THE REIGN OF CHAOS.
A cold bath and a rapid toilet afterward effectually removed all
traces of sleep from Mr. Wilton's eyes.
"I feel like a sort of knight putting on my armor," he said to
himself. "I am going on a crusade for the rest of the day. A crusade
against all my established customs, against all my dearly loved order,
against my newspaper, my books, my quiet pleasant meals. Well, it is
for the sake of the children; and their mother, bless her"--here he
glanced at the picture of the girl over the mantelpiece--"would smile
at me if she could. Oh, yes, I buckle on my armor cheerfully enough.
Hey, for Chaos! Hey, for wild Mirth and childish Frivolity! Here I
come, Eric and Maggie--poor patient little mice that you are! Here's
father at last. Give me your hand, Mag: you may jump on my shoulder,
if you like. Now for a race downstairs to the garden, and then you can
tell me what you got me out of my bed in the middle of the night
for."
Miss Wilton was quite right when she left the Chase the day before.
She certainly would not have enjoyed being awakened from her early
morning slumbers by the wild raid which now took place through the old
house. There was a scamper, a rush, some shouts, not only from
childish throats, but from a manly and decidedly bass voice. The poor
respectable old house would have looked shocked if it could, but who
cared what anything looked or felt when Chaos was abroad?
About three hours later a somewhat draggled-looking party might have
been seen approaching the Chase. They were all dead tired, and all
very untidy, not to say disreputable in appearance. The little girl's
brown Holland frock was not only torn, but smeared with mud and some
sort of green mossy stuff which produces a deep stain very difficult
for laundresses to remove. The little boy was also in a sorry plight,
for he had a scratch across his cheek, and his knickers were cut
through at the knees; while the big boy, in other words, the man,
looked the most untidy, the most fatigued, the most travel-stained of
all.
Ermengarde, in her neat white cool frock, with a green sash tied round
her slim waist, and her long fair hair streaming down her back, came
out to meet this party. She was accompanied by Lucy, who was also neat
and fresh and trim. The two had stepped out of the house to gather a
few flowers to put on the breakfast-table, and now they assumed all
the virtuous airs of those good moral people who do _not_ get up to
catch the early worm.
"_What_ a figure you are, Maggie! and what a disgraceful noise you and
Eric made this morning," she began, in her most grown-up and icy
tones.
"Oh, please don't scold us, Ermengarde," said Mr. Wilton. "Look at our
water-lilies, gaze well at them, and be merciful."
Yes, the water-lilies were superb--each jaded conqueror was laden with
them--buds and blossom and leaf, all were there--_such_ buds, such
blossoms, heavy and fragrant with richness.
Ermie adored flowers. She uttered a little shriek of delight when her
father held up a great mass of enormous waxen bells for her to bury
her face in.
"Oh, delicious!" she exclaimed, "but how tired you all are!"
"Yes, yes, yes," exclaimed Victor No. 1, "tired and starving,
absolutely starving. Get us some breakfast, good Ermie, and put the
lilies in water as quickly as you can."
Miss Nelson presided at the breakfast-table, and as this meal was
eaten in the comfortable old schoolroom, and as Miss Nelson looked
just as usual, just as orderly, just as neat and prim as she did
yesterday, and as she would again to-morrow, her presence had a
certain calming effect upon the rioters. They ate their meal with some
decorum, and not more than three children spoke at the same moment.
There was a grand consultation immediately after breakfast as to the
proceedings of the day, and here it must be confessed Chaos once more
mounted his throne, and held a most determined sway.
After ten minutes of babel, Marjorie suddenly squatted herself on the
floor, and began to write furiously.
This was her programme: "Rush upstairs and dress as fast as
possible--don't be long on account of keeping the carriages waiting.
Put on our oldest, but we must be neat on account of father not liking
dirty hands, and smuts on the top of the nose, and smears anywhere--we
had better wear our best, perhaps--tumble into the carts and carriages
and wagons, and drive to Bee's Head, that's ten miles away. Eric wants
to go, the others don't; Lucy and I are for Salter's Point, on account
of the shells, and that's in the other direction. I think it's quite
eleven miles. Ermengarde votes for the Deep Woods, although I hate
midges. Well, we'll all go somewhere, and we'll take every scrap of
food that the house holds, even if there is to be a famine afterward;
well, perhaps we oughtn't to take every scrap, for the servants at
home will be hungry, and we'll want supper ourselves; we'll be
starving for it, I expect. Eric says the ferrets must come with us,
for they ought to have fun like the rest of us on father's birthday,
particularly Shark, who has a great sense of humor. Ermie is nearly
crying, for she's afraid Shark will bite her, and Basil is winking at
her, and trying to comfort her, and he's frowning at Eric with the
other side of his mouth, and Eric is putting out the tip of his tongue
when he thinks no one is looking at him, which is vulgar, even though
it is father's birthday. What was I saying? I do get cramped and
mixed, huddled up on the floor, scribbling. We're to go for a long
drive, to Bee's Head, or somewhere, and the horses and the carriages
and the servants and the ferrets and the children and father and all
the food are to come too, and we are to have a great ball--no, that's
in the evening--and supper, and the fireworks will go off. Dear, dear,
where are the fireworks to be squeezed? it's a most confusing sort of
day."
"Maggie!" suddenly exclaimed Basil.
She raised a flushed face.
"What are you doing, huddled up on the floor like a ball; and what's
that queer squiggly bit of paper in your hand?--it looks all over
hieroglyphics. Here, I must see!" he snatched at the paper, held it
aloft, and read Marjorie's programme aloud amid the roars of the
company.
"I was only trying to make what we said less confusing," answered
Marjorie. "I was getting it down as hard as I could, and I said I was
mixed; anyone else would have been mixed too, I think."
"I should rather think they would," said Basil. "So that's the
nonsense we have been talking all this time. Thank you, Maggie, for
showing us ourselves. Now, sir," here Basil turned round and addressed
his father. Mr. Wilton looked at him with the greatest admiration; he
felt years younger than his son at the moment.
"Now, sir," proceeded Basil, "we cannot go to Bee's Head, and Salter's
Point, and the Deep Woods all in the same morning, as the three places
happen to be in totally different directions, and as each of them also
happens to be from ten to twelve miles from here. We must make a
choice, and we must abide by it. It's your birthday, father, and you
ought to choose. Which shall it be?"
"Thank you, my boy, but I would not have the responsibility of a
choice for the world--I don't feel equal to it. You young folks must
make the selection among you."
"I'm for Bee's Head and the lighthouse!" screamed Eric; "there's a man
at the lighthouse of the name of Bolster, and he promised to get me
some crabs, and I know he'd like to have a good stare at Shark. I'm
for Bee's Head and the lighthouse; that's what I'm for!"
"I think the Deep Woods would be best," said Ermengarde. "It's sure to
be grilling in the sun to-day, and I expect there'll be a good deal of
dust, and the dust and the sun together do make your face feel so
horrid and smarty. Don't they, Basil?"
"I don't know," said Basil, whose eyes were trying to interpret
whether his father had any unspoken choice which might guide his own.
"Whereas in the Deep Woods it will be deliciously cool and fresh,"
proceeded Ermengarde in her sedate tones.
"Think of the midges and the gnats!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Oh, I'd
rather have the sun any day! Who cares whether we are burnt or not?
Now at Salter's Point there are such lovely shells, real cowries, and
those little pointers, and those _sweet_ little yellow sea-snail
shells."
"Yes--yes--yes--I want to go to Salter's Point!" exclaimed Lucy.
"Oh, the lighthouse is twice the fun," exclaimed Eric, "and I know
Shark----"
"Once for all, father," exclaimed Ermengarde, "you are not going to
allow that odious ferret to destroy the whole pleasure of our day? I
do wish, father, you'd vote for the Deep Woods."
"Here comes Miss Nelson; she shall decide," answered Mr. Wilton. "No,
Eric, my boy, Shark must stay at home. There! I have said it--no more
words. Miss Nelson, please come and be our deliverer. These young
people have divided ideas with regard to the locality for the great
birthday picnic. Some vote for Bee's Head, some for Salter's Point,
some for the Deep Woods--all cannot be pleased; you shall therefore
make the choice. Where are we to go?"
All the anxious pairs of eyes were immediately turned on Miss Nelson.
She quite blushed under their battery.
"Think of Bolster and the lighthouse!" exclaimed Eric. "Bolster has a
tank where he keeps his crabs alive. He can take us up the tower,
too, and show us the lanterns."
"Think of the shade of the Woods," said Ermengarde.
"Oh, those cowrie and yellow snail shells!" sighed Marjorie.
Miss Nelson only caught these last words. She looked down into the
pleading gray eyes of her favorite, and her choice was made.
"We will go to Salter's Point," she said.
Some hurrahs, accompanied by some groans, met her decision; but it was
a satisfaction to have anything fixed, and the children rushed
upstairs to prepare for the great picnic.
It was discovered that the large wagonette and the pony-carriage could
accommodate the whole party, and accordingly, soon after eleven
o'clock, they started in the highest possible spirits--even Miss
Nelson casting away her mantle of care for the time, and Mr. Wilton,
who had now thoroughly entered into the spirit of the fun, enjoying
himself as much as the youngest child present.
It was a glorious day, the breeze was only fresh, and the dust,
notwithstanding Ermengarde's fears, by no means excessive.
The little girl soon therefore got over her slight disappointment at
Miss Nelson's choice not having been the same as her own. She was
seated by her favorite Basil's side, in the pony-carriage, the more
riotous party, with Mr. Wilton at their head, having elected to go in
the wagonette.
Miss Nelson and two of the younger children sat opposite to Ermengarde
and Basil. Ermengarde would rather have had another _vis-a-vis_, but
as the governess devoted her whole time to amusing the two little
ones, Ermengarde decided to take no notice of her, and to give herself
up to the delights of Basil's conversation.
Basil was a boy who, with all his sunny and pleasant ways, had a very
reserved nature. There were in reality two Basils: one with a kindly
word, a joke, a light jest, an affectionate manner for each and every
one he came across; the other was made of sterner stuff--grave, with
deep thoughts and high aspirations, and very strong, almost rigid
ideas with regard to honor and rectitude--this was the inner Basil,
whose existence Ermengarde knew of, whom she adored, loved, admired,
dreaded.
This Basil had a heart which could be wounded, and Ermengarde knew
well that, if she caused that deep heart a pang, it might close its
doors against her, and shut her out in the cold, outside its affection
and influence forever.
By superficial observers Basil was considered one of the most
forgiving and the most easily pleased people in the house. But
Ermengarde knew better. She knew things might happen which might make
Basil a very stern and unrelenting young judge.
This morning, however, all was sunshine. Basil was in his sunniest
humor. He would not talk all the time to Ermengarde, but gave Miss
Nelson and the children enough of his conversation to make them feel
in it all, and consequently in excellent spirits. But for his sister
he had some tender glances, and one or two allusions which no one
understood but herself, for the brother and sister had spent happy
birthdays like this in their mother's time, and they were both
thinking of her to-day.
A part of the road which led to Salter's Point wound through the woods
which lay at the back of Wilton Chase. There was plenty of shade,
therefore, here, and Ermengarde lay back on her comfortable seat with
a great feeling of rest and security. She almost forgot that miserable
day which followed the boys' return from school; she even looked at
Miss Nelson without being haunted by any sense of reproach. The
governess's worn face looked quite peaceful and happy; and Ermengarde
hoped that she had really forgotten that tiresome old-fashioned
miniature which had so mysteriously disappeared from her room. Ermie
trusted that the stolen miniature would soon be forgotten, and she was
fully convinced that her share in its disappearance would never be
known.
The wagonette, with its two horses, had disappeared from sight, and
the pony-carriage, drawn by the pretty Shetlands with their tinkling
bells, was about to emerge through the park-gates, when there came a
sudden interruption. This was caused by Collins, the head keeper, who
stepped across the road, and touched his hat to the whole party, and
to Ermengarde in particular.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Nelson," he said, addressing himself first of
all to the governess, "but the fact is we are in a little bit of
trouble at home, and the good wife said if I stood here I'd be sure to
see Miss Ermengarde passing, and she knew Miss Ermengarde would come
to Susy, just for one minute, as she wants her so very badly."
On hearing these words Ermengarde turned so white that Miss Nelson
thought she was going to faint. She started to her feet at once with a
half-cry. "Oh, please let me go," she said eagerly. Her hand shook;
she would have leaped out of the carriage had not Basil held her
back.
"Sit quiet, Ermengarde," said her governess authoritatively. "Now,
Collins, please explain why it is necessary that Miss Wilton should
see your daughter at this inconvenient moment, when we are just on our
way to Salter's Point; you are aware that Mr. Wilton has forbidden any
intimacy."
"Oh, let me go; I won't keep you two minutes," said Ermie.
"Quiet, Ermengarde. Now, Collins, what does Susan want with Miss
Wilton?"
Collins had a strongly-marked face, and it flushed now rather angrily.
"I can't say, I'm sure, miss," he said. "The poor child is all in a
fluster, and as to Miss Ermengarde, poor Susy worships the very ground
she walks on. You haven't, maybe, heard of the accident that has
happened to her, miss?"
Miss Nelson's manner became gentle at once. Ermengarde was about to
burst forth with another exclamation; the governess laid her hand on
the little girl's arm with a not unkind pressure. "One moment, Ermie.
No, Collins, we have not heard of any accident. I sincerely trust your
daughter has come to no harm."
"Well, miss, for the matter of that, Susy's life ain't in danger, but
she has broke her leg; a bad fracture, too, midway between the knee
and the ankle. Poor child, she's for all like a boy in some of her
ways, and she was climbing a tree to get a glimpse of me, she said,
the rogue; and a rotten bough broke under her, and she came down right
on her leg. The poor thing was insensible when I took her up, miss,
but she's better now, of course, and the leg was set by Doctor Reeves
last night."
"Oh, do let me go to her," said Ermengarde; "what does a stupid picnic
matter? Basil, won't you speak up for me. _Do_ get Miss Nelson to let
me go at once."
"Poor Susy, she's feverish a bit," said Collins, favoring Ermengarde
with a quick grateful glance, "and she has been crying out all the
morning and half the night for missie. It was that made the wife think
of me standing here to watch, in case Miss Ermengarde might spare a
minute or two from the day's pleasure to give to the poor child."
"I am sorry for you, Collins," said Miss Nelson; "and the story of the
accident certainly alters matters a good deal. I do not think Mr.
Wilton will object to Ermengarde's going to Susan for a moment."
"Thank you," said Ermie, with a great breath of relief.
"My dear child, you need not tremble so. Steady, you will fall on your
face. Basil, help your sister out of the carriage. We will give you
five minutes, Ermengarde. Collins, be sure you send for anything
necessary for Susan to the Chase."
Collins touched his hat and withdrew. Ermengarde had already flown
down a little path which led directly to the keeper's little cottage.
"Poor child, I did not know she was so sensitive," said Miss Nelson to
Basil. He was standing by the side of the carriage, and she thought he
had not heard her remark, for he turned his head away.
Meanwhile Ermengarde, having reached the cottage, was promptly taken
upstairs to Susy's little attic-room by her mother.
The poor little girl had gone through a night of dreadful suffering,
and at another time her flushed face and feverishly bright blue eyes
would have excited Ermengarde's pity, and she would have been as
gentle and sympathetic in her manner as heart could wish. The
influence of fear, however, and the consciousness of wrong-doing, have
a wonderfully hardening effect upon the best of us, and Ermie only
waited until Mrs. Collins's back was turned to say crossly: "What did
you mean by sending for me in that fashion, Susy? and after what I
said to you yesterday. I do think you have no consideration! I got a
horrible fright when your father came up, and asked point-blank for
me, and before Miss Nelson, too!"
The harsh words made Susy cry.
"I'm dreadful bad," she said, her pretty lips quivering. "Oh, Miss
Ermie, don't look at me like that. I did think you'd have been sorry
for me, and when I always set such store by you, miss."
"Of course I'm sorry for you, Susy, but I really can't stay now, or
they'll remark it. If you want me very badly, I'll try and slip up
here one evening. There, if you like, and it really quiets you, I'll
come to-night. I'll promise that I'll manage it somehow, but I must go
now."
"Oh, miss, please take the picture with you! Put it in your pocket,
miss. Oh, _do_ take it away, Miss Ermengarde; I had such awful, awful
dreams about it all night long, and I fancied as the little lady
herself come and told me I was to put the picture back. I saw her come
in at the door heaps of times, and she always told me to put the
picture back, and to be quick about it. _Please_ put the picture into
your pocket, Miss Ermengarde."
Ermengarde laughed harshly.
"You must be mad, Susan," she said. "How could I put a miniature in a
glass frame into the pocket of this thin dress? Why, everyone would
see it, and then where should I be? It's all your own fault, Susy; you
would not give up the picture yesterday when I coaxed you to, and now
you must keep it until it is convenient for me to fetch it. If I can,
I'll come for it to-night."
"Mother will find it out, miss. I can't move hand nor foot, and mother
has only to open my drawer at the top there, and she'll see it.
Mother'll know at once that I took it, for the servants at the Chase
are talking about it. I do wish you'd get it out of the house somehow,
Miss Ermengarde."
"I can't, I tell you. It wouldn't get into my pocket. Oh, dear, dear,
there's your mother's step on the stairs, and I must fly. What a
horrid troublesome girl you are, Susy. I wish I had never made friends
with you!"
Poor Susan began to cry feebly.
"Oh, Miss Ermie, you are cruel," she said. "And mother is sure to open
that top drawer, for I keep all my handkerchiefs in it. I pretended
the key was lost, but she found it herself this morning, and she was
just going to open the drawer when you came in, and I thought I was
saved. _Please_, Miss Ermie, if you won't take the picture away, put
it somewhere else."
Mrs. Collins's step was now really heard on the creaking stairs.
Ermengarde flew to the drawer, unlocked it, seized the little
miniature and looked round her wildly. The next moment she had pushed
it between the paillasse and mattress of Susy's bed.
"I'll come and fetch it to-night, whatever happens," she said.