"Can you play lawn tennis?" asked Nell as they walked towards the tennis-ground.
"No, I never play at anything," said Hetty sadly, "When not with—my mamma," she said with a flash of the eyes at seeing Phyllis looking at her, "I have always been alone."
Miss Davis glanced at the child with pity, but Hetty, catching her eye, would not bear to be pitied.
"It is much pleasanter to be with grown people in the drawing-room," she said. "I should not like at all to live as you do."
"Do you always wear such splendid frocks?" asked Phyllis, examining her from head to foot with critical eyes.
"Yes," said Hetty. "I have much finer ones than this; I am always dressed like a lady. How can you bear to be such a sight in that ugly linen thing?"
"My dear, simple clothes are more becoming to children," said Miss Davis, while Phyllis only curled her lip. "If you lived more among those of your own age," continued the governess, "as I hope you will henceforth do, you would find that little girls are much happier and more free to amuse themselves when dressed suitably to their age. You shall see how we enjoy ourselves at tennis, as we could not do in dresses as rich as yours."
Miss Davis and her pupils began to play tennis, and Hetty tried to join; but her dress was too warm and too tight to allow of her making much exertion, and so she was obliged to stand by and watch the game. Seeing the great enjoyment of the players, Hetty began to feel the spirit of the game, and remembered how she had often longed to be one of the happy children whom she had seen at play in other scenes than this. However, her belief that Phyllis was unfriendly towards her prevented her acknowledging what she felt. Had only Nell and Miss Davis been present she would have begged the loan of a holland blouse and joined in the game with all her heart. But Phyllis had a freezing effect upon her.
When the game was over they went indoors and Hetty was shown the pretty room prepared for her. Polly had already unpacked her things, and on the bed were laid the handsome gifts which Mrs. Rushton had bought for Hetty to present to "her cousins."
Hetty was now glad to see these presents which she had for a time forgotten, and thought she had now a good opportunity for making friends with the two girls. She was really pleased to give pleasure to Nell, whom she liked, and was not sorry that Phyllis would be obliged to receive something from her hands.
The presents were both beautiful and both useful. One was a desk, the case delicately inlaid, and the interior perfectly fitted up. The other was an exquisitely carved and furnished work-box.
"Oh, give the desk to Phyllis; she is so much more clever than I am, and writes so well. And I am fond of work. Oh, you are a dear to give me such a charming present," said Nell affectionately, examining the beautiful work-box with sparkling eyes.
Hetty was delighted.
"I chose them myself," she said with some pride; and then she took the desk in her arms and asked Nell to show her the way to Phyllis's room.
"It is down at the end of this passage. I will show you. And you must not mind Phyllis if she does not go into raptures like me. She is always so well-behaved, and takes everything so quietly."
Phyllis looked greatly surprised, and not quite pleased, when, having heard a knock at her door and said "Come in," she saw Hetty invade her room. Her first thought was, "This foundling girl is going to be forward and troublesome"; and Hetty was not slow to read her glance.
"I have brought you a present," she said, in quite a different tone from that in which she had made her little speech to Nell.
Phyllis took the desk slowly, and looked at it as if she wished it had not been offered.
"It is very handsome," she said, "and my aunt was very good to think of it. Please give her my best thanks."
And then Phyllis deposited the present on a table, and turned away and began to change her shoes.
Nell looked at Hetty, but could not see the expression of her face; for she had turned as quickly as Phyllis and was already vanishing through the door.
CHAPTER VII.
HETTY'S FIRST LESSONS.
Hetty's bed-room being over the school-room, she was wakened the next morning by somebody practising on the piano, the sound from which ascended through the floor.
"How well they play, and how early they rise!" thought Hetty. "I wonder whether it is Nell or Phyllis who is at the piano? Oh, dear! I do not know even a note."
She longed to ask Polly at what hour the Miss Enderbys had got up, and which of them was practising on the piano, but as she had begun by snubbing Polly she could not now descend from her dignity so far as to ask her questions. Polly on her side was always silent when attending on Miss Gray, and never ventured upon the least freedom with the haughty little foundling.
When Hetty descended to the breakfast-room she found only Mr. and Mrs. Enderby at the table. Mrs. Rushton was still in her room, and was having her breakfast there.
"This is little Hetty," said Mrs. Enderby, presenting her to her husband.
Mr. Enderby put down his paper and looked at Hetty gravely and critically, Hetty thought pityingly.
"How do you do, my dear?" he said, patting her shoulder. "I see you have not been accustomed to early hours."
Hetty hung her head and sat down at the table. Mrs. Enderby supplied her wants and then went on reading her letters; and Hetty ate in silence, wondering why she was not called on to talk and amuse these people as she had been accustomed to amuse Mrs. Rushton's fashionable friends. This quiet wise-looking lady and gentleman seemed to look on her with quite different eyes from those with which the rest of the world regarded her. They neither snubbed nor petted her, only seemed satisfied to allow her to be comfortable beside them.
Presently she plucked up courage to ask:
"Are Phyllis and Nell not coming to breakfast?"
Mrs. Enderby smiled.
"No, my dear, they never breakfast here. They breakfasted an hour ago in the school-room. They are busy at their studies at present."
"Are they always busy at studies?" asked Hetty.
"A great part of the day they are."
"As all little girls ought to be who wish to be educated women some day," said Mr. Enderby, looking over the edge of his newspaper.
"Your education has hardly begun yet I fear," said Mrs. Enderby.
"Mrs. Rushton"—something withheld Hetty from saying "my mamma" before Mr. and Mrs. Enderby—"always says it is time enough for that," said Hetty.
Mr. and Mrs. Enderby exchanged glances, and Mr. Enderby shifted in his seat and shook the newspaper impatiently. Mrs. Enderby said:
"What would you think of joining my girls at their lessons while you stay here? I fear that if you do not you will find yourself very lonely."
"I am often very lonely," said Hetty simply; and again her host and hostess looked at each other.
"Well, which do you prefer?" said the latter; "to be very lonely going about the house and gardens by yourself, or to spend your time usefully with the other children in the school-room?"
"I would rather be with the girls, if they would like to have me," said Hetty after a few moments' reflection. "But I think Phyllis would rather I stayed away."
"Oh, I think not," said Mrs. Enderby; "Phyllis never makes a fuss about anything, but I will answer for her that she will welcome you."
"I think she does not like me," said Hetty, looking steadily at her hostess with large serious eyes.
"Take care you do not dislike her," said Mr. Enderby, with a slight look of displeasure. "In this house we do not indulge such fancies."
"My dear, you must not think that because our manners here in the country may be quieter and perhaps less warm than those of some of the people you have lived with abroad, our hearts are therefore cold. Come, then, if you have finished breakfast, I will take you myself into the school-room."
Half pleased and half unwilling Hetty suffered herself to be led away, and her heart beat fast as she crossed the school-room threshold. Miss Davis sat at the end of the table with an open exercise book before her, and a severely businesslike look upon her face. Phyllis and Nell bent over their books at either side of the same table. Maps hung on the walls and books lay about everywhere. Hetty instantly, and for the first time in her life, felt keenly that she was a dunce.
"Miss Davis, I have brought you another pupil," said Mrs. Enderby; "I am sure you will not mind the trouble of having one more than usual for a little while. I think Hetty will be happier for having something to do."
"I shall be very pleased if she will join us," said Miss Davis; and then Mrs. Enderby left the room, and Hetty was asked to take a seat at the foot of the table.
"What have you been learning, my dear?" asked Miss Davis.
"Nothing," said Hetty; "I can read a little; but that is all."
Phyllis and Nell had not spoken to her, and had looked at her only with sidelong glances. This was because it was their study hour and speaking was not allowed; but Hetty thought it was because they were not glad to see her coming to join them, and she therefore felt all the more careless about trying to make the best of herself. If nobody cared about her, what did it matter whether she was a dunce or not? So she said boldly that she had been learning nothing; and then the two Enderby girls lifted up their heads and stared at her in sheer amazement.
Hetty's face grew crimson, and her pride arose within her.
"After all," she said, "it is much better fun to play and amuse yourself all day than to sit poring over books. Study does not make people prettier or pleasanter."
This last sentence was an echo from one of Mrs. Rushton's silly speeches. When people would ask her about Hetty's education, she was wont to declare that the child was prettier and pleasanter without it.
Phyllis, listening, merely curled her lip, and bent lower in silence over her book. Nell remained looking at Hetty with a wondering expression in her eyes. Miss Davis drew herself up and looked much displeased.
"I hope you are doing yourself great injustice," she said; "I cannot believe you really mean what you say. Study not make people prettier or pleasanter! I scarcely believe that my ears have not deceived me."
"It does not make you prettier or pleasanter," said Hetty persistently. "You were much nicer yesterday when you were playing and running about. Your face is not the same at all now."
Phyllis opened her eyes wide and turned them on Miss Davis, as if to ask, "Is not this too much?" Nell, on the contrary, began to smile as though she thought Hetty's impudence capital fun; and this encouraged Hetty, who had been taught to love to amuse people at any cost. Miss Davis coloured with surprise and annoyance.
"It is of no consequence, my dear, how we look when we are doing our duty," she said, controlling herself.
"Then I hope I shall never do my duty," said Hetty coolly; "nobody loves people who do not look gay."
Phyllis turned to Miss Davis and said, "Will you not send her away now? Mother never meant us to be interrupted like this."
"Patience, my dear!" said Miss Davis; "Hetty is perhaps giving us the worst side of her character only to startle us. I am sure there is a better side somewhere. Come over here to me, Hetty, and let me hear you read."
Hetty obeyed, and took the book Miss Davis placed in her hand. Holding herself very erect and looking very serious she began, after a glance over the paragraph that had been marked for her:—
"Leonora walked on her head, a little higher than usual."
"My dear!" interrupted Miss Davis hastily; and Nell vainly tried to smother a burst of laughter.
"That is what is printed here," said Hetty gravely, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Miss Davis did not notice this as she took the book and prepared to examine the text so startlingly given forth; but Phyllis and Nell saw at once that Hetty was making fun.
"Ah!" said Miss Davis, "it is your punctuation that is at fault. The sentence runs: 'Leonora walked on, her head a little higher than usual.' You see one little comma makes all the difference in the world."
"I wondered how she could manage to walk on her head," said Hetty in the most serious manner; "and why, if she did manage it, it should make her higher. She would be the same length in any case, would she not, Miss Davis?"
Nell laughed again, and Phyllis looked more and more contemptuous. Miss Davis said, "Read on please!" rather severely, at the same time giving Nell a glance of warning.
Hetty read on, making deliberately the most laughable blunders, at some of which Miss Davis herself had to smile. Even Phyllis had to give way on one occasion, and in the midst of a chorus of laughter Hetty stood making a piteous face, pretending not to know what they were laughing at.
"I told you I could read only a little," she said, but at the same time she gave Nell a knowing glance which Phyllis caught.
"She could read better if she pleased. She is only amusing herself," said Phyllis to Miss Davis.
"I hope not, my dear," said the governess; "do not be uncharitable. Well, Hetty, you may put aside your book for to-day. I hope to improve you before your visit is over. Do you know anything of geography? Come, I will give you an easy question. Where is England situated on the map?"
"In the middle of the Red Sea," said Hetty briskly.
"My dear! why do you suppose so?"
"I see it up there on the map," said Hetty; "the sea is marked in red all round it."
Nell tittered again. Phyllis put her fingers in her ears, determined to hear no more of Hetty's absurdities.
"You make a great mistake," said Miss Davis, and spreading a map before Hetty, the governess gave her a lesson on the position of the Red Sea and the relative position of England.
"Have you learned anything at all of numbers?"
"I can count on my fingers," said Hetty; "I add up the fives and I can reckon up to a hundred that way."
"You must learn a better way of counting than that. Have you never learned the multiplication table?"
"My mamma's tables are all ebony or marble," said Hetty, putting on a bewildered air, "but I will count them up if you like. There are six in the drawing-room," she continued, holding up all the fingers of her left hand, and the thumb of the right.
"You ridiculous child! you misunderstand me quite. The multiplication table is an arrangement of numbers. I will give it to you to study. In the meantime, come, how many do three threes make when they are added together?"
"I don't know anything about threes," said Hetty; "I only know about fives."
"I think I must give you up for to-day," said Miss Davis in despair. "Phyllis is waiting with her French exercise. Can you read French at all, Hetty?"
"I can talk French," said Hetty; "but I don't want to read it; 'tis quite bad enough to have to read English, I think. Talking is so much pleasanter than reading."
"You can talk it, can you? Let me hear," and Miss Davis addressed a question to her in French.
In answer to it Hetty poured forth a perfect flood of French, spoken with a pretty accent and grammatically correct. In truth she spoke like a little Frenchwoman, and completely surprised her listeners. She had been asked some question about walking in the Champs Elysees and now gave a vivid description of the scene there on a fine morning, the people who frequented it, their dress, their manners, their conversation.
Miss Davis put down the multiplication table which she had been turning over and stared at the little Frenchwoman chattering and gesticulating before her.
"There, my dear," she said presently, "that will do; I see you can make use of your tongue. Take this book now and study quietly for half an hour."
Hetty felt that she had had her little triumph at last. Neither Phyllis nor Nell could speak French like that. She took the table-book obediently and sat down with it, while Phyllis made an effort to get over the shock of surprise given her by Hetty's clever exhibition, and proceeded to attend to Miss Davis's correction of her French exercise.
That afternoon Hetty was dressed in a holland frock of Nell's, which, though Nell was a year older, was not too large for her, and joined heartily in a game of lawn tennis. Her little success of the morning, when she had surprised her companions and their governess by her cleverness at French, had raised her spirits, and she enjoyed herself as she had never done in her life before, feeling that she could afford to do without Phyllis' good opinion, and taking more and more pleasure in showing how little she cared to have it.
After this the days that remained of her visit passed pleasantly enough. Hetty contrived to turn her lessons into a sort of burlesque, and to impose a good deal on Miss Davis, who was not a humorous, but indeed a most matter-of-fact person. Every day Phyllis grew more and more disgusted with their visitor, who interrupted the even course of their studies and "made fools," as she considered, of Miss Davis and Nell. She thought Hetty's pretentiousness became greater and greater as her first slight shyness wore away and she grew perfectly familiar with every one in the house. Phyllis was sufficiently generous to refrain from complaining of Hetty to her mother or father, but she privately found fault with Nell for encouraging her too much.
"You laugh at her so absurdly that she grows more impudent every day," she said; "she could not dare to give herself such airs only for you."
"But, Phyllis dear, I can't help laughing at her, and indeed I think you make her proud by being so hard upon her; she is not so proud with me."
"She is ridiculous," said Phyllis; "such pretension in a girl of her age is utterly absurd. Besides, it is so vulgar. Well-born people are not always trying to force their importance on you as she does; if I did not try to keep her down a little she would be quite unbearable."
"Perhaps if you did not try to keep her down so much she would not set herself up so much," persisted Nell.
"I am older and wiser than you," said Phyllis coldly.
"Yes, I know you are," said Nell regretfully.
"And I ought to be a better judge of people's conduct. I am not going to complain of her to father or mother; but as she will be coming here again, I suppose, we ought to try to manage her a little ourselves."
Nell did not dare to say any more to Phyllis, but ran away as soon as she could get an opportunity, to play with Hetty and laugh admiringly at all her droll remarks.
One more triumph Hetty enjoyed before her visit to Wavertree came to an end. On a certain evening there was a dinner-party at the Hall, and some one who had been expected to sing and amuse the company failed to appear. After dinner Mrs. Rushton fancied that the party had grown very dull, and a brilliant idea for entertaining the guests occurred to her. She left the drawing-room and went upstairs to where the little girls were preparing for bed.
"Come, Hetty," she said, "I want you to make yourself agreeable. Every one is going to sleep down-stairs and carriages will not arrive till eleven. I have rung for Polly to dress you. Phyllis and Nell can come down also if they please."
The Enderby girls concluded from this speech that their mother had sent for them, and in a short time Mrs. Rushton returned to the drawing-room, accompanied by the three children.
Mrs. Enderby looked exceedingly surprised and not quite pleased, but Mrs. Rushton said,
"I have provided some amusement for your people. Hetty will make them laugh."
Hetty was flushed and trembling with excitement, and at a signal from her adopted mother she stepped into the middle of the room and began her entertainment; Mrs. Rushton having walked about among the guests beforehand, telling them that the child was going to give them some sketches of character, the result of her own observations.
Hetty began with a conversation between a mincing and lackadaisical young lady and a bouncing one who talked noisily; and she changed her attitudes, her accent, the expressions of her face in such droll ways, and altogether contrasted the two characters so well, that a round of applause and laughter greeted and encouraged her. Then followed a ridiculous scene between a cross old lady and an amiable old gentleman in a hotel; and so on. Every odd character Hetty had ever met was reproduced for the amusement of the company.
Most of the guests laughed heartily and lavished praises on Hetty's talent and beauty. Only a few looked shocked, and shook their heads, saying it was sad to see a child so precocious and cynical.
Mr. and Mrs. Enderby, though disliking the exhibition and thinking it very bad for the little girl, were obliged to laugh with the rest, and Mrs. Rushton was delighted and triumphant. Nell laughed more than any one and clapped her hands wildly, but Phyllis looked on all the time with a disdainful smile.
"My girls are up too late," said Mrs. Enderby, as she bade them good night.
"Why did you send for us, then, mother?" said Phyllis.
"I did not, my dear, it was quite your aunt's doing. She wished to amuse you, I believe."
"Then I wish I had known," said Phyllis, "I would rather have gone to bed. I did not want to see that ridiculous performance."
"Hetty took some trouble to make us laugh. And if she has not been very wisely brought up we must not blame her too much for that."
"I do not like her; I wish she would go away," said Phyllis with quiet determination.
"She is going to-morrow," said Mrs. Enderby.
"She is not a lady, mother, and I am quite tired of her restless ways," persisted Phyllis. "I hope she will never come back here."
Mrs. Enderby in her heart echoed this hope, but she controlled her feeling against Hetty and said:
"I fear your aunt is not the sort of person to understand the bringing up of a girl; but remember, Phyllis, that I rely on you to help me to be of service to this poor child. Go to bed now, my daughter, and be wise, as you usually are."
Phyllis looked troubled, and thought over her mother's words as she lay in bed. But hers was not one of those natures that relent easily. She tried to satisfy her conscience by assuring herself that she wished no ill to Hetty, but quite the reverse. "Only she is different from us," she reflected, "and she ought to keep away with the people who suit her. I hope aunt Amy will not bring her here again."
CHAPTER VIII.
HETTY DESOLATE.
Mrs. Rushton and Hetty departed. Phyllis was satisfied, and everything went on as usual at Wavertree Hall. No one was sorry to lose the visitors, except Nell, who was secretly rather fond of Hetty. She was not a very brave child, and was much influenced by the opinion of others, especially of those whom she loved and admired; so, though there was a soft corner in her heart for Hetty, she was a little ashamed of the fact, seeing that none of the rest of the family shared her feeling. With Phyllis especially she was careful to be silent about Hetty, having a high opinion of her sister's good sense, and being greatly afraid of her contempt. And so it came that after a few days had passed Hetty's name was mentioned no more in the house.
Meantime Hetty at Amber Hill was enjoying her life more than she had ever enjoyed it before. She had her own pony, and went out to ride as often as, and at any hour she pleased. Half-a-dozen dogs and as many cats belonged to her, and they all loved her. Almost her entire time was spent out of doors, for Mrs. Rushton was too great an invalid now to care for much of her company. Grant was almost always in attendance on her mistress, and so had very little opportunity for interference with Hetty. Polly was easily kept in order, and the housekeeper always took the child's part if any of the other servants annoyed or neglected her.
This wild uncontrolled life, spent chiefly in the open air, wandering through the woods, running races with the dogs, or galloping up hill and down hill with them all flying after the pony's heels, suited Hetty exactly. She thought the world delightful because she was allowed to live a healthy active life, and nobody thwarted her. When Mrs. Rushton sent for her to the drawing-room or to her bed-room Hetty would steal in quietly, and, bringing a story-book with her, would sit down at her adopted mother's feet, and remain buried in her book till notice was given her that it was time for her to depart. In this way she gave very little trouble, and Mrs. Rushton was more than ever convinced that she had made an excellent choice in adopting Hetty, and that she was the most satisfactory child in the world.
One day Hetty had come in from her ride, and was sitting in her own room with her story-book waiting for the usual evening summons from Mrs. Rushton. The days were now very short, and the little girl's head was close to the window-pane as she tried to read. The door opened and she started up, shutting the book and preparing to go down-stairs; but there was something unusual about Polly's look and manner as she came into the room.
"Mrs. Rushton is taken very ill," she said, "and the doctor is sent for. So you will please come down and have your tea in the drawing-room by yourself, Miss Hetty."
"Is she more ill than usual? Much more?" asked Hetty. "The doctor was here this morning."
"She's as ill as can be," said Polly, "and all of a sudden. But you can't do her any good. And you'd better come down to your tea."
Hetty followed Polly without saying more, though she felt too anxious to care about her tea. She was greatly frightened, yet hardly knew why, as Mrs. Rushton was often ill, and the doctor was often sent for. There was a general impression in the household that the mistress sometimes made a great fuss about nothing, fainted, and thought she was going to die, and in a few hours was as well as usual. But no one in the house felt as anxious about her as Hetty. During the pleasant weeks that had lately passed over her head Hetty had been more drawn to her benefactress than she had ever been before. No longer snubbed and neglected in strange uncomfortable places, she had, in becoming more happy, also become more loving. She knew that she owed all the enjoyments of her present life to Mrs. Rushton, and if she was not allowed to be much in the company of her adopted mother she thought it was not because she was forgotten, but because Mrs. Rushton was too ill to see her. She believed herself really very greatly beloved by her benefactress, and had begun to love her very much in return. Seeing her lying on her couch, quiet and gentle, making no cruel remarks and laughing no cynical laughs, Hetty had constructed a sort of ideal mother out of the invalid, and endowed her with every lovable and admirable quality. This comfortable little dream had added much to the child's happiness in her life of late; and now she felt a wild alarm at the thought of the increased illness of her protectress.
The doctor came and was shut up in the sick-room, and after some time Grant came out and spoke to the housekeeper, and a messenger was sent off on horseback to Wavertree Hall.
When Grant came back to Mrs. Rushton's door Hetty was there with her face against the panel.
"Oh, Grant, do tell me what is the matter!" she whispered.
"Illness is the matter," said Grant. "There! we don't want children in the way at such times. Go up to your bed, miss. You'll be better there than here."
"I can't go to bed till I know if she is better," said Hetty. "Why have you sent a message to Wavertree?"
But Grant pursed up her lips and would say no more, and Hetty saw her pass into Mrs. Rushton's room and close the door.
The child crept back to the drawing-room, where no lamps had been lighted and there was only a little firelight to make the darkness and emptiness of the large room more noticeable. She knelt down on the hearth-rug and buried her face in the seat of Mrs. Rushton's favourite arm-chair. The dearest of all her dear dogs, Scamp, came and laid his black muzzle beside her ear, as if he knew the whole case and wanted to mourn with her. Two hours passed; Hetty listened intently for every sound, and wondered impatiently why Mr. and Mrs. Enderby did not arrive. She got up and carefully placed some lumps of coal on the fire, making no noise lest some one should come and order her off to bed. She was resolved to stay there all night rather than go to bed without learning something more.
At last a sound of wheels was heard, and Hetty went and peeped out of the drawing-room door and saw Mr. and Mrs. Enderby taking off their wraps in the hall. Their faces were very solemn and they spoke in whispers. She saw them go upstairs, and though longing to follow them, did not dare. Then she retreated back into the drawing-room and buried her face once more in the depths of the chair.
In this position, with Scamp's rough head close to hers, she cried herself to sleep. The wintry dawn was just beginning to show faintly in the room when she was awakened by the sound of voices near her. Chilled and stiff she gathered herself up and rose to her feet; and Scamp also got up and shook himself. Then Hetty saw Mr. and Mrs. Enderby standing in earnest conversation at the window.
They started when they saw her as if she had been a ghost, and Mrs. Enderby exclaimed in a low voice:
"The child! I had quite forgotten her!"
"Yes, there will be trouble here," muttered Mr. Enderby; while Hetty came forward, her face pale and stained with crying, her dress disordered, and her curly hair wild and disarranged. She looked so altered that they scarcely knew her.
"How is she? Oh, Mrs. Enderby, say she is better," cried Hetty, swallowing a sob.
"My dear child," said Mrs. Enderby, "how have you come to be forgotten here, have you not been in bed all night?"
"I stayed here," said Hetty, "I wanted to know; will you not tell me how she is?"
"My child, she is well, I hope, though not as you would wish to see her. It has pleased God to take her away from you."
"Do you mean that she is dead?"
"Yes, my poor Hetty, I am grieved to tell you it is so."
Hetty uttered a sharp cry and turned her back on her friends standing in the window. The gesture was an unmistakable one, and touched the husband and wife. It seemed to say so plainly that she expected nothing from them.
She retreated into the furthest corner of the room and flung herself on the floor, and Scamp, hanging his head and wagging his tail, followed her mournfully, and lay down as close to her as he could.
"Leave her alone awhile," said Mr. Enderby, for his wife had made a movement as if she would follow her; "she is a strange child, and we will give her time to take in the fact of her loss. You must not be hurried into making rash promises through pity; all this brings a great change to the girl, and it is better she should feel it from the first."
The truth was Mrs. Rushton had been dead when her brother and sister-in-law arrived. A sudden attack of fainting had resulted in death. This abrupt termination of her illness was not quite unexpected by herself or her friends, as it was known she had disease of the heart, and the doctors had given warning that such might be her end. However, she herself had not liked to look this probability in the face, and had preferred to dwell on the faint hope held out to her that she might linger on as an invalid for many a year.
CHAPTER IX.
WHAT TO DO WITH HER?
After Mrs. Rushton had been laid to rest in her grave her worldly affairs had to be looked into. She had died possessed of a great deal of property, and her relations were well aware that she had never made a will. Her brother had lately urged her to make a will, but she had always put off the unpleasant task. Now there was nothing to be done but to divide the property among the relatives to whom it reverted by law.
After the funeral her late husband's relations and Mr. Enderby met at Amber Hill and discussed these matters of business.
In the meantime Hetty had been left at Amber Hill in the care of the housekeeper, for Mr. Enderby would not allow his wife to carry her off to Wavertree.
"It would be a mistake," he said, "to begin what we may not think proper to go on with afterwards. If the child comes home with us now she may feel herself aggrieved, later, at being sent away. To act with prudence is our first duty towards her."
So Hetty had been left with the housekeeper, who, being a kind woman in her way, tried to comfort her with cakes and jam. Her only real comfort was her darling Scamp, and with her arms round his shaggy neck she shed many a tear of loneliness and terror. Her heart was full of anxious fears as to what was going to become of her.
She had stolen into the room where the dead woman lay to take her last farewell of her benefactress. Nobody watched there, and Hetty easily found an opportunity for paying her tearful visit. Scamp, who never left her side, accompanied her with a sad solemnity in his countenance, and these were perhaps the two most real mourners whom the wealthy lady had left behind her.
Now all was over, and Mrs. Rushton's room looked vacant and with as little sign of her presence as if she had never inhabited it. The wintry sunshine smiled in at all the windows of her handsome house, and made it cheerful even though the blinds were drawn down. The robins twittered in the evergreens outside, and the maids had their little jokes as usual over their sewing, though they spoke in lowered tones. No great and terrible change seemed to have happened to any one but Hetty, except indeed to Scamp, and it was plain that he suffered only for Hetty's sake.
On the day when Mrs. Rushton's relations met at Amber Hill Hetty sat in the housekeeper's room in a little straw chair at the fire, with Scamp clasped in her arms and her head resting against his. She felt instinctively that her fate was being sealed upstairs. Indeed a few words which had passed between Grant and the housekeeper, and which she had accidentally overheard, assured her that such would be the case.
"If Mrs. Rushton has left her nothing," said Grant, "she'll be out on the world again, as she was before. Mrs. Kane may take her, unless the gentlemen do something for her."
"Mr. Enderby will never allow her to go back to poor Anne Kane," said the housekeeper. "There's many a cheap way of providing for a friendless child, and it wouldn't be fair to put her on a woman that can hardly keep her own little home together."
Hetty's anguish was unspeakable as these words sank into her heart, each one making a wound. She shuddered at the thought of going back to Mrs. Kane, but felt even more horror of those unknown "cheap ways of providing for a friendless child," alluded to by the housekeeper. A perfect sea of tribulation rolled over her head as she bent it in despair, and wept forlornly on Scamp's comfortable neck.
In the meantime, as Hetty surmised, her fate was being decided upstairs. No provision had been made by Mrs. Rushton for the child whom she had taken into her home, petted and indulged, and accustomed to every luxury. The relations of Mrs. Rushton's late husband, who lived at a great distance and had not been on intimate terms with her, were not much impressed by the lady's carelessness of Hetty. But Mr. Enderby, who knew all the circumstances, felt that a wrong had been done.
"Some provision ought to be made for the child," he said; "that is a matter about which there can be no doubt."
"Certainly," said Mr. Rushton, who had inherited most of his sister-in-law's property. "There are cheap schools where girls in her position can be educated according to their station. Afterwards we can see about giving her a trade, millinery and dressmaking, I suppose, or something of that kind."
Mr. Enderby looked troubled. "I do not think that would be quite fair," he said, "I would urge that she should receive a good education. She ought to be brought up a lady, having been so long accustomed to expect it."
"I quite disagree with you," said Mr. Rushton; "there are too many idle ladies in the world. And who is to support her when she is grown up?"
"I do not wish to make her an idle lady," said Mr. Enderby, "but I would fit her to be a governess."
"There are too many governesses; better keep her down to a lower level and teach her to be content to be a tradeswoman. As far as I am concerned, I will consent to nothing better than this for the girl."
"Then we need not speak of it any more," returned Mr. Enderby. "I will take the responsibility of the child upon myself."
Mr. Rushton shrugged his shoulders. "Do as you please," he said, "but remember it is your own choice. If you change your mind, call upon me."
So the matter ended. When the library door opened, and the gentlemen were heard preparing to depart, Hetty flew upstairs and stole into the hall, where Mr. Enderby, who was the last to go, suddenly saw her little white face gazing at him with a dumb anxiety.
"Well, my dear," he said kindly, "how are you getting on?"
"Oh sir, will you please tell me where I am to go to?" implored Hetty.
"Don't fret yourself about that," said Mr. Enderby, buttoning up his coat. "We are not going to let you be lost. You just stay patiently with Mrs. Benson till you hear again from me."
And then he nodded to her and took his departure.
That evening he had a serious conversation with his wife about Hetty Gray.
"I have made up my mind it will be better to bring her here," he said abruptly.
"My dear! is that wise?" exclaimed his wife, thinking with sudden anxiety of Phyllis's great dislike to Hetty, and Hetty's uncompromising pride.
"It is the best plan I can think of, but do not mistake me. If Hetty comes here it will be expressly understood by her and others that she is not to be brought up as my own daughter. She will merely enjoy the security of the shelter of our roof, and will receive a good education such as will fit her to provide, later, for herself."
"Will it be easy to carry out this plan?" asked Mrs. Enderby.
"That I must leave to you, my dear. You are firm enough and wise enough to succeed where others would probably fail. The only alternative that I can think of is to send her to an expensive school where she will certainly not be prepared for the battle of life. As for sending her to a lower style of place, and making a charity girl of her after all that has been done to accustom her to the society of well-bred people, the bare thought of such injustice makes me angry."
Mrs. Enderby looked admiringly at her husband.
"You are right," she said; "and I will try to carry out your plan. It will add greatly to my cares, for I fear Hetty's will be a difficult nature to deal with, especially when she finds herself in so uncertain a position in our house."
The next day Mrs. Enderby drove over to Amber Hill and desired Mrs. Benson to send Hetty to her in the morning-room. When the child appeared she was greatly struck by the traces of suffering on her countenance, and felt renewed anxiety as to the difficulty of carrying out her husband's wishes.
"My child," she said kindly, taking the little girl's hand and drawing her to her knees, "I have a good deal to say to you, and I hope you will try to understand me perfectly."
Hetty gave her one swift upward glance in which there was keen expectation, mingled with more of fear than hope.
"I will try," she whispered.
"You know, my dear, that Mrs. Rushton was very good to you while she lived, yet you had no real claim on her, and now that she is gone you are as much alone as if you had never seen her."
Mrs. Enderby was surprised by Hetty's swift answer.
"More alone," she said, with a stern look in her young face; "for if she had not taken me I could have stayed with Mrs. Kane. I should have loved Mrs. Kane, and now I do not love her."
"There is some truth in all that," said Mrs. Enderby; "but at all events, my dear, you have enjoyed many advantages during the last five or six years. There is no question now of your going back to Mrs. Kane. Mr. Enderby will not allow it."
"Grant says there are cheap ways of providing for friendless children," said Hetty, whose tongue had become dry in her mouth with fear of what might come next.
"Never mind what Grant says," said Mrs. Enderby; "attend only to what I tell you. Mr. Enderby and I have thought deeply over your future, Hetty, and we are really anxious to do what is best for you."
Hetty said nothing. All the powers of her mind were strained in wondering expectation of what she was now going to hear.
"We have been advised to send you to a school where you would be made fit to provide for yourself when you become a woman," continued the lady, "but we have decided to take you into our own house instead; on condition, however, that you try to be industrious and studious. By the time you have grown up, I hope you will be able to make use of the good education we shall give you, and will have learned the value of independence. Do you understand me completely, Hetty? We are going to educate you to be a governess. You shall live in our house and join in the studies of our children, and enjoy the comfort and protection of our home. But of course you cannot look forward to sharing the future of our daughters."
"I understand," said Hetty slowly; and the whole state of the case, in all its bearings, appeared in true colours before her intelligent mind.
"I hope you are satisfied also," said Mrs. Enderby, who was determined, even at the risk of being a little hard, that the child should thoroughly know her place, and learn to be grateful for the protection afforded her. "When you are older, my child, you will comprehend what your elders now know, that my poor sister, Mrs. Rushton, made a great mistake in raising you from the station in which she found you, and showering luxuries upon you as she did. We also see, however, that an injustice was done to you, and that we whom she has left behind her are bound to make amends to you for that. Therefore it is that we are keeping you with ourselves, instead of allowing you to run the risk of being made unhappy by strangers."
For all answer to this Hetty burst into a fit of wild weeping. Her proud little heart was broken at the prospect of returning to Wavertree to be snubbed and humbled by Phyllis, and possibly by servants of the same disposition as Grant. For the moment she could not remember all those worse horrors which her imagination had been conjuring up, and from which she was actually saved. She stood trembling and shaking in the storm of her grief, trying to stem her floods of tears with her quivering little hands, and unable to keep them from raining through her fingers on to the floor.
Mrs. Enderby sighed. Though she could not know all Hetty's thoughts, she guessed some of them, and her heart sank lower than ever at the thought of the trouble which might come of the introduction of so stormy an element into her hitherto peaceful household. However, she was not a woman to flinch from a duty, when once she had made up her mind to recognize it.
"Come, come, my child!" she said, "you have been passing through a great trial, but you must try to be brave and make yourself happy with us."
Had Mrs. Enderby taken poor Hetty in her arms and given her a motherly kiss, much would have been done to heal the wounds made in the child's sensitive heart. But it was part of her plan, conscientiously made, that she must not accustom Hetty to caresses, such as she could not expect to receive later in life. So she only patted her on the shoulder, and, when her passion of crying had a little subsided, bade her run away and get on her things, and be ready as soon as possible to come with her to Wavertree Hall.
CHAPTER X.
THE NEW HOME.
Before going to Amber Hill that day, Mrs. Enderby had sent for her two girls to come to her in her room, where she informed them of the fact that Hetty was coming to the Hall.
"I am going to tell you some news, my children, and I hope you will feel it to be good news. I know my little daughters have kind hearts, and I am sure they will pity one even younger than themselves who has been left without home or protection."
"I suppose you are speaking of Hetty, mother?" said Phyllis.
"Yes, dear. Your father and I have arranged to bring her here."
A faint colour passed over Phyllis's fair pale face, and she said:
"Did Aunt Amy not leave her any money, mother?"
"No; I am sorry to say she did not leave her anything."
"She ought to have done so," said Phyllis.
"Your Aunt Amy was a very peculiar person, Phyllis, and nothing would induce her to make a will. She put off the task too long, and died without fulfilling it."
"Could those who have got her money now not make it all right?" said Phyllis. "Could they not settle some money on her?"
"That would be a difficult matter to arrange, dear. Almost all Mrs. Rushton's property has gone to her husband's brother, who is not a very generous man, I fear, and the rest, which returns to your father, is in trust for his children. He does not feel himself called upon to deprive you of what is lawfully yours in order to give a fortune to a foundling child."
"I would rather give her some of my money than have her here," said Phyllis bluntly.
"You must get over that feeling, Phyllis. It is perhaps a little trial to us all to have a stranger among us, but we will endeavour to be kind, and all will be for the best."
"And is Hetty to be our own, own sister?" said Nell, fixing her blue eyes on her mother's face and speaking for the first time.
"No, my love, not quite. That would not be fair to Hetty, as we cannot make her one of our own children. She will be a companion for you and join in all your studies. But it is to be understood that such advantages are to be given to her only to fit her to be a governess. I am anxious that every one should be good to her, but I do not intend her to have such luxuries as would but prepare her for great unhappiness later on in her life."
"Hetty will never get on with that sort of thing," said Phyllis. "She is too proud and too impertinent."
"My dear Phyllis, I believe she has a good heart; and she has been, and will be, severely tried. Any failure of generosity on the part of my good little girl will disappoint me sadly."
Phyllis closed her lips with an expression which meant that for reasons of propriety she would say no more, but that nothing could prevent her from feeling that justice and right were on her side; that she had a better apprehension of the matter in question than mother or father, or any one in the world.
When Hetty arrived that afternoon she was led straight into the school-room, where tea was just ready, Mrs. Enderby judging that it would be well to set her to work at once, giving her no time for moping. When she appeared, looking pale and sad in her black frock, her eyes heavy and red with weeping, even Phyllis was touched, and the school-room tea was partaken of in peace and almost in silence. Hetty was so full of the recollection of the last time she had been brought in here by Mrs. Enderby, and so conscious of the change that had come upon her since then, that she could scarcely raise her eyes for fear of crying. Nell kept pushing cakes and bread and butter before her, Phyllis made general remarks in a softer tone than usual, and Miss Davis, who perhaps understood Hetty's position better, and sympathized more with her, than any of the rest, could think of nothing better to say to the forlorn child than to ask her occasionally if she would like some more sugar in her tea.
After tea Phyllis and Nell set to work to prepare their lessons for the next day, and Hetty was thankful to have a book placed before her, and a lesson appointed for her to learn. It was a page in the very beginning of a child's English history, and Hetty read it over and over again till she had the words almost by heart without in the least having taken in their sense. Her thoughts were busy all the time with the looks and words of her companions, and with going back over all that had occurred that day. Phyllis had been gentler than she expected. Perhaps she was not going to be unkind any more. It was a good thing after all to be obliged to sit over books, as it would prevent her being talked to more than she could bear. Nell was very kind. Would Phyllis allow her to be always kind? She had remarked at the first moment that the frocks of the two other girls were made of finer stuff than hers, and were trimmed with crape. Mrs. Benson had got her her mourning-frock, and had got it, of course, as inexpensive as she thought fit under the circumstances.
"Of course they wear crape," thought Hetty, "because Mrs. Rushton was their aunt. She was nothing to me, after all, except my mistress. Grant used to say things like that and I would not believe her. She was right when she said I was only a charity child."
Phyllis and Nell were accustomed to go to the drawing-room for an hour or two in the evening after their father and mother had dined, and on this occasion Hetty was invited to accompany them. It was not Mrs. Enderby's intention that she should always do so, but she considered that it would be well to include her to-night.
The last evening spent by Hetty in the drawing-room at the Hall was that one on which she had entertained the company with her mimicries. Then, full of pride and delight in her own powers of giving amusement, she had felt herself in a position to despise all disapproval and dislike. Now, how was she fallen! Yet Mr. and Mrs. Enderby received her kindly, and paid her as much attention as if she had been an ordinary visitor.
When bed-time came she was taken, not to the pretty room she had occupied when last in the house, but to a neat little plain chamber which was to be henceforth her own. It was not on the same landing with the bed-rooms of Phyllis and Nell, as she was quick to remark, but at the end of a long passage off which were the upper maids' bed-rooms, a fact which stabbed her pride.
It was, however, a nice little room, placed above the passage and ascended to by a few steps, and it had a picturesque lattice window, embowered in ivy and passion-flowers. She had hardly comforted herself by observing this when she was overcast again by a fresh and unpleasant discovery. Her trunk, which had been sent after her by Mrs. Benson, had already been unpacked and her things disposed of in a wardrobe. But, alas! all her handsome clothing had disappeared. Her velvet and silk frocks trimmed with lace and fur, her sashes and necklaces, silk stockings and shoes with fantastic rosettes, these and numbers of other treasures were no longer to be seen in her room. A sufficient quantity of plain underclothing, a black frock to change the one she wore, a black hat and jacket, and one or two of her plainest white frocks, these were all that remained of the possessions which had but yesterday been hers.
When she had recovered herself sufficiently after this disappointment to be able to look around the chamber, she saw that her desk and work-box, and some of her favourite story-books, had been placed on a table at the window. These she was glad to see, and recovering her spirits began to remember that after all she had now no right to any of those costly articles which she had been allowed to use during Mrs. Rushton's lifetime. As she was to live henceforth a humble dependent in this house she could have no further need of such luxuries. She had remarked that Phyllis and Nell were always simply dressed, and yet they had more right to finery than she had.
Hetty had sufficient good sense to know all this without being told. Her peculiar experiences had sharpened her reasoning faculties and made her keenly observant of what passed before her, and had also given her an unusually acute perception of the meanings and influences floating in the atmosphere about her from other people's thoughts and words. Child as she was, she was able to take, for a moment, Mrs. Enderby's view of her own position, and admitted that the kind yet cold lady had acted justly in depriving her of useless things. Yet her wilful heart longed for the prettinesses that she loved, and she wept herself to sleep grieving for their loss, and for the greater loss which it typified.
The next morning her head was aching and her eyes redder than ever when she appeared in the school-room, and she seemed more sullen and less meek than she had been yesterday. She could not fix her mind on the lesson Miss Davis gave her to learn, and made a great display of her ignorance when questioned on general subjects. All this was not improving to her spirits, and in becoming more unhappy she grew more irritable. Miss Davis felt her patience tried by the troublesome new pupil, and Phyllis eyed her with strong disapproval over the edges of her book. Phyllis loved order, regularity, good conduct, and in her opinion Hetty was an intolerably disagreeable interruption of the routine of their school-room life.
That was a bad day altogether. Some friends of Mr. and Mrs. Enderby were dining with them, and when the school-room tea was over Phyllis and Nell told Miss Davis that their mother wished them to come to the drawing-room for a short time. Hetty looked up, as she thought herself included in the invitation; but Miss Davis, who had received general instructions from Mrs. Enderby, said to her quietly:
"You will stay here with me, Hetty, for this evening."
Hetty flushed crimson and her pride was kindled in an instant. She was not to go to the drawing-room any more, because she was only a charity child. Tears rushed into her eyes, but she forced them back and pretended to be very busy with a book. After the other girls had been gone some time Miss Davis said:
"I am going to my own room for half an hour, Hetty, and I suppose you can amuse yourself with your book till I come back."
When left alone Hetty flung away her book, went down on her face on the hearth-rug, and cried with all her might. She thought of evenings when she had tripped about gaily in Mrs. Rushton's drawing-room and every one was glad to see her. Now, it seemed, she must live all alone in a school-room. She forgot that she had ever been unhappy with Mrs. Rushton, ever been left alone, or snubbed or neglected in her house; for Hetty, like many other people, old and young, lost all her excellent power of reasoning when overmastered by passion. In the old time she had been happy, she thought, cared for, loved, made much of. Now she was beloved by nobody, not even for an hour.
In her desolation she could not think of any creature that loved her except Scamp, the dog who had been her only comfort since this trouble had befallen her; and he was left behind at Amber Hill. She had begged to be allowed to bring him with her to Wavertree, but Mr. Enderby objected, saying that there were already too many dogs about the place.
As soon as Miss Davis returned to the school-room Hetty asked to be allowed to go to bed.
"I have just been looking out some materials for needlework for you," said Miss Davis. "It is quite time you learned to sew; I hope you will find amusement in the occupation. However, if you are tired you may go to bed. As a rule the girls do not go to bed till nine o'clock."
Hetty shuddered as she looked at the needle-work which was prepared for her. In her eyes it was only a new instrument of torture. She did not even know how to hold a needle; she did not want to know. Mrs. Rushton had never been seen sewing; it was only the maids who had any occasion to sew.
"I hate sewing," said Hetty despairingly.
"Then you must learn to like it," said Miss Davis briskly; "little girls are not allowed to hate anything that is useful, especially little girls who must look forward to providing for themselves in the world by their own exertions. But go to bed now. Tomorrow I hope you will be in a better humour."
And Hetty vanished.
CHAPTER XI.
HETTY TURNS REBEL.
Hetty cried herself to sleep as she had done the night before, and her last thought was of Scamp. About the middle of the night she had a dream in which she fancied that Scamp's paws were round her neck, and that he was barking in her ear his delight at seeing her. The barking went on so long that it wakened her, for it was real barking that had caused the dream.
Hetty sat up in her bed and listened. Surely that was Scamp's bark, loud, sharp, and impatient, as if he was saying, "Where's Hetty? I want Hetty. I will not go away till I have found Hetty." In the stillness of the night it sounded to the lonely child like the voice of a dear friend longing to comfort her. She jumped out of bed, threw open the window, and listened again. Could it be that he had found the way from Amber Hill, and come so many miles to look for her? Darling old Scamp, was it possible he loved her so much? Yes, it was indeed his voice; he was outside the house, almost under her window, and she must and would go down and take him in.
She opened the door cautiously and went out into the passage. The barking was not heard so distinctly here, and she hoped that no one would hear it but herself. How dreadful if somebody should go and beat him away before she could reach him! She pattered down-stairs with her little bare feet and made her way through the darkness to the great hall door. But she had forgotten how great and heavy that door was, and had not thought of the chain that hung across it at night, and the big lock in which she could not turn the key. Scamp heard her trying to open the door, and barked more joyfully. Unable to unfasten this door she made her way to another at the back of the house, and, withdrawing a bolt, she stood in the doorway, her little white night-dress blowing in the winter's night air, and her bare feet on the stones of the threshold.
"Scamp, Scamp!" she called in a soft voice, and, wonderful to tell, he heard her and came flying round the house.
"Oh, Scampie, dear, have you come, and do you really love me still?" whispered Hetty as the dog leaped into her arms, and she clasped his paws round her neck and kissed his shaggy head.
Scamp uttered a few short rapturous exclamations and licked her face and hands all over.
"But you must be very quiet," she said, "or you will wake the house and we shall be caught. Come now, lovie, and I'll hide you in my own room."
She closed the door as quietly as possible and crept upstairs again, carrying the dog hugged in her arms.
As she stole along the passage to her room, one of the maids whispered to another who was sleeping in the room with her:
"Oh, I have heard a great noise down-stairs, and one of the dogs was barking. And just now I am sure I heard feet in the passage."
"Some one has got into the house then," said the other maid listening.
"Oh, lie still, don't get up!" said the first maid. "It must be burglars."
"I will go and waken the men," said the other courageously. And down-stairs she went and wakened the butler and footman. Soon they were all searching the house, the butler armed with a gun, the others with large pokers. No burglars were to be found, and the butler was very cross at having been called out of his bed for nothing at all.
The maids persisted that some one had been in the house, some one who must have escaped while they were giving the alarm. Mr. Enderby heard the noise and came out of his room and learned the whole story. After an hour of searching and questioning and discussion all went to bed again, everybody blaming everybody else for the silly mistake that had been made.
Next morning Hetty slept long and soundly after her midnight adventure, and when the maid who called her went into her room she was astonished to see a dog's head on the pillow by the sleeping child. Scamp put up his nose and barked at the intruder, and Hetty wakened.
"Laws, Miss Hetty, you are a strange little girl," said the maid, who was the very girl who had alarmed the house during the night. "How ever did you get a dog into your room?"
"It's only Scamp, my own Scamp, and he wouldn't hurt anybody," said Hetty; "please don't beat him away, Lucy. He came in the middle of the night trying to find me, and I took him in. Perhaps Mrs. Enderby will let me keep him now."
"That I am sure she will not," said Lucy. "You naughty little girl. And so it was you who disturbed the house last night, frightening us all out of our senses, and getting me scolded for giving an alarm. Wait till Mr. Enderby hears about it."
"You are very unkind," said Hetty; "as if I could help his coming in the night-time!"
"And I suppose you could not help letting him into the house and taking him into your bed?" said Lucy scornfully.
"No, I couldn't," said Hetty. "And you can go and tell Mr. Enderby as soon as you please."
At this Lucy flounced out of the room quite determined to complain of the enormity of Hetty's conduct.
When the little girl appeared in the school-room with Scamp following at her heels she was not in the best of tempers, and held her chin very high in the air. Miss Davis met her with a stern face.
"Hetty, what is this I hear of you? How could you dare to bring a strange dog into the house in the middle of the night?"
"It wasn't a strange dog; it was Scamp," said Hetty, putting on her most defiant air. "I don't think it was any harm to let him in."
"Not, though I tell you it was?" said Miss Davis.
"No," said Hetty.
"Then I must ask Mrs. Enderby to talk to you," said Miss Davis. "Meantime the dog cannot stay here while we are at breakfast."
And she rang the bell.
"Tell Thomas to come and fetch this dog away to the stable-yard," she said to the maid who answered the bell.
"Scamp always stayed in the room with me at Amber Hill," said Hetty, two red spots burning in her cheeks.
"You must learn to remember that you are no longer at Amber Hill," said Miss Davis.
Phyllis and Nell now came into the school-room and looked greatly surprised at sight of the dog, Hetty's angry face, and Miss Davis's looks of high displeasure. They took their places in silence at the breakfast table.
"I am not likely to forget it," retorted Hetty bitterly. "At Amber Hill everybody was kind to me. Nobody is kind here."
"You are a most ungrateful girl," said Miss Davis. "What would have become of you if Mr. and Mrs. Enderby had not been kind?"
At this moment Thomas entered.
"Take away that dog to the stable-yard," said Miss Davis.
Hetty threw her arms round Scamp's neck and clung to him.