CHAPTER XVII.
NEW RESPONSIBILITIES.
This was the beginning of July. Towards the end the school would breakup and the holidays would begin. The young Singletons were going to theseaside, and every one was about to have a merry-making of one sort oranother.
In the past Irene and her mother had lived on in a dull sort of fashionat The Follies. Lady Jane had never the heart to leave home, thereforeIrene knew nothing of the delights of traveling. But as the timeapproached for the holidays Rosamund spoke once or twice of the funwhich ought to be before them.
"Where would you like to go?" she said to her young friend. "There areever so many places where you can have amusement--you and Lady Jane."
"You want to tame me down," said Irene. "I don't think I can bealtogether tamed. There is something in me here"--and she put her handon her breast--"a wild sort of thing that will assert itself now andthen. I can't help myself. I can't, for instance, sit still in adrawing-room, or be a very good little girl in church, finding out thehymns and the lessons for the day, and the right psalms. I could notteach in the Sunday-school--no, I couldn't, for all the world. I coulddo none of those things, because I have a wild living creature thatseems to be inside me. I don't know what it means; I don't understand itmyself. It is rampant when you are not here; but when you are presentit stays quiet mostly, just because I love you. That is the wholereason."
"Aren't you very much happier since I came to you?" said Rosamund.
The two girls were pacing up and down in front of the lake, about a weekbefore the holidays were to begin.
Meanwhile, at Sunnyside, school had recommenced. It is true that Jane,far too delicate to resume her lessons, was away at the seaside; butLucy, Laura, Annie Millar, Phyllis Flower, and Agnes Sparkes had allreturned to their studies. Miss Archer and Mademoiselle Omont were alsovery much to the fore. The kind Bretts had found rooms for the twogovernesses at Dartford; but they could not manage to take them inthemselves. The girls had therefore gone, after a certain manner,through their lessons; but now the holidays were approaching.
"What a queer term it has been!" said Rosamund, talking to Irene as theywalked by the water-side. "I, who belonged to the Merrimans' party,spending all my time with you; you working hard at your daily lessonsand enjoying them; Miss Frost and Miss Carter the best of friends, andmeeting Sunday after Sunday; and you having quite a fancy--yes, and morethan a fancy--for Maud Singleton!"
"I am fond of her," said Irene, "just because she is like yourself, sobrave. I wanted brave people. I never came across a brave person until Imet you."
"Well, now we have to think of the holidays," said Rosamund. "I havesomething to tell you, Irene. You have been good--very good; but all ourgoodness is worth nothing until it has been tried. Yours has not beentried yet."
"What do you mean by that?" said Irene, in some terror, raising herlovely, wild, bright eyes to Rosamund's face.
"Well, it hasn't, darling--has it?"
"I don't understand. I can't tell you what an effort it has been not tocollect worms and toads, and frogs and newts, and wasps and bees, andblue-bottles and spiders. I did so adore frightening the servants,particularly James; and there are such heaps of darling wasps thisseason. I just longed to stick one down his neck; but I refrained when Ilooked at you."
"You ought not even to speak of these things; they mean downrightcruelty, and aren't the least bit funny."
"Aren't they, now? Are you sure? They used to seem very funny to me--theway James used to start at table; because I generally managed, when heattended, to put a spider on my plate when I handed it to him. I used tokeep a little collection of them in my handkerchief, and generallypopped one on my plate; and he used always to say 'Oh!' and he wouldgenerally drop and break the plate, which was a valuable china one, andmother was quite annoyed."
"Well, all those things are past. We needn't talk of them any more. Iwant to know what you are going to do in the holidays."
"What are you going to do, Rose?"
"I am very sorry, Irene, but I am afraid I must go away from you. I haveto visit my parents; and there is something else they want me to do.They want me to go back to the Merrimans' school in the autumn, and staythere for at least a term. They say that in no other way can I get overthe disgrace of having, as it were, run away from school. I don't mind abit having done that, for I know that you wanted me; but I think I oughtto go back to the Merrimans' for at least a term."
"Even with Lucy, odious creature?"
"Well, now, you don't know her."
"But you do; and do you like her?"
"I can't honestly say that I do."
"It is Sunday to-morrow; can't we both go to church, and then I can lookat Lucy in the distance and see what I think of her?"
"You ought not to go to church in that spirit."
"Well, perhaps something else will happen. Maud Singleton is alwaysasking me to go to church. I think I will, if you will come with me. Wecan go to the evening service. I have never been. Maud says I wouldn'tfeel so like a changeling if I could pray like other people, and singhymns like other people. But then I'm sure I can't. May we sit near thedoor, and if I feel it impossible to remain quiet any longer, do youmind if I rush out?"
"We will certainly go to church, and we can sit near the door, and youshall rush out if you feel inclined, and I will come with you," saidRosamund. "But this is rather starting away from our question. What doyou want to do during the holidays? You wouldn't, for instance, think ofspending them with the Singletons at the seaside?"
"I will tell you another time," said Irene. "I can't make up my mind onthat point quite so soon. Now, let us come in, and you shall read mesome more from those wonderful _Arabian Nights_ fairy-tales. They are sobeautiful; I feel they were written for me. Afterwards we will have HansAndersen."
"For my part, I like Hans Andersen best," said Rosamund.
The two girls went towards the house. Rosamund read, as was her wont,for half-an-hour to Irene, during which time that young person grew verysleepy, and soon afterwards went away to bed. Rosamund was about tofollow her when Lady Jane came into the room.
"My dear Rose," she said, "I have had a letter from your mother. Shesays that you are to join them in Switzerland during the first week ofthe holidays. I suppose you wouldn't think it possible that Irene and Ishould accompany you?"
"I should like it very much," said Rosamund. "But I don't know thatmother would think it quite fair. Mother is not accustomed to a girllike Irene, and although she is wonderfully good to what she used to be,you can scarcely call her a good girl yet--not an ordinary good girl, Imean."
"I suppose not, but she is quite sweet to me. Only I feel certain thatwhen your influence is withdrawn we shall have the old dreadful thingsoccurring again."
"I don't think so, indeed. But do tell me what mother has said."
"She says that you are to go back to the Merrimans' for the next term;but after that you can come and live with us if we want you. Shesuggested that we should take a house for the winter in town, so thatyou and Irene should have the advantage of the best masters possible tobe obtained, and the best literature classes, and the best concerts. Iam quite agreeable, for I am tired of living at The Follies."
"You ought to take Irene away for the holidays, and of course Miss Frostwill go with you," said Rosamund. "I wish I could stay. I would with aheart and a half; but I know father and mother would be terribly putout."
"I feel very despondent," said Lady Jane; "for although Irene is verymuch improved, there is a lot of the old nature in her still; and whenyou are gone, even the Singletons will be away, for they are going tothe seaside for the month of August--to Herne Bay, I believe. We shallhave no one at home, and Irene and I alone at the seaside would make aterrible pair."
"I will write to mother. Something ought to be done," said Rosamund verythoughtfully. "Leave it to me," she continued. "What I have beenthinking is this: that Irene ought to come with me to the Merrimans' forone term."
/> "You mean that I am to part with her--that she is not to live with me?Besides, would the Merrimans take a child with such a character?"
"She is quite a good character now, and it would be just the very thing.It would be the making of her. Then, perhaps, afterwards we might gotogether to a good foreign school and learn languages properly. I amsure it would do her a lot of good. But I will think about theholidays."
Rosamund felt rather old and worn. A very heavy burden had been laid onher young shoulders. She, a girl of only fifteen years of age, was moreor less responsible for the entire life, the entire future, of abrilliant little sprite like Irene Ashleigh.
The next day was Sunday, and it arose in great beauty and majesty. Thesun shone out of a cloudless sky, the flowers bloomed everywhere, thebirds sang, the heat was excessive, the gardens looked their best.Visitors came and went. Irene, no longer in the objectionable red frock,but now dressed as a pretty young girl of her age ought to be dressed,walked by Rosamund's side and chatted about books, about music, aboutall sorts of things, the existence of which she had scarcely known a fewweeks ago. Her intellect was of such a keen and brilliant order that shegrasped knowledge almost as easily as she imbibed her food. Rosamundfelt more and more proud of her.
"With such talent and such beauty, what might she not aspire to?"thought the elder girl. The younger looked at her with a light in hereyes.
"What are you thinking about, Rose?" she said.
"I was wondering about something. You have promised to come to churchwith me this evening. I will tell you after church."
Rosamund went away to her room, and there she sat down and wrote a longletter to her mother. She did not tell any one the contents of thatletter; but it took her a long time to write, and when she had finishedher cheeks were flushed and her eyes brighter than ever.
At last the sweet bells ringing out the time for evening service smoteupon the summer air, and the two girls, in their white dresses, startedoff to walk to the pretty church, which was in reality not far away.Irene had not been in church since she was a tiny child, when she hadscreamed loudly, uttered naughty words, declared that the clergyman hadno right to come in in his night-gown, and, in short, disgraced herselfso thoroughly that she was carried out amidst a tempest of tears andprotestations.
Now the older and wiser Irene, beautifully dressed all in white, lookingmore like an angel than a naughty, wayward, disagreeable girl, enteredthe old building and sat down near Rosamund in a pew at the end of thechurch. One of the churchwardens invited the two young people to come uphigher; but Rosamund requested to be left where they were, and presentlythe rest of the congregation streamed in.
Irene was all excitement. She was, in fact, trembling all over. Thequiet grayness and the age of the building impressed her, she knew notwhy. Then the boys in their white surplices excited her wonder; then shewatched the congregation. The Singletons, as usual, were in their simplewhite and green; as usual their beautiful fair hair flowed down theirbacks; as usual they walked up the old aisle in pairs, two, and two, andtwo; and last of all came Miss Carter.
"She doesn't look nice at all," said Irene to herself.
"How well I remember all about her: that rather crooked back of hers,those sloping shoulders, that ill-made dress, and that hat put on alwaysat the wrong angle. She is rather like Frosty. I wonder why I never hada stylish governess? But I'd have hated her worse than ever. Well, now Ihave got Rosamund--my dear, darling Rosamund--and she is beautiful aswell as good."
Irene gazed with adoring eyes at her friend. Miss Frost was not presentat the evening service.
By-and-by the Merriman party made their appearance, and took their seatsin the large square family pew. There was the Professor, with hisslightly bent figure and his white hair; there was Mrs. Merriman, roundand cherubic, looking as though no care had ever troubled her; and therewas Lucy, fair almost as the Singletons, with that particularly primface which aggravated Rosamund, and which would certainly drive Irene todistraction. None of these three even glanced at Rosamund Cunliffe andher friend; but when Laura Everett and one or two other girls appeared,they did see the pair seated in a pew all alone at the end of thechurch, and Laura nodded with a bright glance at Rosamund, who coloredwith pleasure in reply.
"Is that stiff un, all prunes and prisms, Lucy?" whispered Irene in aloud voice.
"I'll talk to you afterwards," said Rosamund. "The service is going tobegin. This is the right place. I will find all your places for youto-night. You will find the service so nice. Remember, we are here topray to God, and not to think evil of our fellow-creatures."
"You're getting quite too goody-goody," laughed Irene in an excitedvoice.
The service began; the music, of the simplest kind, but quite sweet andtrue, filled the little church. Irene fidgeted, turned first white, thenred, and finally, grasping Rosamund's arm, said in a choking voice, "Idon't like it. I can't stand the music. The wild, wild thing in me isjust as though it would tear me in pieces. I must get out. Come! Youpromised to come with me."
Rosamund took her eccentric young friend outside the church.
"What is the matter, Irene? You ought to try to control yourself."
"I do as a rule. I am much better as a rule; but it came over me inchurch how proper people were, and they all of them talk about beingmiserable sinners, and every one looks so good and righteous, andknowing down deep in their hearts that every single one of them is amiserable sinner, except your darling, precious self; and they allrepeat the words, not feeling them a bit. I couldn't be like that. Ifthey'd all lie flat on their faces, and cry and tear their hair, or doanything to show that they were really sorry, I could sympathize withthem. But I can't sympathize with the proper sort of people who fill avillage church."
"They have learned to control themselves. They very likely do feel thatthey are miserable sinners in the sight of God. We must learn not tojudge people. Oh, Irene, what am I to do with you? What will you do whenI am gone?"
"I know what I will do when you are away," said Irene. "I have thoughtit all out. I'll have a wild, wild time. I have been good long enough.I'll go back to my frogs and toads and leeches, and spiders and waspsand bees. I'll terrify the servants again, and scare mother, and sendFrosty off her head. That's what I'll do; and I'll wear my little reddress, and I'll get Frosty into the middle of the lake, and I'll makeher promise to go away, and if she refuses to go--I know she won't, foreven those children won't keep her when such a thing as that is thoughtof"----
"Oh, I have such a splendid thought!" said Rosamund suddenly. "Supposeyou make Frosty happy instead of miserable? You can if you like. Supposeyou allow her to ask the two children, Agnes and Hughie, to spend theholidays at The Follies?"
"The two children--Frosty's two children?"
"Yes, her little brother and sister. She was telling me the other dayshe didn't know what to do with them. It would be such a splendidopportunity, and there is really no necessity whatever for you to leaveThe Follies. You could be there, and they would look up to you. Theydon't know that you are naughty--they need never know. I would be withyou for the first two or three days, for their different schools breakup before most schools, so they could come next week, and I could helpyou with them. What do you think? You wouldn't be without companions,and it would be a tremendous trust to repose in you, Irene. Do you thinkyou would be worthy of it?"
"These were those words the clergyman said--Mr. Singleton, I mean--'Iwill arise and go to my Father, and will say unto Him: Father, I havesinned.' They made such a lump come in my throat; and when you talk tome a great lump comes in my throat too, and I feel that I have donenothing but sin all my life. Oh, I can't be sure of myself; that's aboutthe end of the matter, Rosamund."
"I know--I know!" said Rosamund. "I know it is very hard; but then,anything worth living for is hard; and you have done so much that iswrong, it would be a splendid thing to turn over a new leaf now. Do youknow what I have further in my mind? You know that I am to go back tothe Merrimans' next
term, but only till Christmas, and I want yourmother to let you come with me. The Merrimans want another governess, soFrosty could come; and perhaps her little sister Agnes could be anotherpupil. Everything can be arranged if only you will promise to be good."
"But you weren't good yourself while you were at the Merrimans'. How canyou expect me to be?"
"We'll keep each other good. When I am inclined to be naughty you shallcorrect me, and when you are inclined to be naughty I will correct you.We will arrange to sleep in the same room. Shall we try it, Irene--shallwe?"
Irene paused for a minute. There were tears in her eyes. After a momentshe said, "How long is it since I have known you?"
"About six or seven weeks."
"It seems like quite that number of years. I never can believe thatthere could have been a time when I didn't know you. I know you, oh, sowell now, and I love you so much! You have done a great deal for me."
"I don't pretend that I haven't, Irene. But I must do what my father andmother want during the holidays. I do think it would be a splendid planto ask little Hughie and Agnes to spend August at The Follies. I wonderwhat Frosty would say? Let us ask her after supper."
Irene flung her arms round Rosamund's neck.
"I don't quite promise to be good," she said; "but I'll do my best. Iwill do it for your sake, more particularly if you will promise that youwill be with us for the first few days."
"Yes, I'll be with you for the first week. They could come early nextweek, and I am not going away until the week after."
"Oh! don't talk about it; it is too horrible. Let us come into thefields and talk about ourselves."
The two girls did walk together, and it was Irene's turn to tellRosamund some of the wild and fanciful fairy-tales which she was alwaysmaking up. But she could never be still very long, and in the midst ofher most earnest and fascinating stories she would rush from one end ofthe field to the other, or turn a somersault, or climb a tree and lookdown at Rosamund with her laughing, mocking face from the midst of thebranches. But then again she would be good, and come back and say thatthe wicked little living thing inside her was quiet for the time being.
"I wonder if it will ever go away?" she said. "If it were gone I'd bemuch like other girls; but as long as it is there I can't be like anygirl--I can't."
"There is such a thing as praying to God to take it away. But perhaps itis never meant to go," said Rosamund.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Perhaps it is a very beautiful gift that God has given you--somethingthat you can't quite control at present, but something which will makeyou by-and-by different from others: more earnest, more enthusiastic,more full of spirit, more full of zeal. You have set your face steadilytowards everything that has been naughty. You don't know yourself. Justtell that thing, as you call it, inside you that you are going up, notdown, in future, and see if it won't behave itself and help you all thetime."
"I wonder if it will?" said Irene. "It is a good thought."