Six to Sixteen: A Story for Girls

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  I CORRESPOND WITH THE MAJOR--MY COLLECTION--OCCUPATIONS--MADAMEAGAIN--FETE DE VILLAGE--THE BRITISH HOORAY.

  I wrote to my old friends and relatives, with a full account of my newhome. Rather a comically-expressed account too, I fancy, from the bitsUncle Buller used to quote in after years. I got charming letters fromhim, piquant with his dry humour, and full of affection. Matildagenerally added a note also; and Aunt Theresa always sent love andkisses in abundance, to atone for being too busy to write by that post.

  The fonder I grew of the Arkwrights, the better I seemed to love andunderstand Uncle Buller. Apart as we were, we had now a dozen interestsin common--threads of those intellectual ties over which the changes andchances of this mortal life have so little power.

  My sympathy was real, as well as ready, when the Major discovered a newinsect, almost invisible by the naked eye, which thenceforward bore theterrible specific name of _Bulleriana_, suggesting a creature certainlynot less than a rhinoceros, and surrounding the Major's name withsomething of the halo of immortality. He was equally glad to hear ofJack's beetles and of my fresh-water shells. I had taken to the latteras being "the only things not yet collected by somebody or other in thehouse;" and I became so infatuated in the pursuit that I used to get upat four o'clock in the morning to search the damp places andwater-herbage by the river, it being emphatically "the early bird whocatches" snails. After his great discovery, the Major constantly askedif I had found a specimen of _Helix Vandaleuriana_ yet. It was a jokebetween us--that new shell that I was to discover!

  I have an old letter open by me now, in which, writing of theArkwrights, he says, "Your dear father's daughter could have no betterhome." And, as I read, my father's last hours come back before me, and Ihear the poor faint voice whispering, "You've got the papers, Buller?Arkwright will be kind about it, I'm sure." And, "It's all dark now."And with tears I wonder if he--with whom it is all light now--knows howwell his true friends have dealt by me, and how happy I am.

  To be busy is certainly half-way to being happy. And yet it is not sowith every kind of labour. Some occupations, however, do seem ofthemselves to be peace-bringing; I mean, to be so independent of thegreat good of being occupied at all. Gardening, sketching, and naturalhistory pursuits, for instance. Is it partly because one follows them inthe open air, in great measure?--fresh air, that mysteriously mightypower for good! Anodyne, as well as tonic; dispeller of fever when otherremedies are powerless; and the best accredited recipe for long life.Only partly, I think.

  One secret of the happiness of some occupations is, perhaps, that theylift one away from petty cares and petty spites, without trying thebrain or strength unduly, as some other kinds of mental labour must do.And how delightful is fellowship in such interests! What rivalrieswithout bitterness; what gossip without scandal; what gifts andexchanges; what common interests and mutual sympathy!

  In such happy business the holidays went by. Then the question arose,Were we to go back to school? Very earnestly we hoped not; and I thinkthe Arkwrights soon resolved not to send Eleanor away again. As to me,the case was different. Mr. Arkwright felt that he must do what was bestfor my education: and he wrote to consult with Major Buller.

  Fortunately for Eleanor and me, the Major was now as much prejudicedagainst girls' schools as he had been against governesses; and asmasters were to be had at the nearest town, a home education wasdecided upon. It met with the approval of such of my relatives as wereconsulted--my great-grandmother especially--and it certainly met withmine.

  Eleanor and I were very anxious to show that idleness was not our objectin avoiding Bush House. The one of my diaries that escaped burning has,on the fly-leaf, one of the many "lesson plans" we made for ourselves.

  We used to get up at six o'clock, and work before breakfast. Certainmorning headaches, to which at this time I became subject, led to aserious difference of opinion between me and Mrs. Arkwright; sheforbidding me to get up, and I holding myself to be much aggrieved, andimputing the headaches to anything rather than what Keziah brieflytermed "book-larning upon an empty stomach." The matter was compromised,thanks to Keziah, by that good creature's offering to bring me new milkand bread-and-butter every morning before I began to work. She reallybrought it before I dressed, and my headaches vanished.

  Though we did not wish to go back to Bush House, we were not quiteunmindful of our friends there. Eleanor wrote to thank Madame for theflowers, and received a long and enthusiastic letter in reply--inFrench, of course, and pointing out one or two blunders in Eleanor'sletter, which was in French also. She begged Eleanor to continue tocorrespond with her, for the improvement of her "composition."

  Poor Madame! She was indeed an indefatigable teacher, and had a realambition for the success of her pupils, which, in the drudgery of herlife, was almost grand.

  Strange to say, she once came to the Vicarage. It was during the summersucceeding that in which I came to live with the Arkwrights. She hadbeen in the habit of spending the holidays with a family in the country,where, I believe, she gave some instruction in French and music inreturn for her expenses. That summer she was out of health, and thinkingherself unable to fulfil her part of the bargain, she would not go.After severe struggles with her sensitive scruples, she was persuaded tocome to us instead, on the distinct condition that she was to do nothingin the way of "lessons," but talk French with us.

  To persuade her to accept any payment for her services was the subjectof another long struggle. The thriftiest of women in her personalexpenditure, and needing money sorely, Madame was not grasping. Indeed,her scruples on this subject were troublesome. She was for ever pursuingus, book in hand, and with a sun-veil and umbrella to shield hercomplexion, into the garden or the hayfield, imploring us to come in outof the wind and sun, and do "a little of dictation--of composition," oreven to permit her to hear us play that duet from the 'Semiramide,' ofwhich the time had seemed to her on the last occasion far from perfect.

  Her despair when Mrs. Arkwright supported our refusals was comical, andshe was only pacified at last by having the "scrap-bag" of odds and endsof net, muslin, lace, and embroidery handed over to her, from which shemade us set after set of dainty collars and sleeves in various "modes,"sitting well under the shade of the trees, on a camp-stool, with acamphor-bag to keep away insects, and in bodily fear of the dogs.

  Poor Madame! I thought she would have had a fit on the first night ofher arrival, when the customary civility was paid of offering her a dogto sleep on her bed. She never got really accustomed to them, and theynever seemed quite to understand her. To the end of her stay theysnuffed at her black skirts suspiciously, as if she were still more orless of an enigma to them. Madame was markedly civil to them, and evenaddressed them from time to time as "bons enfants," in imitation of ourphrase "dear boys"; but more frequently, in watching the terms on whichthey lived with the family, she would throw up her little brown handsand exclaim, "_Menage extraordinaire!_"

  I am sure she thought us a strange household in more ways than one, butI think she grew fond of us. For Eleanor she had always had a liking;about Eleanor's mother she became rhapsodical.

  "How good!" so she cried to me, "and how truthful--how altogethertruthful! What talents also, my faith! Miss Arkwright has had greatadvantages. A mother extraordinary!"

  Mrs. Arkwright had many discussions with Madame on political subjects,and also on the education of girls. On the latter their views were soessentially different, that the discussion was apt to wax hot. Madamecame at last to allow that for English girls Madame Arkwright's viewsmight be just, but _pour les filles francaises_--she held to her ownopinions.

  With the boys she got on very well. At first they laughed at her; thenClement became polite, and even learned to speak French with her after afashion. Jack was not only ignorant of French, but his English was somixed with school-boy idioms, that Madame and he seldom got through aconversation without wonderful complications, from which, however,Jack's expressive countenance and
ready wit generally delivered them inthe long run. I do not know whether, on the whole, Madame did not likeMr. Arkwright best of all. _Le bon pasteur_, as she styled him.

  "The Furrin Lady," as she was called in the village, was very fond oflooking into the cottages, and studying the ways of the countrygenerally.

  I never shall forget the occurrence of the yearly village fair or feastduring her visit: her anxiety to be present--her remarkable costume onthe occasion--and the strong conviction borne in upon Eleanor and methat the Fat Lady in the centre booth was quite a secondary attractionto the Furrin Lady between us, with the raw lads and stolid farmers whohad come down from the hills, with their wise sheep-dogs at their heels.If they stared at her, however, Madame was not unobservant of them, andthe critical power was on her side.

  "These men and their dogs seem to me alike," said she. "Both ofthem--they stare so much and say so little. But the looks of the dogsare altogether the more _spirituels_," she added.

  I should not like to record all that she said on the subject of ourvillage feast. It was not complimentary, and to some extent the bittergeneral observations on our national amusements into which herdisappointment betrayed her were justified by facts. But it was not ourfault that, in translating village feast into _fete de village_, shehad allowed her imagination to mislead her with false hopes. She hadexpected a maypole, a dance of peasants, gay dresses, smiling faces,songs, fruit, coffee, flowers, and tasteful but cheap wares of smallkinds in picturesque booths. She had adorned herself, and Eleanor andme, with collars and cuffs of elaborate make and exquisite "get-up" byher own hands. She wore a pale pink and a dead scarlet geranium,together with a spray of wistaria leaf, in admirable taste, on her darkdress. Her hat was marvellous; her gloves were perfect. She had a fewshillings in her pocket to purchase souvenirs for the household; herface beamed in anticipation of a day of simple, sociable, uncostlypleasure, such as we English are so lamentably ignorant of. But I thinkthe only English thing she had prepared herself to expect was what shecalled "The Briteesh hooray."

  Dirt, clamour, oyster-shells, ginger-beer bottles, stolid curiosity,beery satisfaction, careworn stall-keepers with babies-in-arms andstrange trust about their wares and honesty over change;giddy-go-rounds, photograph booths, marionettes, the fat woman, thedouble-headed monstrosity, and the teeming beer-houses----

  Poor Madame! The contrast was terrible. She would not enter a booth. Sheturned homewards in a rage of vexation, and shut herself up in herbedroom (I suspect with tears of annoyance and disappointment), whilstEleanor and I went back into the feast, and were photographed with dearboys and Clement.

  Clement was getting towards an age when clever youngsters are not unaptto exercise their talents in depreciating home surroundings. He saidthat it was no wonder that Madame was disgusted, and scolded us fortaking her into the feast. Jack took quite a different view of thematter.

  "The feast's very good fun in its way," said he; "and Madame only wants_tackling_. I'll tackle her."

  "Nonsense!" said Clement.

  "I bet you a shilling I take her through every mortal thing thisafternoon," said Jack.

  "You've cheek enough," retorted his elder brother.

  But after luncheon, when Madame was again in her room, Jack came to mewith a nosegay he had gathered, to beg me to arrange it properly, andput a paper frill round it. With some grass and fern-leaves, I made atasteful bouquet, and added a frill, to Jack's entire satisfaction. Hetook it up-stairs, and we heard him knock at Madame's door. After apause ("I'm sure she's crying again!" said Eleanor) Madame came out, anda warm discussion began between them, of which we only heard fragments.Madame's voice, as the shrillest, was most audible, and it rose intodistinctness as she exclaimed, "Anything soh dirrty, soh meean, sohfolgaire, I nevaire saw."

  Again the discussion proceeded, and we only caught a few of Jack'sarguments about "customs of the country," "for the fun of it," etc.

  "Fun?" said Madame.

  "For a joke," said Jack.

  "_Ah, c'est vrai_, for the choke," she said.

  "And _avec moi_," Jack continued. "There's French for you, Madame! Comealong!"

  Madame laughed.

  "She'll go," said Eleanor.

  "_Eh bien!_" Madame cried gaily. "For the choke. _Avec vous, MonsieurJack._ Ha! ha! _Allons!_ Come along!"

  "Link, Madame," said Jack, as they came down-stairs, Madame smarter thanever, and bouquet in hand.

  "Mais _link_? What is this?" said she.

  "Take my arm," said Jack. "I'll treat you to everything."

  "Mais _treat_? What is that?" said Madame, whose beaming good-humouronly expanded the more when Jack explained that it was a pecuniaryattention shown by rustic swains to their "young women."

  As Clement came into the hall he met Madame hanging on Jack's arm, andabsolutely radiant.

  "You're not going into that beastly place again?" said he.

  "For the choke, Monsieur Clement. _Ah, oui!_ And with Monsieur Jack."

  "You may as well come, Clem," said Eleanor, and we followed, laughing.

  Madame had now no time for discontent. Jack held her fast. He gave hergingerbread at one stall, and gingerbeer at another, and cracked nutsfor her all along. He vowed that the oyster-shells were flowers, and theempty bottles bouquet-holders, and offered to buy her a pair ofspectacles to see matters more clearly with.

  "Couleur de rose?" laughed Madame.

  We went in a body to the marionettes, and Madame screamed as we climbedthe inclined plane to enter, and scrambled down the frail scaffolding tothe "reserved seats." These cost twopence a head, and were "reserved"for us alone. The dolls were really cleverly managed. They performed theclosing scenes of a pantomime. The policeman came to pieces when clownand harlequin pulled at him. People threw their heads at each other, andshook their arms off. The transformation scene was really pretty, and itonly added to the joke that the dirty old proprietor burned the redlight under our very noses, amid a storm of chaff from Jack.

  From the marionettes we went to the fat woman. A loathsome sight, whichturned me sick; but, for some inexplicable reason, seemed highly togratify Madame. She and Jack came out in fits of laughter, and he said,"Now for the two-headed monstrosity. It'll just suit you, Madame!"

  At the door, Madame paused. "Mais, ce n'est pas pour des petitesfilles," she said, glancing at Eleanor and me.

  "_Feel?_" said Jack, who was struggling through the crowd, which wasdense here. "It feels nothing. It's in a bottle. Come along!"

  "All right, Madame," said Eleanor, smiling. "We'll wait for yououtside."

  We next proceeded to the photographer's, where Jack and Madame werephotographed together with Pincher.

  By Madame's desire she was now led to the "bazaar," where she bought acollar for Pincher, two charming china boxes, in the shape of dogs'heads, for Eleanor and her mother, a fan for me, a walking-stick forMonsieur le Pasteur, and some fishing-floats for Clement. By this timesome children had gathered round us. The children of the district wereespecially handsome, and Madame was much smitten by their rosy cheeksand many-shaded flaxen hair.

  "Ah!" she sighed, "I must make some little presents to the children;"and she looked anxiously over the stalls.

  "Violin, one and six," said the saleswoman. "Nice work-box for a littlegirl, half-a-crown."

  "Half a fiddlestick," said Jack promptly. "What have you got for ahalfpenny?"

  "Them's halfpenny balls, whips, and dolls. Them churns and mugs is ahalfpenny; and so's the little tin plates. Them's the halfpenny monkeyson sticks."

  "Now, Madame," said Jack, "put that half-crown back, and give me ashilling. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four. There are yourpresents; and now for the children!"

  Madame showed a decided disposition to reward personal beauty, whichJack overruled at once.

  "The prettiest? I see myself letting you! Church Sunday scholars is mytip; and I shall put them through the Catechism test. Look here, youngun, what's your name? Who gave you this name?"

 
"Ma godfeythers and godmoothers," the young urchin began.

  "That'll do," said Jack. "Take your whip, and be thankful. Now, mylittle lass, who gave you this name?"

  "Me godfeythers----"

  "All right. Take your doll, and drop a curtsy; and mind you don't takethe curtsy, and drop your doll. Now, my boy, tell me how many therebe?"

  "Ten."

  "Which be they? I mean, take your monkey, and make your bow. Next child,come up."

  Clem, Eleanor, and I kept back the crowd as well as we could; butchildren pressed in on all sides. Clem brought a shilling out of hispocket, and handed it over to Jack.

  "You've won your bet, old man," he said.

  "You're a good fellow, Clem. I say, lay it out among the halfpennylot--will you?--and then give them to Madame. Keep your eye open forDissenters, and send the Church children first."

  The forty-eight halfpennyworths proved to be sufficient for all,however, though the orthodoxy of one or two seemed doubtful.

  Madame was tired; but the position had pleased her, and she gave awaythe toys with a charming grace. We were leaving the fair when some smallurchins, who had either got or hoped to get presents, and were (Isuspected) partly impelled also by a sense of the striking nature ofMadame's appearance, set up a lusty cheer.

  Madame paused. Her eyes brightened; her thin lips parted with a smile.In a voice of intense satisfaction, she murmured:

  "It is the Briteesh hooray!"