*CHAPTER X.*
*"I LIKE FUSSIN' OVER PEOPLE!"*
With a sigh of relief Monica heard the front door shut, and saw theretreating figures of the doctor and Olive passing down the drive, fromher post of vantage in the great bay window. She wanted to think; atleast, she was not sure that she _wanted_ to, but ideas suggestedthemselves to her brain and insisted upon being thought out.
How _could_ she, who never before had been actually laid up with anyailment, endure the thought of being for three weeks, at least, chainedlike a log to a sofa? And, just as likely as not, it would end in beinga month, or even more. Oh, it was unendurable! No school--no fun--nodaily meeting with all the girls, and Olive, of course, in particular:and Monica realised how wonderfully attached she had become toschool-life and doings, even in seven short weeks. No pleasant Germanlessons with kind little Fraeulein Wespe, which she so much enjoyed.Nothing but day after day in one or other of the dull, lonely rooms atCarson Rise, waited on by Barnes, and visited periodically by hergrandmother, who she was sure, from experience, would gladly seize everyavailable opportunity of improving the occasion by telling her she hadonly herself to thank for the position in which she found herself!
How heartily Monica wished now that she had never seen the wretchedbicycle, as she styled it, much less have been persuaded into attemptingto ride it. In her vexation she blamed the bicycle, its owner, Elsa andAmethyst for being late, and even poor, unfortunate old Granny Wood, forbeing the primary cause of the mishap. It is a wonder that she did notgo one step farther, and credit Hero with originating the whole chapterof accidents, for it certainly was his bark that started the ballrolling. If Monica had heard any one else _saying_ what she was_thinking_, she would have been exceedingly amused, for it sounded likea modern version of the "House that Jack built." But she saw no fun inanything just then, all was disappointment, discomfort, and pain; andyet in her heart of hearts, Monica knew that it all arose fromdisobedience.
Not for worlds would she have owned it even to herself, but as she layon that couch, looking out into the sunlit garden and thinking, herbetter nature craved after a nobler, higher life, where disobedience andits results would have no place. She thought of her father and his wordsto her in that almost forgotten letter, and unwonted tears rose to hereyes, as she realised that instead of becoming what he wanted her to be,she seemed lately to have grown less and less like the ideal she hadeven set up for herself in those days.
Monica's ruminations were brought to an abrupt termination at thismoment by the door opening, and a pleasant rattle of teacups sounded onher ears as the footman appeared with the tea equipage. Mrs. Howellfollowed him in, and busied herself in pouring out a cup of the fragrantbeverage, and placing it on a little table at Monica's elbow, saying inher uncultured but kindly tones: "There's nothin' so comfortin' as a cupof tea, to my mind; have a good drink, do 'ee now, my----"
The good soul paused, in confusion, at the words which had so nearlyslipped out. What would this haughty young maiden have said if she hadcalled her "my dear?" So she made a nervous little cough, and added, inan apologetic voice, "Miss Beauchamp."
"Thanks, you're very kind," replied Monica, in her off-hand way. "I'msure I'm awfully sorry to give you such a lot of trouble."
"It's no trouble at all, my dear," said her hostess warmly, quiteforgetting to watch her words this time; but Monica did not appear tomind the appellation, it seemed natural to be called "my dear" by aperson of Mrs. Howell's description. "I like fussin' over people." Andthe good woman looked a wee bit wistful, for Lily hated above all thingsto be "fussed over by ma."
"I don't think I should care about it always," said Monica candidly,with a little laugh; "but just now it feels rather nice to be waitedon," and she smiled up into the homely face, surmounted by themagnificent, but too lavishly trimmed cap, which was bending over her.
Mrs. Howell's heart went out to this girl, who seemed so different fromwhat Lily had declared her to be; and Monica, realising the motherlinesswhich underlay all the oddities and vulgarities, felt strangely drawntowards her commonplace hostess. They were becoming quite at home witheach other, when carriage wheels were heard, and "Mrs. Beauchamp" wasannounced.
A hasty glance at the visitor's aristocratic appearance, and the soundof her well-modulated voice, made poor Mrs. Howell realise her manydeficiencies once again, and she relapsed into monosyllabic replies toMrs. Beauchamp's many enquiries. So Monica had perforce to be chiefspokeswoman.
"Well, I am glad that it is no worse than it is," said her grandmotherstiffly. "The anxiety your non-appearance caused me was intense; andall this trouble and inconvenience to everybody would have been avoided,if you had not disobeyed my commands." And she shook her head severelyat the culprit, who showed no sign of contrition for her misdeeds."Well, you will have plenty of time to reflect, so we will say no morenow," added the old lady, "but with Mrs. Howell's permission Barnesshall help you out to the carriage, and we will not trespass further onher kindness."
"Oh, I can hobble out by myself, somehow," said Monica, and she tried toget up off the couch, but fell back among the cushions with a stifledgroan.
"Let me help you, my dear," whispered Mrs. Howell, so low that no onebut Monica heard her, and with a supreme effort the girl managed just tostand, by holding tight to the velvet-covered arm which was offered forher to lean on. But to walk was absolutely impossible, the meremovement of the injured ankle (the pain had been tolerably easy while ithad been laid up) was so excruciating, that even strong-willed Monicacould not summon up courage to put it to the ground.
"I'm afraid I can't walk," she was obliged to confess, with white,quivering lips, just as Mr. Howell appeared upon the scene.
"How now, young lady?" he said, in his bluff way; "not trying to walk,surely? You don't look any too fit."
"Couldn't me an' you help her out to the carriage, Bob?" his wife said,in a somewhat loud aside. "Her grandma wants to be off."
"If the young lady will allow me, I think the best plan will be for meto pick her up and carry her out," he said, with a grandiloquent bow.
"Really, I cannot----" began Mrs. Beauchamp, in horrified tones.
And Monica said: "Oh! no, please."
But without more ado, the big burly man lifted her gently in his strongarms, saying, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes: "It won't be thefirst time to-day, missy," and before Mrs. Beauchamp had had time tosummon Barnes, Monica was comfortably settled in the brougham, with herinjured ankle resting on a board, and some cushions, which Barnes'forethought had provided.
"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Howell," said Monica gratefully, "and Mrs.Howell too."
"Tut, tut, missy! T'was a pleasure to her to have some one to coddle."
"I should like to come and see her some day, when my ankle is wellagain, if I may."
"She'd be very glad if you would," was Mr. Howell's reply, as he handedMrs. Beauchamp into the carriage, and shut the door after Barnes hadsqueezed herself into the tiny bit of space that was left.
"I am sure we are very much indebted to you for all your kindness," saidMrs. Beauchamp, in her freezingly polite way, as he stood, hat in hand,waiting to see the carriage off.
"Pray don't mention it, madam," was all he said, as he bowed in responseto her formal "good evening"; the smile that overspread his rugged,good-tempered face was for the girl who nodded a bright farewell, albeither face was white and drawn with pain.
"A noble lass, that," was Mr. Howell's comment, as he sauntered roundthe beautifully laid-out garden with his worthy spouse; "but a vixen ofa grandmother, to judge from looks."
Mrs. Howell, who had not been very prepossessed herself, felt it herduty to remonstrate with him for judging hastily.
"The gentry always has such airs," she said; "I daresay the old ladymeans well enough. But I must say I did take to the girl."
"And she to you, apparently." And her husband repeated what Monica hadsaid a
bout coming again.
"Bless her!" ejaculated warm-hearted Mrs. Howell; and then she addedwistfully, "I wish, Bob----"
"What, old girl?"
"That our Lily was a bit more like her."
"Tut, tut!" he said. "This Miss Beauchamp is a lady, born and bred; andour girl ain't got a drop of blue blood in her veins."
"Our Lily don't seem to have got no heart, somehow," sighed her mother."She's all for clothes, an' pleasure, an' pleasin' herself."
"It's the brass that's to blame for that," said the man who had amasseda fortune of over a quarter of a million. "I'm almost sorry I had sucha streak of luck. We were happier in the old days, Caroline, when welived in the little house at Bermondsey, and went out marketing togetherSaturday nights, guess the old proverb that 'money's the root of allevil' is about right. It's all very well, but it don't buy happiness."
"That ain't a proverb, Bob," said his wife, reprovingly, "it's in theBible, and it says it's the love of money that makes all the mischief.I sometimes think, Bob," she added, a trifle hesitatingly, for she wastreading on tender ground, "that if we were a bit religious, we shouldbe happier like."
"Time enough for religion when you get notice to quit," he replied witha hard laugh, which had no mirth in it. "'Do as you would be done by'is a good enough creed for me; and if everybody acted up to it the worldwould be a better place than it is, with all its parsons andchurch-going."
"That ain't enough to take you to heaven, Bob," said Mrs. Howell, sadly,but as she knew no better way to suggest she said no more, and thesubject dropped. But in the plain, homely woman's breast there was adeep, unsatisfied longing after a peace which she had never found, amidall the luxuries and splendour of her surroundings.
While the above conversation was taking place, and Monica was beingdriven slowly home, the story of that disastrous day was being eagerlydetailed by the other three girls at the Franklyns', whither Amethysthad accompanied Elsa, and where to her great delight she found hermother sitting with Mrs. Franklyn.
Fortunately for the invalid, no rumour of the accident had reached herroom, Mr. Howell's messenger having met the doctor after he had lefthome a few minutes; so that she and Mrs. Drury had been enjoying alittle confidential chat about their children over a cup of tea; neverdreaming but that they were all having a splendid time at Carson Rise,until Olive, who was followed by the other two girls before there hadbeen time to become anxious about them, told how differently they hadbeen placed.
Olive and Amethyst both talked together, and there was such a confusedjargon going on, that for some time neither of the ladies could get avery clear idea of what had happened; but eventually Elsa was appealedto for her version of the affair, and then they understood better.
"Dear me, I am sorry for Monica," said Mrs. Drury sympathetically; "itwill be a long business, I am afraid."
"Poor child!" murmured the invalid; "how will she bear it?"
"It's awfully hard lines on her," cried Olive vehemently, "shut up inthat great, dull house for weeks. And I shall miss her justdreadfully."
"I'm glad it isn't me," said Amethyst; "not that I should mind beinglaid up if mumsie nursed me," with an affectionate press of her mother'shand, at whose feet she had thrown herself. "But you get so low inclass if you are away from school long."
"There are lessons to be learnt on a sofa, my child, that are moreimportant than all the school ones," said the invalid gently; "and bylearning them properly a higher place can be gained than any that theHigh School can bestow."
"I don't think I understand, Mrs. Franklyn," said Amethyst, in a puzzledtone, while Elsa crept nearer to her mother, and kissed her thin, whitehand, a little comprehensive smile flickering about her mouth. Olivelooked on, a trifle superciliously; if it had not been for Mrs. Drury'spresence, she would have said: "For goodness' sake, don't preach,mamma!"
"I mean the lessons in God's school, dearie, the difficult things we areso slow to learn. It is only when 'He teaches us of His ways' that wecan 'walk in His paths.' I was thinking perhaps God had allowed thisaccident to happen to Monica, so that she might have time to think ofthese things."
"Monica is good enough as she is," cried Olive tempestuously; "we don'tall want to be goody-goodies like some people I know. There would neverbe a bit of fun left then." And she stood up defiantly.
With a significant glance at Mrs. Franklyn, whose pale face wore agrieved, sad expression, Mrs. Drury took the matter into her own hands.
"I am sorry, Olive, that you should feel like that," she said calmly,while she looked searchingly into the defiant face of the young girl,who was picking a tea-rose to pieces with thoughtless fingers. "But itis a good thing, sometimes, to say what one feels. You must have beenunfortunate in your acquaintance with Christians if you find them dulland gloomy. They are not all so, I can assure you. Indeed there is noone so light-hearted, no life so sunshiny, as that of a true follower ofthe Lord Jesus Christ. It is just because we are so happy with Him asour Friend, as well as Teacher, that we want all those whom we know, andlove, to become learners in His school. For we remember that theExamination Day is coming, and unless we have Him as our helper, weshall certainly 'fail,' instead of 'pass.' You know yourself fromschool experience that there are only the two positions to be in; and itrests with each one of us to decide, now, which state shall be ourshereafter."
As Mrs. Drury ended her sentence, she lowered her voice, until it wasscarcely more than a whisper, but the silence which had fallen upon thelittle group was so intense that every word was distinctly audible.Amethyst looked up into her mother's face, and said, with realearnestness: "I do want to pass _that_ examination, mumsie," and Mrs.Drury bent down and kissed the upturned face with clinging tenderness,for she knew that her little daughter's real desire was to please herSaviour, although she very often failed to do so.
But just at that moment her heart went out with a great longing towardsthat other mother's girl, who seemed so unwilling to put first things_first_. Her eyes sought Olive's, so that she might, if possible, readin them something of her thoughts, but Olive kept her head persistentlyturned away, and so she could not gauge what was passing in her mind.
So, with a prayer in her heart (oft repeated as time passed) that Godwould show Olive her need of a Saviour, she bade the invalid a tenderfarewell, with a whispered word of hope, and after good-byes had beenexchanged, Mrs. Drury and Amethyst took their departure.
The little girl chattered volubly of all the incidents of the afternoon,as they walked home in the pleasant coolness which had succeeded theheat of that June day, but Mrs. Drury was a trifle abstracted. She wasthinking of the friend she had left, who appeared to her to be losing,rather than gaining strength, of the sorrow that the indecision of someof her children, with regard to spiritual things, caused the patientinvalid. For a moment, a subtle temptation presented itself: why didnot a gracious Father answer His children's prayers for their loved onesmore speedily. But she thrust the thought from her, knowing well thatGod both could, and would, do all things well, in His own good time.
"Father will be astonished when we tell him, won't he?" piped Amethyst,in her childish treble, and Mrs. Drury's eyes lost their far-away lookas she smiled into the animated little face, which only reached to hershoulder.
"Yes, very," she replied, "but you won't see him to-night, dearie, forhe has gone to a big meeting at Alwinton and he will not be home untilquite late."
"Oh!" Amethyst's face fell somewhat; she rather liked telling her ownnews, and the events of that day had been quite exciting ones to her."Well, you will have to tell him then, mumsie, I suppose. But couldn'tyou only say just enough, and leave the rest for me to tell atbreakfast?"
And her mother promised she would.
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