is half-a-crown, and you needn'thurry about my things. Good-bye, Susie. Do go into the park if youcan."
Susan nodded. She felt so grateful to Annie, and so excited, that shecould not speak. With the book tucked under her arm, Annie flewdownstairs.
She was much annoyed at being intercepted in the passage by Mrs Martin.
"I do 'ope, miss," said that poor woman, "that you ain't been 'ard on mygirl. She does do her very best; for, what with the unpickin' of yourold dresses, and what with tryin' to turn 'em into new ones, it don'tseem as though it were worth while. You pays her very little, miss; andwhat with never givin' her anythin' new, it don't seem worth thetrouble, that it don't."
"Oh! I am so sorry," said Annie, who in her moment of victory wasinclined to be kind to any one; "but, you see, I take an interest inSusan for other matters. She is not well, and she wants rest. I am soglad to have some one to alter my old things, and if I did not give thework to Susan, I should have to employ a girl I know at home. But Iwill try--I really will--to give her some new plain cotton dresses tomake for me later on. In the meantime, Mrs Martin, I have beenrecommending her to go for a walk in the park. She has great talent,and her life ought not to be sacrificed."
"There, miss!" said Mrs Martin, putting her arms akimbo and looking withgreat dissatisfaction at Annie. "It's _you_ as encourages her inscribblin' of that poetic stuff. Never did I hear such rubbish in allmy born days. If it wasn't for you, miss, she would burn all the stuffinstead of sittin' up a-composin' of it. What with sunsets, anddeathbeds, and heartaches, and green grass, and other nonsense, I don'tknow where I be when I listen to her words; I don't really. I seeyou've got the book under your arm now, miss; and I do wish you'd burnit--that I do!"
"It would hurt her very much indeed if I did," said Annie; for a furtherthought had darted through her brain at Mrs Martin's words. Here wouldbe an easy way to hide her own deed for ever and ever. If Mrs Martinsanctioned the burning of her daughter's book, surely Annie's wickedscheme would be concealed for ever.
"I agree with you," said Annie, "that it is bad for poor Susan to writeso much poetry. Her heart is set on it, I know; still, if youdisapprove--"
"That I do, miss; I wish you'd give me the book now, and I'll keep itunder lock and key."
"No, no," said Annie eagerly. "Don't do that on any account whatever.I have thought of a much better plan. She has lent me the book, for Ipromised to read her poems, poor girl! and to talk them over with afriend of mine. I need not give them back to her for the present."
"Oh, miss! I'd be _that_ grateful if you'd keep them altogether."
"I don't see that I can quite do that. Still, if you wish it--"
"I do, miss; that I do."
"Well, good-bye for the present. You mustn't keep me now, as I am in agreat hurry."
Mrs Martin moved aside, and once more Annie pursued her way up the dustyroad. The postern door presented no hindrance when she reached it, andby-and-by, with a sigh of relief, she found herself in the cool shade ofthe grounds. How inviting looked that hammock under the trees! But shehad not a moment of time to indulge in rest just then. Unperceived byany one, she managed to reach her room. She locked the door. She madea quick selection from poor Susan's verses. She then calmly dressed,washed her face and hands, and when early dinner was announced, took herplace at table.
The girls were all pleased to see her, and when she assured them thatshe was as well as ever they all congratulated her. Priscilla Weir satat table near Annie. Priscilla was not looking well. The headachewhich Annie pretended to have was in reality possessed by poorPriscilla. She was easily startled, too, and changed colour when anyone addressed her in a hurry.
Towards the end of the meal, as the girls were about to leave the room,she bent towards Annie and said:
"Is it really true that Mabel Lushington is going to read some poems atfour o'clock this afternoon?"
"She is going to read some of her _own_ poems. Why not?" said Annie.She spoke defiantly.
"Her own poems?" echoed Priscilla, a world of scorn in her voice.
"Yes. Why not?" said Annie.
Priscilla was silent for a minute. Then she said in a very low voice:
"I know how clever you are; but even your genius cannot rise to this. Ihave seen you struggle to make even the slightest rhyme when we havebeen playing at making up verses. You can't manage this."
"Never mind," said Annie. She jumped up almost rudely. The next minuteshe had seized Mabel by the arm. "We have half-an-hour. Come with meat once to my room."
Mabel did so. When they reached the room Annie locked the door.
"Now then," she said, "who's a genius? I said I would find a way out.Sit down immediately before my desk and write what I tell you."
"Oh Annie, what do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I say, and the fewer questions you ask the better.I will dictate the poem, and you shall copy it."
"But--but," said Mabel, turning from red to white--"it isn't, I hope,from a printed book. I have thought of that I have been so frightfullymiserable that I've thought of everything; but that would be so terriblyunsafe."
"This is not unsafe at any rate," said Annie, "Now you begin. Writewhat I tell you."
Annie's look of triumph and her absolutely fearless manner impressedMabel. She wrote as best she could to Annie's dictation, and soon twoof poor Susan Martin's attempts at verse were copied in Mabel's writing.
"There you are!" said Annie. "That `sunset' one will take the cake, andthat pretty little one about `my favourite cat' will come home to everyone."
"But I haven't a favourite cat," said Mabel, "and why ever should Iwrite about it?"
"Did you never in the whole course of your life," was Annie's answer,"hear of a poet's licence? You can write on anything, you know, if youare a poet."
"Can I?" replied Mabel. "Then I suppose the cat will do."
"It will do admirably."
"I hope," said Mabel, "they won't question me afterwards about theanimal. It sounds exactly as though it were my own cat, and every onein the school knows that I can't even touch a cat."
"What a pity you didn't tell me that before," said Annie, "and I wouldhave chosen something else! But there's no time now; we must flydownstairs immediately."
"You are clever, Annie. I can't think how you got these poems. But the`sunset' one sounds dreadful too. I never even looked at a sunset. Andthen there's the thoughts about dying--as if--as if I _could_ knowanything of that."
"You must read them as pathetically as you can," said Annie, "and makethe best of a bad job. I believe they'll go down admirably. Now then,fold them up and put them away; and don't let's be found closetedtogether here." Sharp at four that afternoon Mabel appeared before herassembled schoolfellows and read--it must be owned rather badly--firstsome "Lines to a Favourite Cat," and then "Thoughts on the Sunset." Thepoems were not poetry in any sense of the word; nevertheless, there wasa vague sort of far-off suggestion of poetry about them. It is true thegirls giggled at the thought of Mabel and her cat, and were notspecially impressed by the violet and rose tints of the sunset, or bythe fact that florid, large, essentially living-looking Mabel shouldtalk of her last faint breath, and of the time when she lay pale andstill and was a corse.
She read the lines, however, and they seemed thoroughly genuine. Whenshe had finished she looked at her companions.
"Well, I'd like to say, `I'm blowed!'" said Agnes; while ConstanceSmedley, the head-girl of the school, said in a low tone:
"I congratulate you, Mabel; and I'm very much surprised. There is nosaying what you will do in the future, only I hope you won't speak ofdead people as corses, for I dislike the term."
"And of course after this," said a merry, round-faced girl who hadhitherto not spoken, "we will expect to have further lines on pussie,poor, pussie; and, oh, Mabel, _what_ a cheat you are! And you alwayssaid you loathed cats!"
At this instant one of the youngest girls in the
school rushed up andflung a tabby-cat into Mabel's lap. The cat was large; a very roughspecimen of the race. Being angry at such treatment, it unsheathed allits claws. Mabel shrieked with terror, and flung the poor animal asidewith great vehemence.
"Oh, poor pussie, poor pussie!" laughed the others; "but she loves youall the same.
"When pussy comes, so sleek and