CHAPTER XXIII
THE PICNIC.
The Gilroy children were all in the wildest state of excitement. It wasa lovely day in July, and they were going off for a picnic on the river.Leslie was standing by the center table in the dining room, busilypacking a basket. Kitty was buttering bread and making sandwiches, Mabelwas cutting cake into thick slices, Hester was darning a rent in theback of her dress, and Llewellyn was here, there, and everywhere.
"We must start soon," he said. "When will the baskets be ready? I wondermother has not come in."
"Is not she in?" asked Leslie, standing up to her full height, andpressing her hand to her forehead.
"Have you got one of your headaches back again, Leslie?" askedLlewellyn.
"Oh, just a little, very little; but the air will do me good. It will belovely to-day on the river."
"Yes, splendid," said Llewellyn. "We will have tea at Twickenham, and gohome in the cool of the evening. You cannot think how nice old Forresthas been about this. He gave me a holiday at once when I asked him thismorning. He said that he only wished he kept a provision shop instead ofa drapery shop, so that he might send us pies and things for ourpicnic."
"But even though he does keep a linen-draper's shop," said Hester, "hecould still help us. I, for instance, should not at all object tomaterials for a new gown. This old serge is so thick and hot."
"But if you put on a white shirt, dear, you will look as neat and niceas possible," said Leslie; "and won't be at all too warm."
"Oh, I can't be bothered," said Hester, shrugging her shoulders. "Iforgot to send my shirts to the wash on Monday, and I have not one fitto be seen."
"Then it serves you right if you are hot and uncomfortable," criedKitty.
Kitty herself was always the pink of neatness. Hester was evidently thetroublesome one of the family.
Leslie went on packing her basket. She wedged in the hard-boiled eggs,raised pies, roast chickens, sandwiches, and the sweets. At last the bigbasket was quite full.
"Doesn't it look tempting?" said Mabel, smacking her lips. "Howfrightfully hungry I'll be. Oh, don't forget, whatever happens, theother basket with the ginger beer and lemonade. I only trust we have gotenough."
"And the cold tea for mother," said Llewellyn; "be sure you put thatin."
The boys and girls chatted eagerly one to the other.
"I say," cried Kitty, "isn't it nice to have old Leslie back again?We'll hate it when you have to return to your grand college in theautumn, Leslie; but I wish," she added, "you would talk more about it. Ithought you'd have no end of rattling good stories to tell us; but youare as mum and quiet as if you had not had a good time at all, whereas,of course, you have had the very best time a girl could have. I supposeit is the weight of all the learning that bothers you. And what aboutthose Chetwynds? You wrote to mother about them, and about thatextraordinary girl, Belle Acheson; but since you have come back, youhave hardly said a word about any of your fellow-students."
"I am sorry," said Leslie. "I will try to tell you something amusingto-day, Kitty. I don't want to make myself mum and disagreeable."
"Oh, you are never that, you dear old darling; only, we were hoping forso much--weren't we, Hetty?"
"Yes," said Hester, who was still darning the rent in her dress. "I dowish this cotton wouldn't break so."
"Give it to me," said Leslie; "I'll have it darned in a trice. Ah!there's mother's step at last. Dear old mammy, I hope she is not tootired."
"There is someone coming back with her," said Kitty. "Don't you hear twofootsteps? Who can it possibly be?"
The next moment the room-door was opened, and Mrs. Gilroy, accompaniedby Mr. Parker, came in.
Leslie had not seen Mr. Parker since her interview with him atWingfield. She now felt herself turning pale; her pallor was suddenlysucceeded by a quick flush of color. She hoped no one noticed heragitation; but, raising her eyes, she met those of Llewellyn. His wore aperturbed expression.
Mr. Parker, after greeting the other children, came up to her andoffered his hand.
"Glad to see you back again, Miss Leslie," he said. There was anindescribable, restrained note in his voice.
"Well, children, what do you say to my joining you to-day?" He turnedand faced Kitty and Hester. "Your mother was good enough to invite me,and I am as up to a bit of frolic as if I were as young as you. Where islittle Dan? He must be my special charge to-day."
"Kitty, give me those sandwiches. I can finish packing them," saidLeslie in a low voice which she hardly recognized as her own.
After Mr. Parker's one hand-clasp, which was firm and cordial enough, hehad turned his back on her. He still did so, and kept on talking toLlewellyn and the younger children.
Mrs. Gilroy sat down on the sofa.
"It is very hot," she said.
"And you are very tired," said Mr. Parker. "Now listen; I am going tohave my own way, and nobody shall interfere. What is the good of moneyif you cannot spend it now and then? You want to go to Richmond?"turning to Mrs. Gilroy, "Go to Richmond you shall, but you are not goingby train. No, we will have a carriage, and I will drive you down. Acarriage will hold you and myself and a couple of the children. Notanother word, my dear friend. What is the good of money if you cannothave a treat?"
"But you do far too much for us, Mr. Parker," replied Mrs. Gilroy.
"Far too much!" he answered; "tut, tut! not a bit of it. I am a lonelyman, madam. My one interest in life is you and your family."
Here he glanced at Leslie, but the next moment looked away. There wasdisapproval in his face.
Leslie started up impulsively. All the provisions were packed.
"Yes, mother," she cried, "do let Mr. Parker drive you; it will do youno end of good."
"All right, darling. I have not the least objection if you will comewith us. I need not ask you, Mr. Parker, if you will object to Lesliebeing one of the party in the carriage?"
"Dan shall sit on my knee," said Mr. Parker, "and two of the childrencan be crowded in. Just as Miss Leslie likes, of course."
But Leslie had left the room. She called Llewellyn to follow her.
He hurried out.
"What is the matter with you. Leslie?" he said.
"My head is very bad. I cannot go to the picnic."
"Leslie! you will upset us all, and as to mother----"
"Listen, Lew, I cannot give you any reason; but neither can I go, and Iwant you to help me."
"But I fail to understand. You were full of going a moment ago."
"I know, but with a headache like mine there is nothing for it but restand quiet. Do help me, please. I am most anxious that mother should havethis one delightful, happy day. Let Kitty and Mabel go in the carriage,and Dan too, if there is room, and will you take Hester by train? Letmother think that I am coming with you. Then, when you meet by theriver, you must just tell her that I had a bad headache, and was obligedto stay at home. I cannot go, Lew; there is no use in coaxing me; and Ido not wish mother to know until she gets to Richmond."
"Well, of course, I'll manage it if it must be managed," said Llewellyn;"but I cannot imagine what is up. I am certain it is more than a mereheadache; but of course, Leslie, I have no intention of forcing yourconfidence."
"Don't, like a darling," said Leslie. She touched him on the arm, andlooked into his face.
"Then, you are in trouble, dear old girl?"
Tears rose to her eyes.
"Yes; but you cannot help me to bear it. It is something which I mustnot tell to anyone. I must just bear my burden alone. Do not ask me anymore."
"I won't, and I'll manage things for you. Run upstairs now, and keepquiet. I'll tell mother when we get to Richmond that you were a bitseedy; but that a few hours of rest will put you right."
He hurried off, and a few moments later Leslie from her window saw thecarriage party get under way. Soon afterwards, Llewellyn and Hesterstarted off for the railway station. Leslie found herself alone. She satdown by her window, and tried to face the position
. It had not been thefirst time she had made a gallant effort to do so.
"What am I to do?" she said now to herself. But the answer came quickly.
"Live it down," was the reply of her heart. "Be true to your sense ofhonor. Save your friend if you can. Bear the terrible and cruel positionin which you are placed. Trust to God putting things right."
"But the dreadful part of it is," thought poor Leslie, "that He ismaking me so hard. I almost hate Annie Colchester. I did not know it wasin me to feel so bad about anything. There is one thing certain: I shallnever be able to endure Mr. Parker's eyes. I shall have to leave theroom or the house when he comes to see us. There, I must not sit stillany longer. Poor darling Lew; he little knows what I am reallysuffering."
Early in the afternoon there came a ring at the front door, and whoshould be seen standing on the threshold but the well-known figure ofBelle Acheson!
Leslie ran to let her in.
"How lucky that I was in," she said. "Please come into the dining room,Belle."
"So this is your domicile," said Belle. She raised her eyes, and lookedup at the windows; then glancing round the walls, finally settled themon the much-worn carpet at her feet.
"Neat, but not gaudy," she said; "not much to complain of when all issaid and done. How do you do?"
She held out her hand to her friend. Leslie grasped it.
"I am delighted to see you," said Leslie. "I am all alone, for motherand all the children are on the river."
"And you, you dear, faithful soul, have stayed at home to go on withyour literary studies?" exclaimed Belle, her eyes gleaming.
"Not a bit of it, Belle; you must not think me better than I deserve. Istayed at home to mope."
"To mope? Surely you are not regretting? Having put your hand to theplow, you are not looking back? Leslie, I could never have thought it ofyou!"
"I am not looking back, Belle. I am still as fond as ever of my studies;but at the present moment I am not thinking of literature nor of collegelife at all. Sit down; how hot you look! The day is such a sultry one."
"Hot," said Belle, "is it? Perhaps I am hot; I don't know. Does heatmatter? that is the question."
She flung off her hat, and let it tumble on the floor. Her brow was wetwith perspiration.
"No physical discomforts seem to matter as far as you are concerned,"said Leslie with a smile.
"I do not feel physical suffering," said Belle: "that is the truth. Mymind is wrapped in meditation and thoughts of the future. I long forthis tiresome holiday to be at an end. I have one comfort, however; mymoney is continuing to heap up. When I finish my collegiate career, Ishall have quite enough to open my hostel. I shall call it a hostel forthe lovers of pure literature. I am sure it will do well; it will supplya long-felt need."
But Leslie was not in the humor to talk about the hostel just then.
"I have a great deal to worry me just now," continued Belle. "Mother hasso little sympathy; I have no consolation but one or two books--the bestof friends. By the way, Leslie, you don't look too bright yourself; yourbrow has quite a haggard look. I am certain, although you will notacknowledge it, that you are missing St. Wode's."
"In many ways I am, dear."
"Oh, this is delicious," said Belle. She hopped up from her seat, anddrew a chair close to Leslie.
"Does your mother object to your studies?" she said. "Does she----"
"No, Belle; you don't understand my mother. I only wish you could meether. My trouble has nothing to do with my studies. I have a care that Icannot confide to anyone."
"Pray, don't; at least never confide in me. It is the last thing I wishto be--the recipient of another person's secrets. I either forget what Iam told, or I blurt it out to the next person I come across. You hadbetter let your worry go; that's my advice."
"Let it go? I wish I could."
"You can if you will do what I ask. Absorb yourself in work; cease tofret about mere externals. What do they matter? Heat, cold, worry, paineven, nothing matters if one can but grasp the riches of the past."
"But what about the riches of the future, Belle? You are so fond oflooking back: do you never look forward?"
"Forward," said Belle; "yes, I sometimes do. I look forward to the timewhen frivols will be exterminated forever, when the drones in theordinary course of things must die out. Leslie, dear, would you feelinclined to hear me recite some verses of my own this morning? I havebeen in the poetic mood for the last few days, and last night the poet'sfrenzy really seized me. My lines begin with 'Delve, delve, deeplydelve.'"
"I don't think I quite follow," said Leslie.
"Quite follow! but it is so simple. The metaphor refers to a miner, thegold is beneath. He delves, he obtains, his joy is unutterable."
"But I am not in the humor for poetry to-day. The fact is, I am not inthe humor to be anything but disobliging."
"Now, that I do not believe; but I will keep my verses until they arequite finished, each stanza correct, the swing, the meter perfect. Bythe way, have you seen the Chetwynds since they came down?"
"No."
"I hear that Eileen has taken some dreadful disease exploring in backslums. Her mother is in a terrible state."
"But is Eileen really ill?" asked Leslie, starting up.
"So I have heard; they say she is rather bad. Oh, my dear, it is onlythe body; pray don't worry!"
"But, Belle, this is intolerable. We cannot do without our bodies whilewe live. Poor Eileen ill! What did you say? Fever?"
"I do not know that I did; but it is fever--typhoid or typhus, orsomething of that sort. I didn't quite catch the name. It may besmallpox, but I don't think so."
"Belle, you are intolerable; you have no sympathy."
"Intolerable?" said Belle. "Now, my dear Leslie, for goodness' sake,don't get commonplace. You may be quite certain that Eileen has the bestdoctors and the best nurses which London can afford. Does it help herthat you should have that flush on your cheeks and that frown betweenyour brows? Does it help her that you should abuse me? All this emotionis waste--waste of sympathy."
"I am sorry, but I must give it," said Leslie. "Dear Marjorie, how shewill feel it. I must go and inquire after Eileen immediately."
"I thought you were not well yourself."
"I have a headache, but what does that matter? I must go to see Marjorieimmediately, and to hear about Eileen."
"If you want to make your inquiries properly," said Belle, "go by theunderground. It is so hot that you will feel yourself a real martyr. Puton your thickest coat and your heaviest hat, and then you will reallyenjoy yourself. Good-by: I am going away, as I see it is your wish. Iwill come another day when you feel more like the Leslie Gilroy whom Iused to admire at St. Wode's."
"I will never be the Leslie that you admired if you wish me not to givesympathy to those in trouble," replied Leslie.
She ran upstairs, put on her hat, took up her gloves, and went out.