you see, we don't have tea quite so early,and when your house is so big, and there are a great many stairs, andyou have only one servant, and she is rather old--although fatherdoesn't think her so--and has got a bad cold in her head, and is wearingher grandmother's plaid shawl, you have to think twice before you askher to do anything extra."
"It is a long catalogue of woes," responded Miss Grace. "But I tell youwhat it is--oh, they call you Dumps, don't they?"
"Have you heard?" I said, puckering my brows in distress.
"Yes; and I think it is quite a nice name."
"But I'd much, much rather be called Rachel."
"Well, child, I don't mind--Rachel or Dumps--I must have tea. Go downto the kitchen, fetch a kettle with hot water, bring it up, and also thetea-caddy and sugar and milk if you can get them, and we'll make the teaourselves. But oh, good gracious, the coal-hod is empty! What an awfulspot!"
Now really, I thought, Miss Donnithorne was becoming too free. It wasall very well for her to force herself into the house; I had never evenheard of her before; but to put her feet on the fender, and then tocomplain of the cold and to say she must have tea, and also to grumblebecause there was no more coal in the hod, rather took my breath away.
"I see," said Miss Grace, "that I must help you."
"Oh no," I answered, "please don't."
For this would be the final straw. It was all very well to take VonMarlo down to the kitchen. A boy was one thing, but an elderly, stoutlady about Hannah's own age was quite another thing. So I said, "I'lldo my best, but you must stay here."
Good gracious! I had imagined the two hours before father and the boyscame home would be dull and would pass slowly, but I never was so workedin my life. First of all I had to go to the coal-cellar and fill theempty hod with coals and tug it upstairs. When I got into the parlour Ilet Miss Grace do the rest, and she did set to work with a will. Whileshe was building up the fire I purloined a kettle from the kitchen whileHannah's back was turned, and two cups and saucers, for I thought Imight as well have tea with Miss Grace. There was some tea upstairs,and some sugar and a little bread-and-butter, and as father always hadspecial milk for himself in a special can, and as this was kept in theparlour cupboard, I knew that we could manage the tea after a fashion.When I got back there was a roaring fire in the grate.
"There," said Miss Donnithorne; "that's something like a fire!"
She had unfastened her furs at last; she had even removed her jacket;and when I arrived with the kettle she stamped it down on the bed of hotcoals, and looked round at me with a smile of triumph.
"There, now!" she said. "We'll have our tea, and afterwards I want tohave a chat with you."
I must say I did enjoy it, and I liked the glowing heat of the fire; itseemed to blot away some of the fog and to make the room more cheerful.And Miss Grace, when she got her way, became very cheerful also. Shelaughed a great deal, and asked me a lot of questions, in especial aboutfather, and what he was doing, and how he passed his time, and if he wasa good-humoured sort of man.
Exactly at five o'clock she got up and took her departure.
"Well, child," she said, "I am warm through, and my throat is muchbetter, and I am sure you look all the better for a bit of heat and abit of good food. I'll come again to see you presently, and I'll bringsome new-laid eggs with me, and better butter than that stuff we havejust eaten; it wasn't fit for a Christian's palate. Good-bye, child.You'll see more of me in the future."
PART ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.
MISS GRACE DONNITHORNE.
When father came in that evening I was quite lively, but he did notspecially notice it. I hoped he would. I felt wonderfully excitedabout Miss Grace Donnithorne. The boys, of course, were also in theroom, but they were generally in a subdued state and disinclined to makea noise when father was present.
Hannah came up with the dinner. She dumped down the tray on thesideboard, and put the appetising rump-steak in front of father. It wasrump-steak with onions, and there were fried potatoes, and there was agood deal of juice coming out of the steak, and oh, such a savourysmell! Alex began to sniff, and Charley looked with keen interest andwatering eyes at the good food.
"There," said Hannah, placing a mutton bone in front of Alex; "you geton with that. There's plenty of good meat if you turn it round and cutfrom the back part. It's good and wholesome, and fit for young people.The steak is for the Professor. I've got some roast potatoes; thoughtyou'd like them."
The roast potatoes were a sop in the pan; but oh, how we did long for apiece of the steak! That was the worst about father; he really was amost kindly man, but he was generally, when not absorbed in lecturing--on which occasions, I was told, he was most animated and lively and allthere--in a sort of dream. He ate his steak now without in the leastperceiving that his children were dining off cold mutton. Had he oncenoticed it, he would have taken the mutton bone for himself and given usthe steak. I heard Alex mutter, "It's rather too bad, and he certainlywon't finish it!"
But I sat down close to Alex, and whispered, "Alex, for shame! You knowhow he wants it; he isn't at all strong."
Then Alex's grumbles subsided, and he ate his own dinner with boyishappetite.
After the brief and very simple meal had come to an end the boys leftthe room, and the Professor, as we often called him, stood with his backto the fire. Now was my opportunity.
"Father," I said, "I had a visitor this afternoon."
"Eh? What's that. Dumps?"
"Father, I wish you wouldn't call me Dumps."
"Don't fret me, Rachel; what does it matter what I call you? The thingis that I address the person who is known to me as my daughter. Whatdoes it matter whether I speak of her as Dumps, or Stumps, or Rachel, orAnnie, or any other title? What's in a name?"
"Oh father! I think there's a good deal in a name. But never mind," Icontinued, for I didn't want him to go off into one of those longdissertations which he was so fond of, quite forgetting the person hewas talking to. So I added hastily, "Miss Grace Donnithorne called.She said she was a friend of yours. Do you know her?"
"Miss--Grace--Donnithorne?" said father, speaking very slowly andpausing between each word. "Miss--Grace--Donnithorne?"
"Why, yes, father," I said, and I went close to him now. "She was, oh,so funny--such a fat, jolly sort of person! Only she didn't like thishouse one bit."
"Eh? Eh?" said my father.
He sank into a chair near the fire.
"That is the very chair she sat in."
My father looked round at it.
"The shabbiest chair in the whole house," he said.
"But the most comfy, father."
"Well, all right; tell me about her."
"She sat here, and she made me have a good fire."
"Quite right. Why should you be cold, Dumps?"
"But I thought, father, that you did not want us to be extravagant?"
"It is far more extravagant, let me tell you, Dumps, to get a severecold and to have doctors' bills to pay."
I was startled by this sentiment of father's, and treasured it up toretail to Hannah in the future.
"But tell me more about her," he said.
Then I related exactly what had happened. He was much amused, and aftera time he said, with a laugh, "And so you got tea for her?"
"Yes; she insisted on it. She wouldn't let me off getting that tea forall the world. I didn't mind it, of course--indeed, I quite enjoyedit--but what I did find hard was bringing up the hod of coal from thecoal-cellar."
"Good practice, Dumps. Arms are made to be useful."
"So they are," I answered. "And feet are made to run with."
"Of course, father."
"And a girl's little brain is meant to keep a house comfortable."
"But, father, I haven't such a little brain; and I think I could dosomething else."
"Could what?" said father, opening his eyes with horror. "What in theworld is more necessary for a girl who is one day to b
e a woman than toknow how to keep a house comfortable?"
"Yes, yes," I said; "I suppose so."
I was very easily stopped when father spoke in that high key.
"And you have complained to me that you find life dull. Did you findMiss Grace Donnithorne dull?"
"Oh no; she is very lively, father."
Father slowly crossed one large white hand over the other; then he rose.
"Good-night, Dumps," he said.
"Have you nothing more to say?" I asked.
"Good gracious, child! this is my night for school. I have to give twolectures to the boys of the First Form. Good-night--good-night."
He did not kiss me--he very seldom did that--but his voice had a veryaffectionate tone.
After he had gone I sat for a long time by the fire. The neglecteddinner-things remained on the table; the room was as shabby and as emptyas possible, but not quite as cold as usual. Presently Hannah came in.She began to clear away the dinner-things.
"Hannah," I said, "I told father about Miss Grace Donnithorne's visit."
"And who in the name of wonder may she be?" asked Hannah.
"Oh, a lady. I let her in myself this afternoon."
"What call have you to be opening the hall door?"
"Didn't you hear a very sharp ring at the hall door about threeo'clock?" I said.
Hannah stood stock-still.
"I did, and I didn't," she replied.
"What do you mean by you did and you didn't?"
"Well, you see, child, I wasn't in the humour to mount them stairs, so Iturned my deaf ear to the bell and shut up my hearing one withcotton-wool; after that the bell might ring itself to death."
"Then, of course, Hannah, I had to go to the door."
"Had to? Young ladies don't open hall doors."
"Anyhow, I did go to the door, and I let the lady in, and she sat by thefire. She's a very nice lady indeed; she's about your age, but notscraggy."
"I'll thank you, Miss Dumps, not to call me names."
"But you are scraggy, for that means thin."
"I may be thin and genteel, and not fat and vulgar, but I won't have itsaid of me that I'm scraggy," said Hannah; "and by you too, Miss Dumps,of all people!"
"Very well, Hannah. _She_ was fat and vulgar, if you like, and _you_are thin and genteel. Anyhow, I liked her; she was very jolly. She wasabout your age."
"How d'you know what age I be?"
"Didn't I see father put it down at the time of the last census?"
"My word! I never knew children were listening. I didn't want my ageknown."
"Hannah, you are forty-five."
"And what if I be?"
"That's very old," I said.
"'Tain't," said Hannah.
"It is," I repeated. "I asked Alex one day, and he said it was the agewhen women began to drop off."
"Lawks! what does that mean?" said Hannah.
"It's the way he expressed it. I don't want to frighten you, but hesaid lots of people died then." Hannah now looked really scared.
"And that's why, Hannah," I continued, "I don't like to see you in yourgrandmother's shawl, for I am so awfully afraid your bad cold will meanyour dropping off."
"Master Alex talks nonsense," said Hannah. "You give me a start for aminute with the sort of gibberish you talk. Forty-five, be I? Well, ifI be, my grandmother lived to eighty, and my grandfather to ninety; andif I take after him--and they say I have a look of him--I have anothergood forty-five years to hang on, so there's no fear of my dropping offfor a bit longer." As these remarks of Hannah's were absolutelyimpossible for me to understand, I did not pursue the subject further,but I said, "Father made such a nice remark to-night!"
"And whatever was that? The Professor is always chary of his talk."
"He said that it was very wrong to be cold, and that the fires ought tobe large and good."
"He said that?"
"Yes, he did. And then I said, `I thought you wanted us to be saving;'and he said, `It's not saving to catch cold and have doctors' bills.'So now, Hannah, you have your orders, and we must have a big, big firein the parlour during the cold weather."
"Don't bother me any longer," said Hannah. "Your talk is beyondanything for childishness! What with trying to frighten a body in theprime of life about her deathbed, and then giving utterance to rubbishwhich you put into the lips of the Professor, it is beyond any sensibleperson to listen to. It's cotton-wool I'll put in my right ear the nexttime I come up to see you, Miss Dumps."
By this time Hannah had filled her tray. She raised it and walkedtowards the door. She then, with some skill and strength, placed thewhole weight of the tray on her right arm, and with the left she openedthe door. I have seen waiters in restaurants do that sort of trick, butI never could understand it. Even if Hannah was dropping off, she musthave some strong muscles, was my reflection.
The next day I went to school as usual. The fog had cleared and it wasfairly bright--not very bright, for it never is in the city part ofLondon in the winter months.
At school I, as usual, took my place in the same form with Agnes andRita Swan. I was glad to see that I got to the head of the form andthey remained in a subordinate position that day. In consequence duringplay-hours they were rather less patronising and more affectionate to methan usual. But I held up my head high and would have little to do withthem. I was much more inclined to be friends with Augusta Moore thanwith the Swans just then.
Now, Augusta lived in a very small house a long way from the school.She was very poor, and lived alone with her mother, whose only child shewas. Augusta was an uncommunicative sort of girl. She worked hard ather books, and was slow to respond to her schoolfellows' advances offriendship; but when I said, "May I walk up and down in the playgroundwith you, Augusta?" she on this occasion made no objection.
She glanced round at me once or twice, and then said, "I don't mind, ofcourse, your walking with me, Rachel, but I have to read over my poetryonce or twice in order to be sure of saying it correctly."
I asked her if she would like me to hear her, and she was much obligedwhen I made this offer; and after a few minutes' pause she handed me thebook, and repeated a very fine piece of poetry with considerable spirit.When she had come to the end she said, "How many mistakes did I make?"
"I don't know," I answered.
"You don't know? But you said you would hear me."
"I didn't look at the book," I said; "I was so absorbed watching you."
"Oh! then you are no good at all," said Augusta, and she looked reallyannoyed. "You must give me back the book and I must read it overslowly."
"But you know it perfectly--splendidly."
"That won't do. I have to make all the proper pauses, you know, just asour recitation mistress required, and there mustn't be a syllable toomany or a syllable too few in any of the words, and there mustn't be asingle word transposed. That is the proper way to say poetry, and Iknow perfectly well that I cannot repeat Gray's _Elegy_ like that."
I said I was sorry, and she took the book from my hands. Presently shewent away to a distant part of the playground, and I saw her lips movingas she paced up and down. I walked quickly myself, for I wanted to keepwarm, and just before I went into the house Rita Swan came up to me.
"Well, Dumps," she said, "I wonder how you'll like it?"
"Like what?" I asked.
Rita began to laugh rather immoderately. She looked at Agnes, who alsocame up at that moment.
"I don't believe Dumps knows," she said.
"Know what?" I asked angrily.
"Why, what is about to happen. Oh, what a joke!"
"What is it?" I asked again. I was so curious that I didn't mind eventheir rude remarks at that moment.
"She doesn't know--she doesn't know!" laughed Rita, and she jumpedsoftly up and down. "What fun! What fun! Just to think of a thing ofthat sort going to take place in her very own house--in her very own,own house--and she not even to have a suspi
cion of it!"
"Oh, if it's anything to do with home, I know everything about my home,"I said in a very haughty tone, "and I don't want you to tell me."
I marched past the two girls and entered the schoolroom. But during therest of the morning I am afraid I was not very attentive to my lessons.I could not help wondering what they meant, and what there was to know.But of course there was nothing. They were such silly girls, and Icould not understand for one moment how I had ever come to be friendswith them.
At one o'clock I went home, and there, lying on the parlour table, was aletter addressed to me. Now it is true, although some girls may smilewhen they read these words, I had never before received a letter. Ihave never made violent friendships. I met my school friends, for whatthey were worth, every day; I had no near relations of any sort, andfather was always at home except for the holidays, when he took uschildren to some very cheap and very dreary seaside place. There wasreally