SHARK.
"Hullo, here's Marjorie!" exclaimed Eric. He vaulted out of the
carriage, and flung his arms round Marjorie's little squat figure,
lifting her off the ground, and squeezing her in an ecstasy of
delight. "Here I am, Mag, and there are two pouters in a cage, and
four new fantails--they're coming with the luggage--and I've got a
lop-eared rabbit with black spots, and my ferrets--there are two of
them in the carriage. Wait until you see Shark's teeth--I call him
Shark, he's such a good 'un at biting. We'll have some fun these
holidays; don't you make any mistake!"
"Yes, yes, of course we will! I'm delighted, Eric, delighted! Where
are the ferrets? When can I see them? Oh, how are you, Basil? Have you
on a tight boot to-day? Does your corn pinch you?"
"No, I've got over those small ailments," said Basil. "What a
roundabout you are, Marjorie," he continued, pinching her cheek.
"Now, what's the matter? You are quite frowning."
Marjorie's round good-humored freckled face wore an expression of
consternation.
"I made some slippers during the term for you," she said. "They're
large, and I wadded them so that they are most comfortable. But--it
isn't that--the slippers are in your room, I put them there--Ermie,
won't you get out?"
"No," said Ermengarde. "I'm going to drive down to the house."
Marjorie frowned more than ever.
"They are all coming up from the shore; Miss Nelson, and all of them;
and they'll see the horses and they'll run. Even Miss Nelson will run,
she's so fond of Basil, and----"
Mr. Wilton, who still remained in the carriage by Ermengarde's side,
now interposed.
"We won't wait for the small fry," he said. "We'll drive on to the
house at once. Oh, yes, Eric, you can go to meet the party from the
shore of course, if you like, and Basil too."
"I'll stay with Ermie," said Basil.
He jumped into the carriage again, and they drove down the long
winding avenue to the house.
Great elm trees shaded the avenue, and Basil pushed back his cap and
looked up into the green. He was a dark and handsome lad, and his
expression was unusually thoughtful for his years.
"How grand those old trees are!" he said. "Whenever I think of home
while I'm away, I remember the old elm trees in the avenue, and the
rooks' nests--I remember, too----" Here he stopped suddenly, and a
wave of red mantled his cheeks. Ermengarde's bright eyes were fixed on
him; she guessed his thoughts. Basil had often walked under those elm
trees with his mother.
Mr. Wilton had opened the _Times_, and was not attending to the
chatter of the young folk.
"You don't look quite the thing, Ermie," said Basil in a low voice.
"I'm perfectly well," she replied.
"But you turned quite white that time at the lodge. I noticed it. That
time when Marjorie wanted you to get out. Have you been worrying
yourself lately? You know you are such a girl to mope, and make
mountains out of mole-hills. School would be the place for you."
Mr. Wilton dropped his paper.
"Are you recommending school for Ermengarde?" he said. "Sometimes I
have thought of it, but your mother had a prejudice against
school-life for girls, and Ermie does very well with Miss Nelson and
the masters who come here to instruct her. Now here we are, and here's
your Aunt Elizabeth."
Miss Wilton was not a graceful woman. She was a feminine edition of
her brother, and Mr. Wilton, although handsome as a man, had by no
means the type of face which best lends itself to womanly graces.
Miss Wilton was standing on the steps in a riding-habit. Her horse had
just been taken round to the stables. She had her whip in her hand,
and her masses of hair looked untidy--her face, too, was flushed.
"Really, Roderick," she said to her brother, "that groom is past
bearing. He had the impertinence---- Oh, is that you, Basil? So you've
come back--how are you? Now one thing I do beg, and that is, that you
never come into the house except by the side door, and that you and
Eric keep your pets to yourselves. I don't mind what is done behind
the schoolroom doors, but I will not--I cannot--permit messy lounging
school-boys in my part of the house. Roderick, what is the matter? Are
you laughing at me?"
"I think I am, Elizabeth," replied Mr. Wilton. "Boys will be boys, and
no one can accuse Basil of lounging."
Miss Wilton had a very hearty loud laugh herself. She indulged in it
now, and going up to Basil, hit him a blow on the shoulders.
"You're a true Wilton," she said. "By and by I'll be proud of you--by
and by I'll want your help. You shall ride with me, and keep those
lazy intolerable grooms in some sort of order, but just at present
your place is in the schoolroom part of the house. Ermengarde! You
here? Has Miss Nelson promoted you to drive in the carriage? That is
an honor only conferred on very good children."
Ermengarde hated to be called a child. She disliked her Aunt
Elizabeth's manner to her at all times, and now she flushed and
frowned, and looked decidedly unamiable.
"Come, Basil," she said, touching her brother on his arm.
"No, miss, you're not to go with that cross face on," said her aunt.
"Look pleasant, or I shall desire Miss Nelson on no account to permit
you to drive with your father again. What is it, Roderick? What's the
matter?"
"Leave the poor child alone," said Mr. Wilton. "Run away, chicks, both
of you; run off and be happy. Now, Elizabeth, what is this story about
the groom?"
Ermengarde slipped her hand within Basil's arm, and they both walked
round to the other side of the house. High tea was spread in the
pleasant schoolroom. Miss Nelson, who looked worried and over-tired,
was desiring her pupils to take their places. All the nursery children
were to sup in the schoolroom to-night, in honor of the boys' return,
and nurse was bringing in toddling Ethel, and little Dick and Bobby,
and placing them in their chairs, and then cutting bread-and-butter
for them.
Basil rushed down a side passage to a lavatory to wash his hands, and
Ermengarde flew upstairs to dispose of her best hat. Miss Nelson had
not noticed it.
When the elder boy and girl came into the room the meal had commenced.
Marjorie, as usual, was trotting from chair to chair, helping
everyone, pushing the butter nearer to little Mollie, the youngest
schoolroom child, stopping Bobby's rebellious lips with strawberries,
and lugging a great jug of milk in her arms, and with a red face, and
chubby hands that would tremble under their load, refilling mugs of
milk as fast as they got empty.
"That will do now, Marjorie; you can sit down," called out Miss
Nelson.
Marjorie subsided at once into a seat beside Eric.
"Ermengarde," said her governess, glancing quickly at her eldest
pupil; "you are late again for tea. You forfeit five marks."
"Oh, I say," exclaimed Basil, "I'm late, too, Miss Nelson. And it
wasn't Ermie's fault, her being late this time; she could not help
herself. Why, what is the matter, Ermie?"
Ermengarde had given him a shove under the table. He looked round at
her, guessed that she did not wish him to say something, and instantly
subsided into absolute silence.
Basil was a favorite of Miss Nelson's. He was a kind-hearted lad; he
had something of Marjorie's spirit, and was always willing to throw
himself into breaches, to heal disputes, to be a sort of peacemaker
and server all round. Miss Nelson dreaded beyond anything the long
summer vacation when the boys were home from school, and the girls had
only half work. These were the weeks for disputes, for quarrels, for
disagreeables, for scrapes. During these weeks poor Miss Nelson's hair
became more gray, and her face more wrinkled and anxious; but she
dreaded the holidays, not because Basil was at home, but on account of
Eric, who was a perfect imp of mischief, and because all the home
children were more or less demoralized by his presence.
Now Miss Nelson smiled into Basil's eyes, handed him a plate of the
best strawberries, and after a pause, said: "You'd like me not to
punish Ermengarde?"
"Of course I should; she has done nothing to be punished for."
Again Ermengarde kicked him under the table. He was lifting a cup of
tea to his lips, and part of its contents were spilt on the white
tablecloth, and over his own shirt-cuff. Basil hated messes and
awkward ways of doing things. He gave Ermengarde a return kick of some
force, murmured, "You're a perfect muff, Ermie," and then looked up,
with his momentary annoyance gone, at Miss Nelson.
"Thank you for excusing Ermengarde," he said. "She's under my command
now. I'm her captain. I'll see that she's in good time in the future."
"Well, Ermengarde, you may consider yourself excused," said the
governess. "I hope you have thoroughly mastered your imposition. If
so, as you must want fresh air, you may go out with Basil for an hour
after tea."
Basil glanced at his sister's blooming and blushing face. As he did
not want to be kicked any more, however, he was silent. Marjorie had
left her seat, and was bringing all the cups up to Miss Nelson to be
refilled with tea. As the governess poured some hot water into the
teapot she turned again to Ermengarde, "Do you know your piece of
poetry, Ermie?"
Ermengarde said "Yes." This happened to be true, for the poem selected
for her punishment lesson was "Casabianca," which she admired very
much, and had long ago committed to memory for pleasure.
"Yes, I know it quite well, thank you, Miss Nelson," she said in a
cheerful voice.
The clouds had left her face; she was now in an excellent humor. To be
with Basil was always delightful to her, and she sincerely hoped that
her disobedience and open defiance of authority might never be
discovered. If it was, she was prepared to defend her action, but she
had an intuition that Basil would disapprove. His good opinion was of
the utmost value to her: she loved Basil; she had no particular
affection for any other human being, unless, perhaps, her father; but
Basil's presence caused a warm satisfied glow to steal around her
heart.
Miss Nelson had supplied all the second cups of tea. She was again at
liberty to ask her favorite a question.
"Basil, I should like to ask you in confidence, has Eric brought home
any strange pets this time?"
Basil's eyes sparkled.
"Only two ferrets," he said; "and two carrier pigeons, and two
fantails, and a pouter (Eric is dead nuts on that pouter), and a
lop-eared rabbit. I think that's all. I have some pups, too," he added
modestly, "but they are coming by parcel-post to-morrow."
"By parcel-post, Basil!" here almost screamed Marjorie. "Oh, I hope
they won't be squashed."
"Silence, children!" said the governess. A red spot had risen on both
her cheeks. "I had hoped no more pets were coming. And ferrets! I
dread ferrets. Now the pups----"
"But they're of a very wicked breed," shouted Eric. "They're worse
than my ferret Shark. They are young bloodhounds. Don't you deny it,
Basil. You know you gave a sov. for them to Dandy Macjones."
"But they are quite harmless at present," said Basil. "There are only
two; they haven't arrived yet. They'll come by post, or train, or
something to-morrow. When they do come, I'll promise to be careful."
"Yes. Basil, I believe you are a boy to be trusted.--Eric!"
"What is it, ma'am?"
Eric put on a comical face, which set all the nursery children
laughing.
"Stand up, Eric. While you are at home, at least whenever you are in
the schoolroom--in fact, I may say always--you have got to yield to my
authority."
"Thank you, ma'am. I didn't know it, ma'am."
Eric pulled his forelock after the fashion of a charity school-boy.
The nursery children clapped their hands with delight, and a wave of
color swept over Miss Nelson's face.
"I say, shut up and be respectful," growled Basil.
Eric glanced at his brother. His whole funny face became rigid except
his eyes, which still danced with mirth. He folded his hands on his
breast, and said in a demure, mincing tone, "I beg your pardon, Miss
Nelson."
Even the governess had to smile.
"It is granted, my dear boy. Now with regard to your pets. The rabbits
are not to be in the house."
"Oh, no, ma'am."
"There's no rabbit-hutch."
"I'll stow them somewhere, Miss Nelson."
"See you do. The pigeons can share the dovecotes, I suppose."
"Very well, Miss Nelson."
"The ferrets----" here Miss Nelson almost shivered. "Dangerous,
disgusting beasts!"
"I say, don't," exclaimed Eric. "Shark's a stunner!"
"Their teeth," continued the governess. "I have heard that their teeth
can penetrate through any obstacle."
"Shark's teeth!" pursued Eric. "Well, they ought to be strong; he has
six rows; when he opens his mouth they start upright."
"Six rows! Nonsense, Eric. Please don't talk in that silly way. And
once for all understand that I cannot allow that animal to be kept on
the premises."
"But he's a stunner," said Eric. "Shall I bring him in for you to
see?"
"You must not attempt it, sir. It is awful to think of such a horrid
creature being so close to one, and I forbid you to bring it into the
house."
"You shall see him, you shall see him," said Eric. "He's a perfect
tip-topper. He'd kill anything. I paid five bob for him, and six
ginger-beers, and ten and a half Betty cakes."
"Silence, Eric; I shall have to speak to your father. Keep the ferret
in his basket or box until I can have a word with Mr. Wilton."
"But he'll starve, ma'am. He'd gnaw _you_ if he was starving."
"That will do. Leave the table now, all children. I can let you know
before bed-time, Eric, what is to be done with that monster."