. The
doctor had pronounced poor Lucy's illness to be scarlet fever, and we
were all to be sent home the next day. There were to be no more lessons,
and we were to spend the evening in packing and other preparations.
We were very sorry for poor Lucy, but we were young; and I do not think
we could help enjoying the delights of fuss, the excitement of
responsibility and packing, and the fact that the holidays had begun.
We were going in various directions, but it so happened that we all
contrived to go by the same train to London. Some were to be dropped
before we reached town; one lived in London; and Eleanor and I had to
wait for half-an-hour before catching a train for the north.
For I was going to Yorkshire. The Arkwrights had asked me to spend the
holidays with Eleanor. There was now nothing to be done but for us to
go up together, all unexpected as we were.
How we packed and talked, and ran in and out of each other's rooms! It
was late when we all got to bed that night.
Next morning the railway omnibus came for us, and with a curious sense
of regret we saw our luggage piled up, and the little gate of Bush House
close upon us.
As we moved off, Bridget, the nosegay-woman, drew near. Madame (who had
shed tears as she bade us adieu) opened the gate again, ran out, cried
shrilly to the driver to stop, and buying up half Bridget's basketful at
one sweep, with more tears and much excitement, flung the flowers in
amongst us. As she went backwards off the step, on to which she had
climbed, she fell upon Bridget, who, with even more excitement and I
think also with ready tears, clung to the already moving omnibus, and
turned her basket upside down over our laps.
I have a dim remembrance of seeing her and Madame seem to fall over each
other, or into each other's arms; and then, amid a shrill torrent of
farewells and blessings in French and Irish, the omnibus rolled on, and
Bush House was hid from our eyes.