Guests at Mr. Fairchild's
"She does not know that I made a slit in my frock"]
The night after Emily's story had been read, there was a violentthunderstorm and rain, which continued more or less till daybreak; itwas fine again after sunrise.
At breakfast a note was brought by a boy from Mrs. Goodriche: thesewere the words of it:
"DEAR MR. FAIRCHILD,
"Since that happy day we spent together, we have been in what Sukey calls a peck of troubles; and, to crown all, last night one of our old chimneys was struck with lightning: part of it fell immediately, but I am thankful to be able to say, that by the care of Providence no one was hurt.
"We are all got into a corner out of the reach of it, should it fall, though it might yet stand for years as it is. I have other things to talk to you about, and was thinking of coming over to you if this accident had not happened. Now I must ask you to come to me; I have sent for workmen to consult about this chimney, but I shall have more confidence if you are here."
"I must be off immediately after breakfast," said Mr. Fairchild; and hedid set off, in his little carriage, as soon as he had set Henry towork.
Mr. Fairchild saw the top of the ragged chimney over the trees in thegarden. As soon as he came up to the gate, he himself put up the horseand carriage, for he could see no man about, and then went in at theback door, expecting to find Mrs. Goodriche at that end of the housefarthest from the chimney.
Sukey was the first person he saw.
"Oh, sir," she said, "I am so glad you are come! We shall be all rightnow."
"Nay," said Mr. Fairchild, jestingly, "I hope you don't expect _me_ torepair the chimney."
"Is that Mr. Fairchild?" cried the cheerful voice of Mrs. Goodriche;and the next minute she came out of her parlour, followed by a tallround-faced girl of about twelve years of age, in very deep mourning.
"My niece, Mr. Fairchild," said Mrs. Goodriche; "but tell me, have youbreakfasted?" And when she heard that he had; "Come with me, kindfriend," she said, "we will first look at the ruin, and then I haveother things to talk to you, and to consult you about. So, Bessy, doyou stay behind; you are not to make one in our consultations."
Mrs. Goodriche and Mr. Fairchild then walked into the garden; and wewill tell, in as few words as possible, what they talked about.
First they spoke of the chimney, and Mr. Fairchild said that he couldgive no opinion about it till the owner of the house and the masonscame, and they were expected every hour.
Mrs. Goodriche said that she had lived in that house nearly twentyyears, and should be sorry to leave it; but that she and Sukey, onwindy nights, often felt that they should be glad to be out of it.
"And yet," said Mr. Fairchild, "it may stand long after you and I;still it is a wide, dull place for two persons, and very solitary."
"I wish I could get a house your way," replied Mrs. Goodriche; "thoughnow we shall be more than myself and Sukey; and this brings me to thesubject I wanted to consult you about before the business of thechimney."
Mr. Fairchild knew that Mrs. Goodriche had had one only brother, whohad gone abroad, when young, as a merchant. He had married, and had oneson; this son had also married, and Bessy was the only child of thisson. Mrs. Goodriche's brother had died years ago, as had also his son'swife; at which time her nephew had sent his daughter home and placedher in a school in some seaport in the south of England, where she had,it seems, learned little or nothing.
Within the last month, Mrs. Goodriche had heard of the death of hernephew, and that she was left as guardian of his daughter.
"I had an acquaintance going to Plymouth only last week," she added;"and I got him to take charge of Bessy and bring her here. She has beenwith me only a few days, and is very glad to leave school, which doesnot speak well for her governess; or if not for her governess, forherself. As to what she is, I can as yet say little," added the oldlady, "except that she seems to be affectionate and good-tempered; butshe is also idle, wasteful, and ignorant in the extreme. She can't readeven English easily enough to amuse herself with any book; and as tosewing, she is ready at a sampler, but could not put the simplestarticle of clothing together. With regard to any knowledge of theBible, I much doubt if she can tell if the tower of Babel was builtbefore or after the Flood. She is a determined gossip and a greattalker; but Sukey, to whom she is always chattering, assures me thatshe has never heard her say anything bad beyond nonsense."
"You mean to keep her with you?" asked Mr. Fairchild.
"I do," said Mrs. Goodriche; "I think it my duty, and I am far fromdisliking the poor thing. She has had so much schooling, and gained solittle by it, that if I could get a good writing and maybe a cipheringmaster to attend her, I think I could do the rest myself, and impart toher some of the old-fashioned notions of industry, and neatness, andmanagement. But this is a subject I wanted to consult you and Mrs.Fairchild about, for I so much like your plans with your own dearchildren."
Mrs. Fairchild had asked her husband to invite Mrs. Goodriche to theirhouse until the chimney should be repaired; but Mr. Fairchild wasdoubtful whether this message should be delivered, when he heard thatMiss Bessy was to remain with her great-aunt. After a little thought,however, he gave the message, stating his difficulty at the same time.
"Well," said Mrs. Goodriche, "I hardly know what to say: I should liketo come to you, and I should like Bessy to see your children and yourfamily plans; but as I know so little of her, I know not whether itwould be right to let her mix with your children. You shall think thematter over, my good friend, and consult your wife; and be sure,whichever way the thing is settled, I shall not be offended."
When the men came to look at the chimney, it was found that themischief might be remedied by a few days' work, so far as to make thechimney safe; but it was also seen that the house wanted many repairs.
"I think," said Mrs. Goodriche, "that I must give notice to quit thiscoming Midsummer. I shall still have half a year to look about me. Thefright last night seems to have been sent to oblige me to settle myplans. I feel that this place is not exactly what will suit myniece--young people must have company; and if they are not where theycan find their equals, they will fly to their inferiors. Bessy willmake intimacies with every cottager in the wood, and I shall not beable to help it."
"I believe you are right, Mrs. Goodriche," replied Mr. Fairchild; "andI wish we could find a house for you in our village."
Mr. Fairchild looked very anxiously at Bessy when he saw her again.There was a great appearance of good temper and kindness about herwhich pleased him. She had a round rosy face and laughing eyes; but herclothes, although quite new, were already out of place, and fallingfrom one shoulder. She talked incessantly, whether heeded or not, andseldom said anything to the purpose.
"If I were to begin to find fault with her," said Mrs. Goodriche to Mr.Fairchild, "I could never have done: not that she is constantlycommitting heavy offences, but she never does anything in the rightway. What shall I do with her, my good friend?"
"We will talk over the affair at home," replied Mr. Fairchild; "and youshall see me again to-morrow."
The next day accordingly brought Mr. Fairchild, and with him Mrs.Fairchild.
"Well, my good madam," said he, "we have settled it; we shall be gladto see you and Miss Bessy. We have spoken to Lucy and Emily; and theyhave promised to attend to all our wishes, and to inform us ifanything should be said or done which they think we should notapprove. So when shall I fetch you?--say to-morrow?"
"To-morrow, then," replied Mrs. Goodriche; "to-morrow evening, by whichtime I shall have settled things at home, and provided a person to bewith Sukey."
After an early dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild went home.
The next morning Mrs. Fairchild had some conversation with her littlegirls.
"You have never, my dears," she said, "been in a house for any timewith a young person whose character we do not know; but it seems thatit is re
quired of us now to receive such a one. Mrs. Goodriche is anold and very dear friend; she is in trouble, and she has some hopesthat her niece may be benefited by being for a while in an orderlyfamily. You and Emily may be some help to her; but if you are led byher, or are unkind to her, or show that you think yourselves betterthan she is, you may not only be hurt yourselves, but very much hurther instead of doing her good."
"Oh, mamma," replied Lucy, "I hope that we shall not do that: pray tellus every day exactly what to do."
"Be assured that I will, my children," said Mrs. Fairchild; "and wewill not fear. You will not dislike Bessy--she is a good-tempered,merry girl; but you must not let her be alone with Henry: her very goodhumour may make her a dangerous companion to him."
Mr. Fairchild went, after dinner, to fetch Mrs. Goodriche and Bessy;and just before tea Henry came in to say the carriage was coming. Heran out again as fast as he could to set the gate open.
Mrs. Fairchild and the little girls met their visitors at the door.
Bessy jumped out of the carriage, and without waiting for the names tobe spoken, gave her hands to Lucy and Emily. She kissed Lucy, and wouldhave kissed Emily if she had not got behind Mrs. Fairchild.
"And that was Henry," she said, "who stood at the gate: he is a nicelittle fellow! I know all the names, and John's and Betty's too. Sukeyhas told me about Betty--just such another as herself. What a prettyplace this is!--not like aunt's old barn of a house. I feel at homehere already."
Whilst the young lady was prattling in this manner, Mrs. Fairchild wasshowing Mrs. Goodriche to her sleeping-room. She had put up a littlecouch-bed in the corner of the same room for Bessy, as she had no otherroom to give; and this had been settled between the ladies the daybefore. Mrs. Goodriche had told her niece to follow her upstairs, whichMiss Bessy might perchance have done, after a while, had not Bettyappeared coming from the kitchen to carry up the luggage.
"That is Betty," said Miss Bessy. "How do you do, Betty? Sukey told meto remember her to you."
"Very well, thank you, Miss," said Betty, with a low curtsey, as shebustled by with a bandbox.
Mrs. Goodriche now appeared, and speaking to her niece from thestair-head said:
"Come up, Bessy, and put yourself to rights before tea."
"Shan't I do, Miss Lucy?" said Bessy; "aunty is so particular; she doesnot know that I made a monstrous slit in my frock as I got into thecarriage. I pinned it up, however, as well as I could, though I wasforced to take the pins out of my dress for it. I shall run it upto-morrow, for, if she sees it, poor I will be forced to darn it threadby thread; so do lend me a pin or two, dear girls."
Betty now appeared again with a message to the young lady to goupstairs to her aunt, and then Bessy hurried off so rapidly, taking twosteps at a time, that Lucy and Emily expected she would have a secondslit in her dress to mend the next day. She did not appear again tilltold that tea was ready, when she came down after her aunt. Mrs.Goodriche looked all kind and calm as usual; she seemed quite pleasedto find herself with her friends, though no doubt she was a littleuneasy lest her niece should disgrace herself. As Bessy passed Lucy togo to a seat near Mrs. Fairchild, she whispered:
"Aunt has found out the slit, and poor I will be set to the darningto-morrow."
The whole party were seated before Henry came in; he had been seeingJohn put up the carriage. John had been busy, and Henry trying tohelp--so Henry was not like the boy who helped his brother to donothing.
"Well, Master Henry," said Miss Bessy, calling over to the other end ofthe table, "so you speak to my aunt, and say you are glad she is come,and you don't speak to me."
"Because, ma'am----" Henry began.
"Eh?" cried Miss Bessy, "don't call me ma'am;" and she burst into agiggle, which made Henry open his eyes and look very hard at her.
This made her laugh the more; and, as she had her teacup in her hand,she spilt a quantity of tea on the unfortunate black frock.
"Bessy," said Mrs. Goodriche gently, "you had better set down your cupand wipe your frock, or I shall have to ask Mrs. Fairchild to lend youone of Henry's pinafores."
"It is not hurt, aunt; it will all come out. I threw a cup of milk overit the other day, and no one could see the mark unless I stood quiteopposite them, and they looked quite hard at it."
"Well, then, Miss Bessy," said Mrs. Goodriche, "when you wear thatfrock, or any other of your frocks which people should not look hardat, I would advise you to keep in the background."
"Aunt is making sport of me, Mrs. Fairchild," said Bessy, with anothergiggle; "do you know what she means? She is advising me, in her cunningway, always to keep in the background of company."
"Always?" said Mr. Fairchild, smiling; "why, have you not any dresseswhich would bear close inspection?"
"Not many, I fear!" replied Miss Bessy; "I was always uncommon unluckyin tearing my clothes and getting them stained."
"Suppose we say careless," said Mrs. Goodriche; "but it is no laughingmatter, niece. Have you never heard the old saying, 'Wilful waste makeswoful want'?"
"Well, well," replied the niece, with something like a sigh, "I can'thelp it--I never could;" but before Mrs. Goodriche could say anotherword, she cried out, "You have got a magpie--have you not, Henry?"
"How could you know that?" asked Henry.
"Sukey told me," she answered, "and Mary Lampet told her. Mary was withthe person who gave you the magpie, when she sent it to you."
"Who is Mary Lampet?" said Henry.
"One of Bessy's new friends," said Mrs. Goodriche; "a woman whosometimes comes for a day's work to my house."
"And such a curious old body," said Miss Bessy; "she wears a bluestriped petticoat, and she generally has a pipe in her mouth."
"Never mind her, my dear," said Mrs. Goodriche: "Mr. and Mrs.Fairchild and I have a good deal to say to each other; we do not oftenmeet, and we wish to have our share of talking; it is not for oneperson, and that one of the youngest, to have all the talk to herself."
Instead of noticing this remark, Miss Bessy looked round the table.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," she said; "aunt, you arewrong, I am not one of the youngest; there are three older, and threeyounger than me. I am Jack in the middle; and therefore I have a rightto talk to the old people, and to the young ones too; and therefore Imay talk most."
Henry was being gradually worked up by Miss Bessy to think that hemight be as free as she was; and he began with, "Well now, is not thatvery odd?"
"My dear Henry," said Mr. Fairchild, "did not you hear Mrs. Goodrichesay she thought that young people should not have all the talk tothemselves?"
"Don't scold him," said Bessy; "he meant no harm."
Mrs. Goodriche looked distressed; her niece saw it, and was quiet forat least a minute or two, and then she began to talk again as ifnothing had happened.
When tea was over, and everybody risen from the table, before it wassettled what was to be done next, Henry walked out through the glassdoors into the garden--he was going to feed Mag.
Bessy saw him, and called after him; he did not answer her--perhaps hedid not hear her. She called again--he was farther off, and did notturn.
"You little rogue!" she cried out; "but I will pay you;" and off sheran after him.
He heard her step and her voice as she called him; he took to his heelsthrough the shrubbery, and to the gate of the fold-yard--into theyard--round the barn--amongst the hay-ricks--across a new-mown field,and over a five-barred gate, using all his speed, and yet gaining noground upon her; so back again then he came to where he knew John wouldbe, and making up to him, he got so behind him that he put him betweenBessy and himself.
There the three were in the fold-yard, Bessy trying to catch Henry, whowas dodging about round John, when Mr. Fairchild, who had followedBessy, came up.
"Miss Goodriche," he said, "let me lead you to your aunt, she is askingfor you. My dear young lady," he added, drawing her a little aside,"let me venture to point out to you, as a father, that
it is notbecoming in a girl of your years to be romping with a servant man."
"I was after Henry, sir!" she replied: "it was after him I was going,sir, I assure you."
"I dare say you set off to run after Henry, my dear young lady," hereplied; "but when I first saw you, you were pushing John about, firston one side and then on the other, in a way I should call romping; andam I not right when I say that I think, even now, you have not spokenone word to him, and that you only guess he is my servant John? Whatwould you think, Miss Goodriche, if you were to see my daughter Lucysuddenly run and do the same by yonder labourer in that meadow?--andyet she may know him quite as well, if not better, than you do John."
"La! Mr. Fairchild," cried Miss Bessy, laughing, "how you do putthings! I never thought what I was doing. It must have looked uncommonstrange, but I hope I shan't do it again."
"Then you had better go in with me to your aunt, and if she approves,you shall help Lucy and Emily in their little gardens."
"_Cutting off faded flowers, and picking up the deadleaves._"--Page 299.]
Mrs. Fairchild and Mrs. Goodriche were only waiting for Miss Bessy tofollow the little girls into the garden; and there, whilst they workedand chatted together, Lucy and Emily and Miss Goodriche were employedin cutting off faded flowers, and picking up the dead leaves from theground.
"_Off she ran after him._"--Page 295.]
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