*CHAPTER VI.*
*"HE WEREN'T CALLED 'SEIZE-'ER' FOR NOTHIN'!"*
The following day was Saturday, and therefore a whole holiday. Monica,who had grown quite accustomed to the new life among companions of herown age, felt quite dismal when she rose in the morning, and rememberedthere were two long, long days to be got through before she could expectto see any of them again. She fully intended asking her grandmother ifOlive might come to Carson Rise (as Mrs. Beauchamp's residence wascalled) to tea, at least, if not to spend the greater part of the day.But Olive had told her of the previous arrangement that she and Elsashould go to the vicarage (an invitation, by the way, which she nowwished she had not been so eager to accept!), so that Monica wascompelled to give up her plans for that week.
Whether it was that she missed the wholesome control of school _regime_,or whether, to use a common phrase, "she got out of bed the wrong side"that Saturday morning, it would be difficult to say; but at any rate,things went very much wrong.
To begin with, Mrs. Beauchamp was confined to her bed with a feverishcold, and Barnes came down at breakfast time to say "would Miss Monicaplease have her breakfast, and then amuse herself as quietly aspossible, so that grandmother could get a little sleep, as she had had avery restless night."
Now Monica was not really an unfeeling girl, but being abnormallyhealthy and vigorous herself, she had scant sympathy with ailing people,and was of opinion that her grandmother coddled herself frightfully.Added to this, she knew that Mrs. Beauchamp had intended driving intoOsmington that day, to call on some friends who would be likely to beable to tell her more about the Franklyns, and whether Monica mightsafely be allowed to mix with them. Now, with this cold, the drive wouldbe impossible, and perhaps several days would elapse before she wouldget full permission to make a friend of Olive. It certainly _was_vexing; it almost seemed to the disappointed girl as if her grandmotherhad caught cold on purpose; and Olive had hinted only the day beforethat perhaps Mrs. Beauchamp would let Monica come to tea, one day, withthem, and the lonely girl was longing to have her first glimpse of realhome life, and make the acquaintance of the "Pickle," and see the girls'"den."
And, in her chagrin, Monica, with a hasty movement, pushed the hot waterjug roughly out of her way, as she reached after the butter dish, withthe result that the silver cream jug, which she had carelessly placednear the edge of the table, tipped over, and spilling its contents onthe handsome felt carpet, fell with sufficient force to bend the handle,and to make a very nasty dent in its pretty fluted side.
"Oh, horrors!" ejaculated Monica, "there _will_ be a row!" and sheendeavoured to mop up the cream with her serviette, and tried what shecould do with the jug.
"I suppose I must ring for Harriet," she muttered, in despair, as thecarpet seemed to get worse under her treatment and the jug certainly nobetter!
Her hasty ring brought the parlourmaid quickly on the scene, and thatworthy held up her hands in horror at the dreadful state of the carpet.
"Oh! Miss Monica," she gasped, "whatever will your grandma say? Thecarpet will be ruined, you may depend. There'll be a nasty lookingstain, however much we get it out. That's the worst of these felts,"and she hastened away, to return in a moment with cloths and hot waterand various remedies for the mishap.
Harriet went down on her knees and applied them vigorously, but an uglydark patch remained, and, as she seemed to take great pleasure inreminding poor Monica, "it always would." She turned her attention tothe cream jug next, but, of course, could do nothing to remove the dent,or straighten the twisted handle.
"Oh, my!" she said; "your grandma will be vexed, Miss Monica, sopartikler as she always is about the silver things, on account of theiranticwitty, as she calls it. Well, well!"
Poor Monica! How she ached to box the ears of this Job's comforter; andit is to be feared the only motive that she had in refraining from doingso, was that she considered it _infra dig._ of a lady to strike amenial! She had not learnt the lesson "that he that ruleth his spiritis better than he that taketh a city." So, merely shrugging hershoulders, she said not one syllable to the retreating parlourmaid, asshe departed with her cloths, and the final remark "that it _was_unfortunate, the missis laid up, and all."
Monica finished her interrupted meal in gloomy silence, meditating uponthe scene that would be enacted later on, when her grandmother was madeaware of the mishap.
Having made a bad start, unfortunately Monica thought it didn't muchmatter now if she got into more trouble. So after lounging about in theschoolroom for half an hour, and finding nothing to amuse herself with,she decided upon a visit to the stables.
She knew very well that in going there she was acting in defiance of hergrandmother's expressed wish; but the spirit of insubordination hadseized hold of Monica, and she felt absolutely reckless. Old Richardswas nowhere to be seen, so she proceeded to enjoy herself thoroughly, byvisiting "Belle" and "Beauty," the handsome pair of greys in their looseboxes, and then passed on to inspect the new pony "Caesar," who wasfastened in his stall.
She had just leaned over the door, the upper half of which was open,when she espied Tom, the stable-boy, in the harness-room beyond, busyover polishing the harness, and humming a tune.
"Mornin', miss," he grinned, as he touched his ragged cap with delight,and went on with his work with extra briskness. He was a bright littlechap of fourteen, only recently introduced into the Carson Rise stables,and he appreciated to the full the magnificent opportunity of "gettingon" that the situation afforded.
For Tom White meant to "get on" to the very best of his ability; andeven Richards, who was rather grudging of praise, could find no fault inthe little lad, who was as willing as willing could be, and took thegreatest possible pains over all his jobs.
"Is the new pony all right, Tom?" queried Monica, as she stood lookingadmiringly at Caesar, as he pawed the ground impatiently, and tossed hissilky brown mane. "Will he let me pat him?"
"Better not, miss," suggested Tom, with an elderly air, which satcomically upon his young shoulders. "Mr. Richards, he said this mornin'that he thought he were a bit of a tartar, miss." And Tom put down apiece of harness with evident pride in the high state of polish whichhis efforts had produced. He was just going to attack anothervigorously, when Monica bade him come and unfasten the pony, so that shecould see his head better.
"Please, miss, I'd rather not." And Tom came slowly out of theharness-room, but made no effort to do as Monica said.
"Why not, pray? You surely aren't afraid he'll bite you?" said Monicasharply. She had an intense scorn for those who were afraid. "You'llnever be any good for a coachman if you're afraid of a _pony_." And herproud young face expressed disgust.
"Please, miss, 'tisn't that a bit," said the boy, his big grey eyesupraised to hers pleadingly; for he was devoted to Miss Monica. "Iain't a mite afraid of 'im, but Mr. Richards 'e said, said 'e: 'Now,Tom, you leave that there pony alone,' says 'e. 'If 'e don't bite, if'e gits a chance, my name ain't Richards. You may depend,' says 'e, ''eweren't called "Seize-'er" for nothin'.'"
"Nonsense!" said Monica, scornfully, although she was tickled with theman's unconscious pun. "You wouldn't bite me, would you, old boy?" sheadded to the little chestnut, who eyed her rather maliciously as sheentered the stall, and put out her hand to rub his soft brown nose.
"Oh, don't, miss, please don't!" cried the little stable-boy, as hetried to snatch her hand away. But even as he spoke the pony made a grabat the girlish fingers, and Monica realised too late that she would havebeen wiser to pay attention to the boy's warning, for her hand achedterribly, and there were ugly tooth marks on the palm and one or twofingers.
"You little wretch! You horrid little vixen!" she cried, in pain andanger, as she bound her hand, fortunately the left one, in herhandkerchief, and tried to still the throbbing.
The pony, quiet enough now, appeared to take no notice of the epithetsshe poured out upon him, and Tom stood helplessly b
y, his very soul inhis liquid grey eyes, wishing with all his heart, poor little chap, thatit had happened to him instead of to his adored young lady.
"Please, miss," he suggested timidly, "'adn't you better go indoors, andget something to do your 'and good. Shall I run round to the kitchenand tell 'em?"
Monica blessed the warm-hearted little lad for his evident desire tomake matters a little easier for her indoors, and gladly assented to hisplan.
She was thankful when she reached the house that she was saved theeffort of telling what had happened, for she felt a curious sensationall over her, and was seized with a desire to fall into the first chairshe came to. Surely she was not going to faint? Monica Beauchamp hadnever been known to have nerves before!
"Mercy on us, Miss Monica, you do look bad!" cried the kindly old cook,as she called to one of the maids for a glass of water, and sent anotherfor the vinegar bottle. "La, what a nasty grip the little beast giveyou!" she added, as the handkerchief fell off, and revealed the extentof the damage. "Get a bowl of warm water, Mary Ann, quick!" And inanother minute she was gently bathing the injured hand in the water, towhich she had added a little Condy's fluid.
"Is that better, miss?" she asked, with kindly sympathy, glad to noticethat the colour was returning to Monica's cheeks. She was, perhaps, theonly one of all the servants who had any affection for the girl whosecoming had upset the even tenor of the quiet household, and whose pranksgave them so much extra trouble.
"Oh! yes, thanks, cook, it doesn't ache quite so horribly now," shesaid, with a sigh of relief, as the woman bound the hand up in some softold linen, and Monica prepared to leave the kitchen regions. But whenshe let her hand fall for a moment, a stifled groan escaped her lips,and she raised it quickly.
"Let me make a sling of this old scarf, Miss Monica," said cook, suitingthe action to the word, and hastily improvising a sling from a black andwhite check tie, which she produced from one of the huge dresserdrawers. "It's a mercy the skin ain't broke."
"Thanks," was all Monica could manage to say, for it required all herself-control to keep her lips firmly clenched, the aching was sointense.
"Perhaps Barnes could find some soothin' stuff to put on it, miss," shecalled after the girl, as she slowly ascended the kitchen stairs.
Monica managed to reach the schoolroom door, where she came face to facewith Barnes, who had been in search of her; and she had to tell the maidwhat had befallen her.
"Dear, dear, Miss Monica," said Barnes, "'tis nothing but a chapter ofaccidents this morning; the missis so poorly, too. But there, 'tis oneconsolation the doctor will be here in a few minutes to see her (for shetold me I'd better send for him), and he'll soon put your hand torights."
She spoke more cheerfully than she felt, for Monica looked very unlikeher usual self, and she feared she was going to be ill. "Just you havea bit of rest in this easy chair, miss," she said, pushing forward acosy basket chair, and Monica sank among the cushions with relief."Why, there's the doctor's gig, I do declare," added the maid, withsatisfaction, as wheels sounded on the carriage drive.
The fatherly old doctor, who knew Monica very well, although she hadseldom required any of his physic, paid her a visit after he hadattended to her grandmother. He examined the bite carefully, andcommiserated with her on the unfortunate mishap, but said it was not atall a serious matter. He promised to send some lotion, and told her tokeep her hand in a sling, and he hoped in a day or two there would belittle more than bruises left.
"But you mustn't go and put your hand into the pony's mouth again, mydear child," said he with a smile, "or you might not get off so easilyagain. I can't quite understand how it happened yet."
"Oh! it was all my own fault," admitted Monica, frankly. "I was warnedthat the pony might bite, but, of course, I didn't think he would! Infact, I ought not to have gone into the stables at all." And she lookedup saucily into the kind old face bending over her. But the expressionin the keen eyes which looked searchingly at her made her lower her own,while something akin to shame filled her heart.
"I suspect the colonel would say that obedience was one of the firstduties of a recruit," he said, slowly; "at any rate, it is one of thehardest lessons that a soldier of the King of kings has to learn. Mylassie," he added, tenderly, but solemnly, as he smoothed her ruffledhair with a fatherly touch, "how much longer are you going on fightingagainst Him? Why don't you surrender arms, and begin to fight for Him,and with Him? You see, I know that I am talking to a soldier'sdaughter. Won't you think about what I have said?" And he took up hishat and gloves, preparatory to departing.
Monica, remembering her father's last letter, thought how strange it wasthat the old doctor should speak in the same strain, but she was too shyto mention it, and Dr. Marley feeling that, at any rate, the seed hadbeen sown in the rebellious young heart, forbore to say more. But as hedrove on to his next patient he prayed that it might take root; for theold doctor had known Colonel Beauchamp since he was a little lad, and hetook a warm interest in his only child.
Monica passed a bad five minutes in her grandmother's room after thedoctor had gone, but the influence of his words remained with her, andshe refrained from being saucy or off-hand. Indeed, Mrs. Beauchampbegan to fear that the accident had made her really ill, so wonderfullysubdued and penitent was she.
Considering that she would have to bear the pain and inconvenience ofher injured hand for some little time, the old lady excused Monica fromfurther punishment, on condition that she did not disobey again. Fullyintending at the moment to keep her promise, Monica said she wouldremember her grandmother's wishes in future, and the latter dismissedher, feeling more hopeful about her grandchild than she had done for along time.
As she did not feel up to any great exertion, Monica spent the greaterpart of the afternoon and evening in writing a long letter to herfather, telling him, in detail, all about her new school, and, aboveall, about her new-found friend. She also described the happenings ofthat unfortunate morning, taking care not to spare herself in the least;but she felt too shy to say much in reply to his letter, the only remarkshe made being: "I have been thinking about what you wrote, dad dear,and I mean to try and learn the hard lesson, but I haven't found ateacher yet." And when the father read the girlish, blotted, and ratherbadly spelt letter, some weeks later, in far off Simla, the tears roseto his eyes, while he bowed his head and prayed that God would send someone to guide his little daughter into the only safe path.
While Monica was engaged in writing her letter, Amethyst Drury was busyplaying hostess to the two Franklyns. It was such a lovely sunnyafternoon that Mrs. Drury had given permission for the trio to have teain the little rustic summer-house overlooking the pretty, but by nomeans large, lawn.
"Isn't it fun having tea out here?" remarked Amethyst, as the threegirls sat lazily in the garden chairs, having done ample justice to thecocoanut cake and raspberry jam sandwiches, which had been provided forthe feast by kind Mrs. Drury.
"Awfully nice," admitted Olive, "but I must say I wish Monica could havebeen here too."
"Oh! Ollie," said Elsa, hastily, with an apologetic glance at Amethyst,for she feared she would think her sister rude.
Amethyst's eyes flashed, and she burst out indignantly: "I can't bearthat girl! She's going to spoil everything, and we had such lovelytimes together before she came." And her lips trembled, and in a minutemore there would have been an April shower. But Elsa the peacemakerinterposed.
Putting her arm lovingly round the little hostess, she said, soothingly:"Olive didn't mean anything unkind, dear, I am sure. And I don't thinkMonica will make much difference, because, you see, she lives so faraway. And besides, if Olive and Monica become great friends, thatleaves me out in the cold; and I want you, Thistle."
"Of course," added Olive. "You two are cut out for each other, and Ialways feel like a fish out of water amongst you. But let's have a gamenow, shall we?"
And in the intricacies of playing croquet-golf, as best they co
uld, allagainst all, the little unpleasantness blew over.