HAREBELL WAS FRANTIC WITH CURIOSITY.
Harebell sighed disconsolately. She slipped downstairs. The drawing-room door was open. She peeped inside, and saw her aunt sitting at her writing-table, her head bowed in her hands. Some instinct prevented her from going in. She sang out:
"Good-bye, Aunt Diana. I'm just off!"
Mrs. Keith started, then came forward and bent down and kissed her. As she did so, a tear fell on Harebell's cheek.
The child said nothing except:
"May I come over and ride Chris, as I always do?"
"If Mrs. Garland likes you to do so. Andy will be here, but you must do everything that you are told at the Rectory. It is extremely good of them to have you."
Harebell promised she would, then flew off to Andy.
"It's all coming to pass, Andy," she whispered excitedly. "Tears melt ice, and I'm sure my lost uncle is coming home."
Andy shook his head. Evidently he was not in the secret.
"Never heard tell of such fuss and nonsense and mystery," he grumbled. "Mrs. Goodheart is puffed with importance—won't tell a soul what is taking the mistress away."
When Harebell reached the Rectory, Peter and Nan met her with much excitement.
"You're going to sleep with me," said Nan. "I've been helping Susan to make your bed."
"And Nan and I have been making up a new game," said Peter. "If you're good, we'll let you join!"
There was not much time for talk, for lessons began at once. Harebell was inattentive and restless that morning. Miss Forster reproved her sharply more than once. She told her to take her French book to a side table and learn the verb "aimer." Harebell meekly obeyed, but soon her eyes were roving out of the window, and her lesson was forgotten.
"What are you doing?" Miss Forster asked sharply.
Harebell started, then said slowly:
"Thoughts."
Peter sniggled.
"Turn your thoughts upon your verb," said Miss Forster.
"That's just what I'm doing," said Harebell. "I meant to aimer Aunt Diana, but I've never managed to do it yet, and p'r'aps she's gone away from me for good. There is no telling what is going to happen. Even Andy feels that."
"Don't talk any more, but learn your verb."
Miss Forster was very patient with Harebell that morning. She saw her aunt's sudden departure had upset her. When she took the children out at twelve o'clock, she made Harebell walk with her, and let her chatter freely of all that was in her mind. Dinner came, and then lessons till three o'clock. After that the children were free.
Peter and Nan dragged Harebell out into the garden and down to the field where they played cricket.
"Now look here," said Peter. "Listen to our game. You two girls are to be my slaves. I'm going to set you some tasks, and I will stand over you with a whip."
"That doesn't sound at all nice," said Harebell. "What tasks are you going to set us?"
"You'll have to pick blades of grass and fill some baskets. It isn't grass—it's cotton flax. And all the time you're picking, you must settle together how you'll run away from me, I shall be walking up and down slashing my whip. And then you must make up something to send me away, and then I'll give you a quarter of an hour's start. You must go off, and I'll track your footsteps, and if I find you, I warn you, I shall tie you to a tree and flog you to death!"
Nan opened her eyes in horror. Harebell laughed.
"It's very nice for you," she said, "but you and Nan can be the slaves, and I'll be the master!"
Both Peter and Nan exclaimed:
"That would never do. A girl couldn't be a slave master!"
"I could!" said Harebell with great assurance.
Peter felt that if he did not assert himself now, Harebell would prove too much for him.
"If you don't play as I say, I shan't play at all. I shall go for a ride on the donkey!"
"Oh, do play, Harebell! It will be such fun," said Nan, "and he'll never catch us if we get away a quarter of an hour before he does."
Harebell wavered. Then she saw enchanting possibilities, and agreed to join in the game.
Peter got his whip and cracked it in a bloodcurdling way over their heads, whilst they picked the grass, and put it into some baskets which were fetched from the coach-house.
"Now, you lazy lubbers, look alive! No stopping to sneeze or cough! On you go!"
"Yes, yes!" said Nan nervously.
Harebell giggled. Then she stood up. "Look! Your house is on fire and your wife and children are screaming at the windows!"
Peter looked wildly round, then tore into the house. The little girls raced across the field and got out in the road, then they faced each other breathless.
"Where shall we go?" asked Nan.
"Oh, come on to Aunt Diana's! Andy will hide us. He will never come there. No, I tell you a better plan still. You can ride, can't you? Can you stick on behind me if we ride Chris? It will be such fun! He will never track us if we ride away on horseback."
Nan clapped her hands.
"How lovely! Come on, let us run as fast as ever we can."
They reached the house unseen. Harebell gave a peal at the bell which brought Andy in an instant to the door; but he did not look very pleased to see the children.
"Now, Miss Harebell! No sooner gone than back again! What do you want? My orders is not to let any one in!"
"I only want Chris? We are going for a ride on him."
"I knowed I would have you round after that there 'orse. Well, come along; s'pose I shall have to saddle him."
In five minutes' time, both Nan and Harebell were seated astride on Chris, Nan clinging for dear life, with her arms round Harebell's waist. And then away at a gallop they went, down the country lane, past the end of the village, and then along a quiet road, between woods on either side.
NAN WAS CLINGING FOR DEAR LIFE,
HER ARMS AROUND HAREBELL'S WAIST.
"It's like riding through the jungle!" exclaimed Harebell.
Her eyes and cheeks were bright with colour and excitement; Nan was every bit as eager and delighted as she was.
"Faster! Faster!" she urged, "Or we shall be caught!"
Chris had not been out of the stable for two days. He was fresh, and he knew how to go. They passed the woods, then came out on an open common. Chris loved the fresh green turf underfoot. Then they came to cross roads, but neither of them cared where they were going, and straight ahead the pony carried them.
At last he began to flag.
"It's a regular John Gilpin's ride," gasped Nan. "Don't you think we might stop now?"
"Yes."
Harebell pulled up her steed, and both the children slipped off to the ground.
Chris seemed only too glad to rest by the roadside, and was soon munching tufts of grass in a ditch.
"Where do you think we are?" questioned Nan a little anxiously, "I've never been as far as this before."
"In Yorkshire, p'r'aps," said Harebell cheerfully. "We've had a jolly ride, haven't we?"
Nan assented heartily. They were on the high-road, but there were no houses in sight; the trees on either side of them were already bursting into leaf, and in the hedges were sweet-scented clumps of primroses.
"What fun if we were to lose ourselves!" said Harebell.
"I don't see how we could," said Nan in an old-fashioned way. "You see, we must be in a parish, and if we go to the clergyman, he's sure to know father, and would send us home."
"But we've got away from parishes."
"You can't. Dad told us all England is divided up into parishes, and every one belongs to some clergyman."
"How funny!" said Harebell. "And if you have forests and jungles, do they belong to clergymen?"
"We haven't got those kind of wild places."
Then Nan mounted a bank, and peered over the hedge.
"Do you know, Harebell, I believe there are cowslips over in that other field. It looks just like them. Do come and see."
Harebell had never seen cowslips. It was the work of a moment to clamber over a gate and scamper across the field. Nan was right and the two little girls set to work to pick the flowers at once.
"We'll get back in time for tea," said Nan. "What fun! Peter will be looking for us everywhere."
"I hope Chris hasn't moved," said Harebell. "He wouldn't go on without us, would he? He's too sensible for that."
But that was exactly what Chris had done; and when they got back to the road, there was no sign of him. The little girls looked at each other with blank dismay.
"He's gone home," said Harebell, "and now we shall have to walk all the way."
"It's too bad of him! He might have waited for us!" wailed Nan.
"I ought to have tied him up. Now what shall we do? We'd better walk back the way we came, as fast as we can."
They started, but the road seemed unending; and when they came to the cross roads, they were in doubt, as they had not noticed, when they passed them so quickly, which road they had taken.
"I'm sure I remember that gate," said Nan, pointing one way.
"And I'm sure I remember that tree," said Harebell, pointing another way.
But she gave in to Nan.
"Trees are commoner than gates."
The signpost was an old one, and the name on it conveyed nothing to their minds.
They trotted on, not liking to confess to each other how tired they were feeling; but presently they came to a small village.
"I'm perfectly certain we didn't pass this," said Harebell.
"Never mind! Look, there is a church! We'll ask the way to the Rectory."
This was done. A small boy driving a flock of sheep pointed it out to them, and Harebell brightened up.
"This is a kind of adventure," she said. "Do you think they will give us tea?"
They turned in at a large white gate and walked up a well-kept drive. A long, low white house lay before them.
Nan pulled the bell. She was taking things into her own hands; for she felt that she knew about English clergy better than Harebell did.
"Is the Rector in?" she asked grandly.
"The Vicar is," said the servant. "Do you want to see him?"
"Tell him Miss Garland and Miss Darrell are here."
Nan pursed her mouth importantly as she spoke. Harebell began to giggle nervously.
They were shown through a wide hall into the Vicar's study, which was empty.
"Don't you feel rather frightened?" said Harebell.
"Just a little—in my throat!" said Nan.
The door opened and a white-haired old gentleman came in.
He peered at them through his glasses in perplexity.
"I'm afraid, my dears, I don't know you. Are you out of school. What is it you want?"
"We've come for you to help us," said Nan, trying to speak bravely. "We aren't quite sure how to get home, and our pony has run away!"
Her voice quavered a little. Harebell broke in:
"We simply don't know where we are, and it's tea-time, and if Chris tears home without us, they'll think we've fallen off him and been killed on the very spot."
"Ah, that will be very unfortunate! Where do you live?"
"At Little Barcome Rectory," said Nan.
"Why, you must be Garland's little girls! Do you know you're ten miles from home?"
He looked perplexed.
"I don't keep a carriage. My wife is in London. I have only my old horse upon which I ride about, and he isn't fit for you to ride. Sit down, little ones, and I will go out into the village and see what can bedone—"
"There, you see," said Nan triumphantly, "it is quite easy! I told you any clergyman would look after us. And we found one easily."
An elderly servant came into the room a few minutes later, and supplied them with glasses of milk and some cake, which she said her master had ordered for them.
Harebell began to enjoy herself.
"I do love seeing strange rooms and people," she said. "We're having a jolly time, aren't we, Nan? Of course, there's poor Chris, but I'm quite sure he'll go straight home. He's too sensible to lose himself."
"Perhaps a gipsy will steal him on the way," said Nan. "You see, he is sure to be stopped by some one. Horses don't take walks by themselves with saddles on."
Harebell's spirits fell. This was a new fear. When the Vicar returned she looked up at him anxiously.
"It's all right," he said cheerfully; "I've wired to your father to tell him that you're safe with me. And in half an hour, a farmer will call here and take you home in his cart. He is passing through your village to see a sick brother of his there. But it will be a long drive. I must lend you some wraps, for the evenings are still chilly."
"I'm afraid mother will be vexed with us," said Nan with a long face.
Harebell seemed in a dream. Her eyes and attention were riveted on a picture hanging up.
There was an Eastern shepherd standing at the entrance to a sheepfold. His flock were coming in for the night, and he was holding out his arms. They were passing in under them. The picture was called "I am the door."
"Do you like that picture?" asked the Vicar.
"Ever so much," responded Harebell. "I'm so interested about the Door. But I do think some people want a push in. Tom does. He seems as if he can't go in of his own accord—"
"Who is Tom?"
"He's a great friend of mine, who has drunk too much beer, but now he's ill in hospital, and I'm trying to find a cottage and a wife for him; only Aunt Diana says I'm never to speak to him again."
She sighed, then she shook her head with vigour. "But talking is no good. I'm sure he wants a push!"
Then, upon encouragement from the Vicar, she plunged into the story of Tom Triggs. He was interested.
"Tell him he has only one step to take; but it is a step down, and he must bend his head, or he will never get through. A good many are too proud to bend, and so they remain outside."
"But I mustn't talk to him," said Harebell miserably.
"Perhaps your aunt would let you write him a letter."
"Oh, that's a lovely thought! I'll write directly I get back. Can't we go now?"
"Very soon," said the Vicar smiling.
And in a short time, the little girls were packed into a high dog-cart, which a sturdy farmer drove swiftly along in the direction of home.
CHAPTER VII
A LETTER TO TOM
IT was a long drive, and both children slept soundly on the way.
At last they reached the Rectory. Mrs. Garland came out to meet them.
"Oh, you pickles!" she said, "Did you realise how anxious you were making us? If the telegram had not come, we should all be out now, scouring the country!"
"Did Chris come home?" asked Harebell.
"No. Did you not have him with you? Andrews has been round here inquiring for you; but thanks to the wire, I was able to tell him you were safe."
"Oh!" cried Harebell in real distress, "Chris is lost, what shall I do!"
Nobody seemed to care much about Chris. The farmer was given many thanks, and some refreshment; the little girls were given some supper and packed off to bed. Peter did not greet them very pleasantly.
"Girls never can play the game!" he said. "Sneaking off and getting on horseback! It wasn't fair a bit!"
"Slaves would get on anything to get away," said Harebell sharply. "They don't stop to think; you could have got on the donkey. But oh, dear! Nothing matters but Chris, where can he be!"
She tossed restlessly about in bed, and had a wakeful night. At six o'clock she slipped out of bed, dressed herself, and set off to see Andy.
He was very angry when he heard about the lost pony.
"I thought for sure you would put him up for the night somewhere! You don't deserve to be given a smart little pony like that, to go off and leave him loose on a high-road. Shame on you, Miss Harebell!"
Harebell began to cry. She returned to the Rectory disconsolately. Miss Forster scolded her for leaving the house without permission.
"You are a great deal too independent!" she said to her. "Whilst you are here you must ask permission to do things, just as you do your aunt."
"But," Harebell said, "that's just what I don't do! Aunt Diana doesn't trouble about me, and I don't trouble about her. She tells me not to do some things, that's all. I keep away from her all I can."
"I thought you were going to love her."
"Oh, I have tried, Miss Forster, I really have! I've said it over to myself hundreds of times in bed, but my inside won't do it."
Harebell was very miserable all that day. Andy and the Rector's groom started off in search of the lost pony, and his little mistress tried to do her lessons, but the day seemed as if it would never end. But at six o'clock Peter came running in from the garden.
"Chris is found! Andy is at the gate, and wants Harebell—"
Harebell flew out. The next moment her arms were round her pet, and her head resting on his silky mane. Chris bent his head round and nosed her face gently.
"Oh, Chris darling! Where have you been?"
"A farmer met him, and stabled him with his horses for the night. He could not make out where he hailed from. But we heard on it and went straight off. I'll exercise Chris till your aunt comes back, Miss Harebell. I dursn't trust him out with you after this!"
"I don't care! He's safe! He's found!"
Harebell was ecstatic in her joy. She could hardly tear herself away from her pet, till Andy reminded her, he would be wanting his feed; and then she reluctantly let him go, and watched him down the road with adoring eyes.
"Oh!" she said, throwing herself impulsively into the arms of Mrs. Garland, who came out to see what the children were doing, "I have joy again! Isn't it wonderful how different things seem when you're happy?"
"So they do, childie!"
Mrs. Garland stroked her head.
Harebell quivered; then looked up at her with big eyes. "I wish I had you for my mother! I want some one like you dreadfully at Gable Lodge—Goody is kind, but she's never stroked my head like you, only brushed it. Mothers are different to anybody else, aren't they?"
"I do believe they are," said Mrs. Garland, smiling. "You must be an adopted daughter of mine for the time; but don't give us many more days like yesterday. They are too tiring!"
"I won't! I won't! Peter will have to do the running away himself the next time. I'll tell him so!"
Then a settled gravity came over her face. She took hold of Mrs. Garland's hands, and squeezed them tightly.
"I want to write Tom Triggs a letter. You will let me, won't you? He is ill, and Aunt Diana said I wasn't to speak to him, but she did let Mr. Garland take me to him, and I saw a lovely picture of the Door, yesterday, and I want to tell him about it. I'm simply thirsting to write to him!"
"Oh, Harebell!"
Mrs. Garland's eyes laughed; then she stooped and kissed her.
"Yes, you may write now, if you like. There's a little quiet corner in the drawing-room. Bring your letter there. I am writing too; and Peter and Nan will be having their romp in the schoolroom."
It was a great treat to be invited into the drawing-room. Harebell was delighted. For nearly three-quarters of an hour she was busy with her letter. First she wrote it in pencil, then she copied it out in ink. Mrs. Garland did not ask to see it; she gave her a stamp and told her how to address the envelope.
Then Harebell laid it open in her lap.
"I'd like you to see it. I'm afraid it's badly spelt, but I was so awfully earnest, I couldn't stop to think. You see he must, he must get through that Door somehow. And I want him to get through at once."
This was Harebell's letter:
"MY DEAR TOM,—I hope you are better. I wonder all day
how you are. I saw a lovely picksher yesterday it was the Door—I wood
like you to have been there. The sheep were going in fast. It was dark
outside and in the distance was a wulf. It was light and comfertabel
inside. The Lord was holding out His Arms.
"Have you got in yet Tom? I wish Someone would push
you, but if sheep run in, I'm sure you can if you try. The clergyman
said tell him it's one step only—but he must bend his head. He said
you wood never get in if you don't bend your head, he said it was
proude not to bend. Do bend and get in dear Tom and rite and tell me
you are inside.
"I am in grate truble over you becorse I saw a Bible
verse about the wicked who can't inherite the Kingdom of God, and a
drunkarde was in them, and you'll never be a drunkarde any more if you
get through the Kingdom's Door. I'll begin and find your wife as soon
as I have time, but please dear Tom get through the Door first.
"And rite to me when You are through. I'm asking God
every night to give you a push, and I hope you're nearly through.
"Your loving friend,
"HAREBELL."
"This is it: 'I am the door. If any man enter in, he shall be saved.'"
Mrs. Garland sat very grave and still, reading the letter. Then she handed it back to Harebell.
"Seal the envelope, dear, and it shall go by the post to-night."
Then she put her arm round Harebell.
"Are you through that Door yourself, darling?"
Harebell nodded.
"Yes; God seems to tell me I'm through. But, Mrs. Garland, can people ever run out of the Kingdom again and be lost? I want to know when I'm naughty. Can I be naughty in the Kingdom, or have I to run outside the Door and be it?"
"Lambs are sometimes naughty in the sheepfold," said Mr. Garland slowly. "If Jesus is your Shepherd, Harebell dear, we have His Word that He will keep you. But if you do run away from Him of your own accord, turn back at once when you remember what you're doing, and He will forgive you and receive you again."
Harebell nodded. Then she flew off to post her letter.
And the next moment, Mrs. Garland heard her adding her shrieks to the romp in the schoolroom.
Two days after this, Harebell received rather a dirty-looking letter by the post. She opened it with great importance, and found it was from Tom. Only a few lines, but she came to Mrs. Garland with tears in her eyes over it.
"DEAR MISSY,—Tom Triggs begs to say if drunkards cant inherite, they
cant, so outside Tom stays and his leg is herting him shocking, and
this place be no place for him with its slops of grool, and such like,
and he be like to die here, if he cant get out soon. Yours respeck.
"TOM TRIGGS."
"I've told him all wrong, haven't I?" sobbed Harebell. "Oh, I wish I could go and see him. I'm sure Aunt Diana would let me if you were to take me."
"I think you must wait till your aunt comes back. I have heard from her this morning. She is returning home in about a week's time. Don't fret about Tom, dear. It will do him good to lie there and think, and he won't be able to get at the beer. Now I want you to think about your aunt. She has asked me to explain things to you."
"I'm afraid I don't care about thinking of her," said Harebell, a little crossly. "I like Tom much better—"
"Oh no, you don't! You are interested in Tom, and you want him to give up drinking, but your aunt has fed and clothed you and given you a happy home. You belong to her. Your mother was her sister; and she has had a sad life, and has found it very difficult to have a little wild niece upsetting her house and her quiet ways!"
Harebell's bright eyes were fixed upon Mrs. Garland's face.
"Have I upset her? Talk to me about her."
"That is just what I want to do. Only we must be quiet and undisturbed. There is still half an hour before lessons begin. Shall we go into the garden, as it is such a bright morning? Come with me to the summer-house."
Harebell danced out into the bright spring sunshine. Tom was forgotten for the time.
The summer-house was at the end of the lawn under an old medlar-tree.
Mrs. Garland sat down on the low bench inside it and drew Harebell to her side.
"Your aunt wants me to explain things to you before she comes back. Did you ever hear of your Uncle Herbert?"
Harebell's cheeks got crimson. For a moment she hesitated; then said frankly:
"Yes, Andy told me about him; only he said I was not to tell, or he would get into trouble."
"I shall not repeat anything. How much did he tell you, I wonder?"
"He told me Uncle Herbert wasn't dead, but was abroad, and that he had gone away one day when he and Aunt Diana were very angry with each other. I felt very sorry, and begged God to find him and send him back. Has Aunt Diana heard where he is and gone to him?"
Harebell's face was alive with excitement and interest now.
"Yes, dear. She wants you to know about it. You are a little girl and cannot understand about grown-up people. But we very often are no different to naughty children, only we are bigger; it has been a great sorrow to her, and I am sure it has been a sorrow to him. He has returned to England very ill, and when he reached London, the doctor told him he must have an operation or he would die. Then he wrote to your aunt, and asked her to come to him; and she went off at once, as you know. The operation has been successful, and your aunt is coming home with him next week. She has had a sad life for many years, and now I hope she will have a happy one."
"Then I expect she's melted at last?"
"How do you mean?"
"Oh, she has been a snow queen, you know! I've always felt it. I'm very glad, Mrs. Garland. It will be so nice to have an uncle. Perhaps he will be like Mr. Graham, or is he like Aunt Diana? Does Andy know? He'll be so pleased. He says a house without a master is as bad as a garden without a gardener! It is simply lovely! You know when Andy told me about it, I prayed hard to God about him, and asked Him to bring him back. Then I forgot all about it. That's the worst of me, I never keep on—but there's always fresh things happening. I'm telling God about Tom now, and that's very special—and I can't think of everybody, every day."
"I think you ought to thank God for answering your prayers about your uncle. We so often forget to say 'Thank you' for what He sends us."
Harebell looked very grave.
"I expect Aunt Diana won't want me, now she will have Uncle Herbert. She never did want me, you know. You said so!"
Mrs. Garland was about to speak, but she was suddenly called to the house by the Rector, and the little talk was over.
Harebell again found it difficult to give her attention to her lessons.
"It's so exciting having a new uncle!" she said to Miss Forster. "I keep wondering all the time about him!"
That afternoon Miss Forster took them out for a walk, and Mrs. Garland asked them to take some soup to a bed-ridden old woman.
To Harebell's great delight, the woman proved to be the one living in the cottage by the old oak-tree. She eagerly asked if she might take the soup in, and Miss Forster agreed, sending Nan in with her, whilst she and Peter waited outside. The young woman opened the door and smiled at Harebell, as she recognised her at once. She Was very grateful for the soup.
Then a sudden impulse took possession of Harebell. She asked Nan to take the soup upstairs to the old woman.
"I want to talk to Miss Crake," she said importantly.
Nan meekly stumped up the wooden stairs to the old woman's bedroom.
Fanny Crake looked a little surprised when Harebell sidled up mysteriously to her.
"I do want to talk to you! I want you to be Tom Triggs' wife, will you? He wants one badly, and he'll give up his beer, and come and live in this cottage with you, if you say 'yes.' He's so ill—poor Tom! He broke his leg—and he's in hospital. He told me he mended your gate, so I hope you'll marry him. I'm very fond of Tom, but Aunt Diana won't let me talk to him any more, so it will be difficult, but if you go and see him in hospital, you can settle it up with him. Will you?"
Fanny began to laugh.
"What a funny little lady you are! We don't do things in that sort of way, and Tom is not a good match for any respectable girl! He's much too fond of his glass."
"But he hasn't anybody else to be fond of—poor Tom! I do feel so sorry for him! Everybody says he's so wicked, but I don't believe he is. Of course, I haven't seen many really wicked people, so I don't know what they're like. There was a black man in India who killed his little baby girl. Now Tom hasn't killed anybody. He saved a little boy and got hurt himself. And I'm asking God to take him inside the Door, and if you would only say you would marry him, he would cheer up and be happy and good. I've promised him to find him a wife somewhere. And you've got such a nice cottage, that you seem just the one he wants."
"No," said Fanny, smiling and shaking her head; "if a man wants to marry, 'tis his business to get a cottage, and a living, and then the girl may consider the matter, but 'tis not for her to give her husband, her mother's cottage, and make a home for him! 'Tis all the wrong way round—that is!"
Harebell looked very disappointed.
"I did hope you would say 'yes.' But if he gets work and a cottage and never drinks any beer, you couldn't simply say 'no' to him. You must be his wife! And I shall help him to get a cottage if he can. We thought of this one, because he was going to have it ever so long ago, but the woman was very unkind to him, so he couldn't marry; and then he said the devil got hold of him. But now God is going to get hold of him. I think He will."
She paused for breath. Nan came downstairs; Miss Forster called to them from outside; and Harebell reluctantly had to go away. Seeing her downcast face, Fanny good-naturedly said:
"Never mind, little miss! If Tom Triggs knocks off the drink and gets in good work, he'll find a wife if he wants one. He's a good workman, Tom is, he's done our gate fine! 'Tis a thousand pities he's let himself down so! You keep on at him to make himself respectful again! He has a good home, and a good mother and sister, and ought to be fair ashamed of himself to live the life he's doing!"
Harebell joined Miss Forster and said to her emphatically:
"I've had a great big disappointment. And it seems to me that I'm not a bit of good at all—at least, not for getting wives for people!"
Miss Forster laughingly tried to win her confidence; but Harebell shook her head, and refused to say any more. The next day she asked if she might go and see Miss Triggs. Mrs. Garland hesitated at first; then gave permission. Peter and Nan grumbled.
"You're no good at all," said Peter. "We thought you'd be splendid for games—you don't care for cricket and hockey. You're always full of your own plans, and visiting stupid people in the village. You think of rotten things to do, and like going off and doing them alone."
"And dressmakers and drunkards are so low," said Nan, with turned up nose. "You like them better than us."
Harebell looked thoughtfully at her accusers.
"I suppose," she said slowly, "it's because I always like interesting things to happen. Your games don't interest me. It's nothing but hitting balls, and nothing happens if you do win the game; you only begin all over again. Now a lot could happen when I see Tom and his sister—exciting things—and I want to make them come. And if I go to see people, they tell me all kinds of things I want to know, and you don't. You only laugh at me."
"Oh, you're just a little grown-up!" said Nan impatiently. "You might just as well put on long dresses, and turn up your hair, and go about the village as mother does. That's what you like doing!"
"It's all because you think so much of yourself," said Peter. "You're too cocky for us! You like to pretend you're clever, and are too old for games!"
"I love games! And you're very rude! But you and Nan always play together and don't want me, and when I join you, you laugh at me for being so stupid. I don't understand England, and I don't like it half as much as India, and I shall be glad when I go back to Aunt Diana's!"
Harebell flung herself out of the room, feeling hot and indignant. And yet in a measure, she knew what Peter and Nan had said of her was true. She did not enjoy playing with them, her head at this juncture was full of Tom and of his affairs, and she could think of nothing else.
CHAPTER VIII
A NEW UNCLE
HAREBELL found Miss Triggs working at her sewing-machine in the back kitchen. Mrs. Triggs was in her armchair, and she was knitting a stocking. Harebell shook hands gravely with both of them.
"I thought I'd like to see you," she said to Miss Triggs, "because you can tell me how Tom is!"
"So I can!" said Miss Triggs cheerfully. "I've been telling mother about him. I went to see him yesterday, and he's doing fine. His leg is healing wonderful, and he's happier like in himself. He let me read a bit to him yesterday."
"What did you read him?"
"Just a story from the old Book; the bit that tells of a poor sick wounded man, and how some one showed love to him, and nursed him, and took care of him."
"I don't remember. Do you mean out of the Bible?"
"Yes, the Good Samaritan."
"Tell me about it. I don't believe I've heard it. I don't know all the Bible, you know."
Miss Triggs stopped her sewing-machine.
"I'll baste a bit of this dress, for I can talk better when the machine is not going."
She told in simple words the story of the traveller who was robbed and nearly murdered on a lonely road, and how, though several people would not stop to help him, one good man came and bound up his wounds, and put him on his ass, and took him to the nearest inn, where he said he was to be rested and fed and taken care of, and he would pay his expenses. Harebell listened entranced. And then Miss Triggs said softly:
"I told Tom it was just a picture of him, and the Lord is bending over him, and wanting to cure him, if he'll only let Him do it."
"Doesn't he want his leg mended?"
"Ay, that he does, but 'tis his sick soul the Lord wants to handle. I told him he trusted the doctor about his leg, and so why couldn't he just give over his soul to the Lord to be made sweet and whole. He seemed rare softened, he did!"
"And I suppose if he gave it, he'd never drink again!"
"The Lord would keep him," said Miss Triggs, almost in a whisper.
"It would be lovely!" said Harebell earnestly. "I wish I could go and see Tom! Aunt Diana won't let me; and now she's away. Will you take him a message from me? It's a very solemn one."
"Yes, he did ask me if I'd seen you. I hadn't, so could tell him nothing."
"Well, please tell him that Fanny Crake says that the drinking must stop first, and then the work must begot, and then the wife comes next. I don't know about the cottage; that will come last, I s'pose. Will you be sure to tell him Fanny said it. He'll understand, for I think she'd do very well, only she won't think about it now. It's rather nasty of her, because it would cheer him up so, wouldn't it? I'm sure we ought to try to make him happy—poor Tom! He says nobody cares for him!"
Mrs. Triggs had not paid much attention to the conversation, but she now turned her head sharply round.
"Is that my Tom you be speakin' of? His mother cares for him more'n all the world! He was such a handsome baby—took arter his father—who were a fine, upstandin' man, but with a taste for the beer. Tom be made arter the same pattern. An' I says if God and Natur' made him so, why blame the poor lad? An' he never have given his mother an unkind word!"
"I like Tom very much," Harebell answered her eagerly. "And when Aunt Diana comes back I'll beg her with tears to let me go and see him, and I'll find him a wife as quick as ever I can!"
"A wife?" screamed the old woman. "You let my Tom be! What do he want a wife for? He have a good home, and there isn't a girl in this village who'd do him aught but harm. Idle worthless hussies they be! Go on with you! A wife, indeed!"
Harebell looked frightened. She said good-bye and slipped away. Miss Triggs said in a whisper to her:
"Never you mind mother, dear. She don't mean to be rude, but she don't take kindly to a wife for Tom, and I can't say he ought to have one, unless his heart gets changed, and his life too!"
Harebell went back to the Rectory slowly and thoughtfully, but when she found Peter and Nan had put up a swing in the orchard, and were enjoying themselves upon it, she joined them gleefully. They forgot their squabble, and she was a happy light-hearted child again.
The return of her aunt was the next event. Mrs. Garland kept her till after the arrival, and when Harebell went home the next day, the whole house seemed to have altered its ways.
There was a man's coat and hat in the hall. A strange man-servant was sitting in the pantry talking to Andy. A little cheerful bustle pervaded the house. There was a smell of tobacco in the morning-room. Two or three newspapers and pipes lay on the table.
Mrs. Keith came out of the drawing-room to greet Harebell. The child was so startled at the difference in her aunt's face that all fear of her vanished. Putting up her slim little arms, she clasped her round the neck.
"Your ice has gone!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I'm so very glad!"
And Mrs. Keith did not stare, or frown, or reprove her coldly for such words. She looked tired, but very happy, and there was a light and softness in her eyes that had never been there before. "Would you like to see your uncle? You must be very quiet, as he is quite an invalid at present. But I have told him about you. Come this way."
Harebell trod on tip-toe, with eager eyes and a beating heart. On a couch near the open window was a grey-haired man propped up with pillows. His hands looked white and thin; his face was lined with pain; he had a hooked nose, and thick bushy eyebrows, but when he saw Harebell, both his lips and eyes smiled.
"The little niece! Come and welcome a poor old sick soldier, who isn't worth the trouble he gives."
"I'm so very glad you're here," said Harebell standing before him with clasped hands. "Me and God have talked you over often, and God seemed to tell me He would send you back soon."
If Colonel Keith was surprised at such a welcome, he did not show it. He looked at his wife, and his eyes grew soft and tender. Then he spoke to Harebell.
"Life deals hardly with those who quarrel with her. Don't you let your passions ever get mastery of your love, little woman."
"I don't understand a bit what you mean."
"And there is no need that you should," said her aunt a little sharply.
Colonel Keith put his hand on his wife's arm, as she stood by his couch. Her voice softened at once.
"Come and sit down and talk to your Uncle Herbert; I must go away for a little. I have letters to write."
So Harebell took a chair by the couch, and when her aunt had left the room, her tongue began to move, and she poured into her uncle's ear a flood of talk. She told him of her home in India, of Chris, of the Rectory children, of Tom Triggs and his sister and his mother, of Fanny Crake and her mother, and the little cottage. But she did not talk much of her aunt, and Colonel Keith noticed the omission. Harebell found him as good a listener as Mr. Graham. She ended up by saying impulsively:
"I do like you so much, Uncle Herbert! You quite understand what I mean. I haven't to keep explaining; Andy thinks me quite easy and understandable, he says, but Goody is always saying I amaze her. I've always said I like men better than I do women."
"But you can't and must not like me better than your aunt!" expostulated Colonel Keith. "You don't know what trouble I brought upon her by my hot temper and wicked pride! She has suffered, and yet now has no reproach upon her lips. I'm a bad lot, and she's a saint!"
Harebell did not answer for a minute; then she said solemnly:
"I'll try and like you both the same."
Certainly she found life much gayer now. Her aunt and uncle were much together, and she was left more than ever to her own devices; but when she was with them at meals, her busy tongue was no longer repressed. Her uncle encouraged her to talk, and liked to hear all about her lessons and play. Her aunt's voice was getting softer, her smiles were more frequent. And as for Andy, his old face was radiant with happiness.
"Ah! The good old times have come back," he said to Harebell. "The days of mourning are over for this old house."
The little girl nodded.
"I haven't to hush about the house any more, I can almost make as much noise as they do at the Rectory."
It was not very long before she begged permission from her aunt to go and see Tom Triggs again. Mrs. Keith did not actually refuse her; but she said she must wait. And then one day at the Rectory, Nan informed her that Tom was very nearly well, and was going away from the village altogether. Harebell was much surprised, and rather uneasy.
"Why is he going away? How can he leave his mother? Oh, I must see him, and ask him all about it."
It happened to be a Saturday, and every Saturday, Harebell dined at the Rectory and spent her half-holiday there.
"We'll go and see him this afternoon," suggested Nan. "Peter wants to see him, don't you, Peter? Tom is making him a box with lock and key to keep his birds' eggs in. He's out of hospital, and living with his mother."
"That will be lovely!" exclaimed Harebell. It was only when she was actually starting with them, that she remembered her aunt had not given her permission to do it. With a little hesitation, she told Nan and Peter that perhaps she had better not go.
"Go home and ask your aunt," said Peter; but Nan vehemently opposed this suggestion.
"We have no time. It's such a long way off; and if we go to the village, we can go on to the woods and have some fun."
Harebell hesitated.
"I'll go," cried Peter, "on my bicycle. I'll go, and catch you up before you get to the village."
Peter had only lately owned a bicycle, so he liked to use it on every occasion.
Harebell brightened up.
"That will be jolly! And I don't believe Aunt Diana will say 'no' to you."
He rode off at full speed, and the little girls walked in the direction of the village. They had barely reached it before he overtook them.
"Can I go?" Harebell asked him eagerly.
"Yes," he said.
She skipped for joy. Tom's future held a big place in her thoughts, and she was delighted to see him again.
"Oh, do come on," she besought the others when the village sweet shop brought them to a standstill.
"I want some bull's eyes," said Peter.
He wheeled his cycle up to the shop, leant it against the wall, and then disappeared inside. Nan followed him.
Harebell stamped with impatience: then determined not to wait for them, and walked on quickly to Mrs. Triggs' cottage.
She had one more check.
Colonel Keith was coming out of the post office and met her. He was rapidly getting stronger, and now got about in a low pony trap, which for the present, he hired.
"Hulloa!" he said. "Where are you going?"
"I'm with Peter and Nan. We're going to see Tom Triggs. He's going away."
"Oh, that's your friend, is it? And your aunt knows?"
Colonel Keith knew all about the forbidden visits; for Harebell had besought him to help her, and he had been doing his best in that way.
"Oh yes," Harebell said with assurance; "she has given me leave to-day."
"And is it to be a wife, or work, or a cottage?" Harebell laughed, and ran on. She was breathless when she stood at the cottage door.
Tom himself came to open it, and smiled all over his face when he saw who it was.
"Why, I thought you and me was friends no longer!" he said.
Harebell seized hold of his hand.
"Oh, Tom, dear Tom, don't go away! Do stay and have a little cottage here. I don't want you to go."
He led her into the little parlour.
"Hessie be out to-day, and mother and me be mindin' each other."
"And how's your leg?"
Tom swung it slowly to and fro.
"Near as good as ever 'twas! You see, missy, I be what you call going on the tack. And I have an offer of work in a town firm. 'Tis a contrac' for some big house, ten mile or so away. 'Twill be a change and a beginning! But I ain't goin' so very far arter all!"
Harebell smiled.
"Did you get any message about Fanny? That's what she said—the drinking to be given up first, and then the work and then the wife?"
Tom's eyes twinkled.
"That there Fanny be too forward. Her must wait till her is axed!"
"Oh, but I asked her; I besoughted her; I begged her with all my heart, to marry you just as you were, and very quickly too! She was a great disappointment to me; I did hope she would have married you directly you came out of hospital!"
Tom threw his head back, and laughed aloud. There was a clearer look in his eyes, and he held his head higher than he had ever done before.
"I shan't sit down and cry, if her don't want me," he said. "I can't keep a wife just at present. The girls be too expensive in these days."
Harebell was silent. This seemed quite a new Tom; a man who could scorn a wife was beyond her comprehension.
"And you're never going to a nasty public-house again?"
"Ay, well, there be no tellin'; but I ain't visitin' the 'Black Swan' just now."
"Tom," said Harebell looking up at him with solemn eyes, "are you through?"
His eyes met hers rather gravely.
"Through? How d'ye mean?"
"Through the Door? You know I almost think you are. And I believe that's the first thing of all to be done. I wonder if you did it first."
"I wonder," said Tom, in a low grave voice, looking over Harebell's head as he spoke.
"I wish you'd tell me. Because we'd be on the same side, then. I ask God every day to keep me on the right side, the inside you know, and not to let me run out."
"Hi! Tom! Where's my box?"
Peter's shrill voice coming up the garden-path interrupted them. There was no more opportunity for serious talk. Tom took the children to the backyard where he was working, and for half an hour they stayed there chattering and watching him complete Peter's egg-box. Then they left him, and went on to the woods, where they had a very happy time.
Coming home, Harebell said:
"Haven't we had a jolly afternoon? And isn't Tom Triggs nice? Quite different to when he was drinking!"
Peter edged up to her.
"I want to tell you a secret. Go on, Nan; it isn't for you."
Nan laughed.
"I'm not a bit curious. You never have interesting secrets, Peter."
She obligingly crossed the road. Peter sank his voice to a whisper.
"You needn't think your aunt gave you leave to go and see Tom, for she didn't. You'd better keep quiet about it, and not let her know you went."
"Oh, Peter, what do you mean?"
"Don't shout, you stupid! I did go to ask her; but she was out, so I couldn't!"
"But you told a lie! You said she had given me leave."
"I didn't!" said Peter, a little sullenly. "You asked me if you could go, and I said, 'Yes.' I didn't say anything about your aunt!"
Harebell stopped still in the road. He dragged her on by the arm.
"There's nothing to make a fuss about! I didn't tell a lie. You needn't say a word about going to Tom. Tell her you went to the woods, if she asks you."
"But I met Uncle Herbert, and told him I was going to Tom, and I told him aunt had given me leave to go!"
"You were a little fool."
Then he changed his tone.
"Look here, Harebell, don't you get me into a row. Don't split, will you? You aren't a sneak, and it would be awfully mean to tell tales. You see, your aunt and uncle are coming to dinner to-night at our house, and they'd make a row over it. I only wanted you to have a good time. I needn't have interfered at all, and it wasn't a lie, and of course they'd think it was, they'd never understand. I'll never forgive you if you split!"
"Oh, I won't say a word about you! You needn't be afraid."
Harebell's voice was scornful.
Peter got rather red in the face.
"Such a fuss about nothing!" he muttered. "I don't expect your aunt will care where you've been. You can tell her you had to come with us; you couldn't help yourself."
Harebell did not speak. Then she said slowly:
"I have told lies myself in India, but not since I've been in England. I couldn't have done it, as you did!"
"I didn't tell a lie."
Peter left her and joined Nan. They were rather a constrained trio for the rest of their walk. Nan remarked—
"You and Peter don't seem to have enjoyed the secret."
And Harebell said quickly:
"I shouldn't think so!"
When they reached the Rectory, Harebell said good-bye. She kissed Nan, but turned her back on Peter.
"Remember!" he called after her threateningly.
"You needn't be afraid!" she retorted.
But she entered her aunt's house with a sinking heart.
CHAPTER IX
IN DISGRACE
HAREBELL had her tea in the schoolroom alone, as she very often did. Andy waited upon her.
"There be visitors in the drawin'-room," he said. "'Tis like old times, gentlemen a-comin' here! For years we've had nothing but ladies, and a few on them. Sir Robert Ferguson and his lady have been to tea, and the Colonel be quite spry. What have you been a-doin' to-day? Somethin' to get a scoldin' for! Mistress says to me, 'Tell Miss Harebell to go to her bedroom after she has finished her tea, and stay there till I come to her.'
"Then she knows," said poor Harebell with a deep sigh. "Did she look very angry, Andy?"
"Very cold and quiet," said Andy. "What have you been doin'?"
But Harebell for a wonder would not tell him.
"Mayn't I go and see Chris?" she asked.
"Best not. I've given you the message exack'ly as it were given me!"
Harebell's tea almost choked her. She left it unfinished and went upstairs.
"It's no good," she said to herself as she sat down disconsolately in her little chair by the window, "to say I'm not frightened of Aunt Diana, because I am; and she'll say I've disobeyed her, and so I did. And I never, on my word and honour, meant to be naughty to-day. God knows about me; that is one comfort. He knows I didn't mean to be naughty. And as for Peter, he's the wickedest, meanest boy I ever knew, and I don't think I shall ever be friends with him again!"
When she heard her aunt's step at last, she stood up with a beating heart.
To her aunt, as she came into the room, Harebell looked the picture of guilt.
Mrs. Keith's face was very hard and stern. "I have come," she said, "to have some explanation from you of your conduct this afternoon. You not only directly disobeyed me, and went off to see that drunken man, but you told your uncle a lie, and said that you had my permission to do so. Do you remember what I told you when you first came here about lies?"
"Yes," said Harebell miserably. "I remember quite well, but I haven't told a lie, I really haven't."
"Don't try to cover up one lie with another; that is only making matters worse."
Harebell was silent. What could she say?
"Have you anything to say for yourself?"
"I don't know," faltered Harebell; "it was—was a mistake. I—I thought you'd given me leave."
"How can you have the face to say such a thing to me? You know I did not."
"I didn't tell a lie," Harebell murmured.
Her aunt looked at her with an expression of disgust. "I suppose I was foolish to think that you were a truthful child. My eyes are open now. If you had only frankly confessed, I might have regarded it more leniently. However, I keep my word, I shall send you to school after the summer holidays. Never will I have a child in my house who deceives, or tries to deceive me."
Harebell began to cry.
"Oh," she sobbed in the depths of her despair, "if you were God, you'd understand!"
"Don't add hypocrisy to lies," said her aunt sharply. "You are not to come downstairs to-night. Go to bed, and remember that I might have forgiven your disobedience—but I will never forgive lying!"
She left the room.
Harebell flung herself on the floor.
"I shall never, never be happy again! I'm not a liar, I'm not even disobedient; it's all a muddling mistake, and it's Peter, and not me, who ought to be punished!"
She began to feel justly angry with Peter.
"He'll go on living and people will think him a good boy, and I shall be thought a liar for ever and ever! And school is a prison, and—oh, I never thought of it! I shall have to leave my darling Chris! My heart will be broken. I wish I could die!"
She lay there sobbing her heart out, and Goody, entering the room later, was much astonished and alarmed.
Harebell raised a white tear-stained face to her.
"I ought to be in bed," she said slowly. "Aunt Diana said I was to go. She thinks I've told a lie, and I haven't, Goody, and I'm to be sent to school in disgrace."
"Dearie me! What an upset! You must get hold of the Colonel. He'll put things right."
A gleam of hope stole into Harebell's eyes; then it died away.
"He thinks I told him a lie. He won't help me. I'm what you call doomed, Goody."
She began to undress. She would give no explanation to Goody, for fear of inculpating Peter.
She heard a carriage come to take her uncle and aunt to dinner at the Rectory.
She wondered if her aunt would tell them all there of her wickedness; and if so, how Peter would feel when he heard it. She began to hope that perhaps his conscience would compel him to confess and to clear her. But she remembered that Nan said once that Peter never owned himself to be in the wrong.
Goody went away at last, and she was left alone in bed.
It was hours before she slept, and when she did, she dreamt that a school-mistress with flaming red curls and bony hands was pushing her down some steep steps into a dark cellar!
When the morning came, she wondered at first what awful thing had happened to her. The birds were singing. It was a lovely sunshiny morning in June, and when she remembered the trouble in which she was, she felt that some help would come to her.
"Aunt Diana won't really send me away. Peter will be sorry and tell."
Yet as she dressed, fear overcame hope. She ran softly downstairs and made her way to the stable. Chris neighed in delight when he heard her step, and rubbed her all over with his nose. Of course he was told all, and Harebell clasped him passionately round the neck.
"If they send me away from you, I shall die," she assured him.
Then the prayer bell rang, and she slowly went into the house. Her uncle did not come down to breakfast, but had it in his room. He was still quite an invalid. Mrs. Keith hardly spoke to her, but as she was leaving the breakfast-table, she said:
"Are you ready to confess the lie you told? Are you sorry?"
Harebell looked at her aunt nervously.
"I feel," she said, "if I said I had told a lie, that would be a lie."
"You will be in disgrace till you do confess," said her aunt shortly.
Harebell went to the Rectory with a heavy heart.
She could hardly say "Good Morning" to Peter. Nan asked her at once what was the matter, and Harebell looked Peter straight in the face as she said:
"I'm in disgrace. Aunt Diana says I've told a lie, when I haven't. I'm going to be sent away to school, and I shall never come back again!"
"Oh yes, you will," said Peter fast and eagerly, whilst his cheeks got hot and red. "School is awfully jolly; and you always come home in the holidays. I wish I could get sent to school. No such luck for me."
"School is enchanting," said Nan. "A girl in the next village goes to a boarding-school, and she loves it. I don't pity you, if you go to school, Harebell."
"And how can I part with Chris?"
"You'll have him in the holidays," said Peter; "and p'raps dad will keep him for you when you're away, and we'll exercise him for you!"
This was too much for Harebell. She turned upon Peter in a blazing fury.
"I hate you! I'd like Chris to kick you off and tread on you, if you ever dare to ride him. He knows all about you. I've told him. And I've told God, too, and I'll never play with you again, and I won't speak to you, and if you leave any of your birds' eggs about, I will smash them in bits!"
"My dear child!"
Mrs. Garland had come into the room unnoticed.
Harebell's fury was stayed. She hung her head.
Nan was looking quite frightened; Peter red and uncomfortable.
"What has Peter done to provoke such an outburst?" Mrs. Garland said.
Harebell flung herself into her arms.
"I can't say, but I never tell lies, do I? Do I? Aunt Diana says I do."
"And does Peter say you do?"
Mrs. Garland looked at her small son very keenly.
"No—no!" he stammered. "I never said she did. It isn't my fault!"
"She's going to be sent to school, and she doesn't like it," said Nan. "Her aunt is angry with her."
Mrs. Garland tried to discover what had happened, but neither Peter nor Harebell would tell her, and Nan was as much in the dark as she was.
Miss Forster interrupted them, and lessons began. Harebell naturally did hers very badly, but Miss Forster saw she was much upset and made allowances. When twelve o'clock came, they went into the garden to play. Harebell left the others, and wandered round the paths in the shrubbery, feeling very miserable.
"I'm not a bit like a child who is inside the Door," she told herself. "I've been in a temper with Peter, and I'm sure I oughtn't to be. Jesus Christ wasn't angry when He was ill-treated, and I know He doesn't want me to be. But it's very hard not to call Peter names. He is the meanest—sneakiest—oh, I mustn't! But how can I love him when it's all his fault, and not mine at all!"
It was a hard struggle with Harebell. Her sense of justice was great, and her punishment she knew was not deserved. But before she left the Rectory she went up to Peter.
"I'm sorry I said I would like to smash your eggs. I won't. I'll try and forgive you. But you're making me awfully miserable, and you know you are."
Peter walked away from her.
"You're making a fuss about nothing," he said; "you chose to think I meant what I didn't mean. It was only a mistake."
He was feeling miserable too, but he would not allow it, and tried to make excuses for himself.
"Such a fuss!" he repeated to himself. "It isn't worth thinking about. I'm sure Mrs. Keith won't really send her to school. She'll forget all about it in a few days."
When Harebell went home she found her uncle pacing the garden paths. He called her to him cheerily, and wished her "Good morning" as usual.
Harebell looked up at him wistfully. She longed to confide in him.
"Well," he said, "how have the lessons gone?"
"Very badly," said Harebell, shaking her head. "I've an extra lesson to learn for not attending; but my soul was in such a state, that I couldn't work at sums, so they got jumbled up."
Her uncle sat down on the garden seat and drew her to him.
"Tell me about it, little woman."
Harebell worked her fingers in and out of his coat buttonhole nervously.
"Do you think I told you a lie yesterday? I didn't. It was a mistake, not a lie, and Aunt Diana won't believe me."
"How was it?"
Harebell was silent.
"I can't explain myself—but I'm telling true. And if—"
Here she got excited and waved her hands about.
"If Aunt Diana was to burn me, or flog me, or drown me, I couldn't say anything but that I didn't tell a lie!"
"Try and explain," said her uncle gently. "Your aunt has such a horror of deceit and lying that perhaps she did not give you time to speak."
"I can't tell her. She won't believe me. But oh, Uncle Herbert, I can't live without Chris. If she sends me away from him, I shall die. I shall never live to come back. Please don't let her send me away to school."
"I hope that will not be necessary."
Mrs. Keith came up to them.
"Harebell, go into the house. Until you confess your fault you are in disgrace."
Harebell turned disconsolately away. Colonel Keith said something to her aunt, which she could not hear, but she heard her aunt's clear cold voice reply:
"It is her mother over again! I warned her when she came to me. There is no mistake. She disobeyed, told a lie, and sticks to it. I will not undertake the charge of her any more. I shall send her to a strict school, for I will not be responsible for her training."
With despair in her heart, Harebell crept indoors.
The following days were very unhappy ones. She grew very quiet, moped about the house, lost her appetite, did not sleep at nights, and got a peaked white look upon her face. But as time passed, she grew accustomed to her aunt's cold displeasure, and as no more was said, began to hope that perhaps she would not carry out her threat.