The Little Princess of Tower Hill

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER VII.

  IN VIOLET.

  Maggie and Ralph spent a very happy afternoon at the Zoo. The best of Ralphalways came to the surface when he was with his mother, and he was alsoimpressed by Jo's remarks about her rabbits. Was it really true that Maggiehad done a beautiful deed by giving his white and pretty darlings theirliberty in a country wood? How Jo's eyes shone when she spoke, and howecstatically she looked at the little princess! Ralph was a great deal toomuch of a boy, and a great deal too proud to make any set speech offorgiveness to Maggie, but he determined on the spot to restore her to hisfavor. He ceased to be condescending, and greeted her more as a littlehail-fellow-well-met. Maggie rejoiced in the change. Mrs. Grenville was herbrightest and most agreeable self; the lions on near acquaintance provedmore fascinating than dreadful, and on their way home Maggie pronounced infavor of the Zoo, said she would certainly like to go there again, andthought that on the whole it must be a nicer place than Madame Tussaud's,where, according to Ralph's account, unless you visited the chamber ofhorrors there were only large and overgrown dolls to be seen.

  "I wonder," said Maggie to her cousin as they sat in the most amiablemanner side by side at their tea that evening, "I wonder why Susy cares togo out into the streets and sing and play a funny little tambourine. Shecan't be at all shy to sing before a lot of people; can she, Ralph?"

  Ralph stared hard at Maggie.

  "Don't you really know what she does it for?" he asked.

  "I suppose for a kind of play," said Maggie, opening her eyes a little.

  Ralph stamped his foot impatiently. "A kind of play!" he repeated. "I wasbeginning to respect you. I forgot how ignorant you are, Poor Susy goesout and plays the tambourine and dances and sings because she wantspennies--pennies to buy bread for Jo and for herself, and for Ben and Bob.No, of course you can't know! Susy wants the tambourine not to play with,but because she's hungry."

  Ralph spoke with great energy; Maggie's little round sweet face becamequite pale; she dropped the delicious bread-and-butter and marmalade whichshe was putting to her lips, and remained absolutely silent.

  "Must the tambourine cost half a crown?" she asked presently.

  "Yes," replied Ralph; "didn't you hear her say so? She knows best what itought to cost."

  Maggie wished she were not such a dunce, that she could read a little andwrite a little, and that she had some slight knowledge of figures. Hithertoshe had been shy of revealing any of her great ignorance to Ralph, but nowher intense longing to know how many pennies were in half a crown made herask her cousin the question.

  Ralph assured her carelessly that there were thirty pennies in that verysubstantial piece of money.

  "It will take a long time to collect," he said, sighing deeply. "Poor Susywill have to have plenty of patience, for I know Jo can't help her, andshe'll have to depend on me. I earn a penny a day when I'm good. Igenerally am good when I'm with mother. It was quite different at TowerHill, for you annoyed me a good deal, Maggie, but I've made up my mind tosay nothing more on that subject. I dare say you, too, will try to be agood girl when you're with mother. Well, what was I saying? Oh! aboutSusy's pennies. With what I gave her and what Jo collected she has gotfourteen. Take fourteen from thirty, how much is left, Maggie? Of courseyou know, so I need not tell you. All that number of days poor Susy willhave to wait, however hungry she is. There, we have finished our tea, let'sgo up to the drawing-room to mother now. Isn't mother sweet? Did you eversee any one--any one so nice?"

  "Yes, I saw my own mother, and she's a lot nicer," said Maggie.

  Ralph's eyes flashed.

  "I like that," he said; "why, every one says the same thing about mymother, that she's the very, very nicest lady in the world. Oh, I say,Maggie, where are you----" But his little cousin had disappeared.

  The facts were these. The events of her first day in London had worked uppoor little Maggie's feelings to a crisis. She had been excited, she hadbeen pleased, she had been greatly surprised. All the old tranquil life inthe midst of which she had moved, knowing all the time that she was itscenter, that she, the little princess, was the beloved object for whom mostthings were done, for whom treats were prepared and delights got ready--allthis old life had vanished, and Maggie was nothing more than little MaggieAscot, an ignorant child, a dunce who could not even reckon figures or reada word of the queen's English, or have any pennies in her purse. Maggie wasonly the little cousin whom Ralph rather despised, who was nobody at allin his estimation compared to Jo--Jo, who was so humble, and so very poor.Maggie's feelings had been greatly moved about Jo and Susy; she had longedbeyond words to put the necessary number of pennies into Susy's hand, andto tell her to go out and buy that tambourine, on which her heart was set,without a moment's delay. She had wished this when she only supposed thatSusy wanted the tambourine to amuse herself. How much more now did she longto get it for her, when Ralph had assured her that Susy's need was so greatthat she wished for the tambourine in order that she might earn money tobuy bread! When Ralph said this Maggie felt a lump rising in her throat,and her own healthy childish appetite failing her--even then she feltinclined to rush away and cry; but when Ralph added to this his somewhatslighting remarks about the mother whose arms Maggie did so long to feelround her, the little princess could bear her feelings no longer, andrushed upstairs to sob out her over-full heart.

  It was not Miss Grey who found Maggie in the dark in her little room, butthe good-natured Waters, who after all knew far more about children thanthe somewhat inexperienced governess. Waters wasted no time in asking thelittle girl what was the matter, but she lifted her into a very motherlyembrace, and soothed and petted her with many loving words. Maggie thoughtWaters a most delicious person, and soon wiped away her tears, and began tosmile once again. Waters was judicious enough to ask no questions about thetears, and, when they were over, to forget that they ever existed. She tookMaggie into her mistress' room, and made her sit on the bed, and showed hersome of Ralph's childish toys. It occurred to Maggie as she sat there thatWaters would not be nearly such a dreadful person as most others to confidein. She was intensely anxious to gain some information, and she resolved totrust Waters.

  "May I tell you something as a great, tremendous secret?" she asked.

  "Well, Miss Maggie, that's as you please," replied the servant. "I can onlytell you one thing--that what's confided to me is a secret from that dayforward, and no mistake. What's the color to keep a secret in, Miss Maggie?In violet. That's where I keeps it, and so it's sure to be safe."

  Maggie laughed and clapped her hands.

  "Waters, I think you're a darling!" she said, "and I will trust you. Idon't suppose you ever heard of any one so ignorant as me. I'll be eightyears old before very long, and I can't read, and I can't write, and Ican't put figures together. I can't even tell the time, Waters--I can't,really."

  While Maggie was speaking, Waters kept gazing at her with a most perfectlyunmoved countenance.

  "Bless the child!" she said presently. "Well, Miss Maggie dear, where's thesecret I'm to keep inviolate?"

  "Why, that's it, Waters; the secret is that I don't know nothing--nothingat all."

  "Well, you'll learn, dearie," said Waters; "you'll learn all in good time.You're nothing but a young child, and you has lots and lots of years beforeyou."

  Maggie did not at all consider herself very young. There were one or twobabies in the village at home, just beginning to toddle, who were reallyjuvenile; but she, Maggie Ascot, who could run and jump and skip, and evenride!--it was really rather silly to speak of her as a very young child.However, now she was so soothed by "Waters' gentle words and Waters'petting that she could find no fault with any remark made to her by thatworthy person. On the contrary, she cuddled up to her and stroked hercheek, and felt relieved at the unburdening of her secret.

  "I didn't learn to read till I was a good bit older than you," said Waters."I don't mean that I'm an example for any dear little lady to follow, for Inever could abide a bookworm. I
don't take to it now. I only learnedbecause my mother said it was a shame to have a great big girl who couldneither spell nor write. My tastes always lay in the needlework line. SinceI was a little tot I was forever with a bit of sewing in my hand; I'd hem,and I'd back-stitch, and I'd top-sew whenever I had the chance. Why, Imind me of the time when I unpicked one of my father's old shirts just forthe pleasure of putting it together again, and didn't mother laugh when shesaw what I was after! Plain needlework was my line, Miss Maggie, and maybeit's yours too, dearie."

  "Oh, no, it isn't!" said Maggie, opening her blue eyes with quite a gleamof horror in them. "I hate plain sewing worser even than I do reading; Ihate it even worser than my figures. Plain sewing pricks, and it worriesme. I hate it more than anything."

  "Well, well, dearie, you're in the pricking stages yet; I went throughthat, same as another. You'll come to learn the comfort of it, for of allthe soothers for poor worrited women, there's nothing at all in my opinionlike needle and thread."

  Maggie was beginning to find this turn in the conversation ratherunintelligible, so she brought Waters back to the subject which mostinterested her by asking if she had also found the study of figures verygood for the worries, and if she would let her know how many pennies Susymust have to make up the half-crown.

  "Oh, is that little Susy Aylmer?" said Waters. "I don't approve of no childgoing out to sing in the streets. However, it isn't for me to interfere,and Mrs. Aylmer is as honest and hard-working a body as ever walked, andthat little Jo is a real angel, and as the poor things must live somehow,why, I suppose Susy had better sing. Master Ralph is saving up his pennies,and he'll give them all to her as sure as sure, so you has no call to putyourself out about it, Miss Maggie."

  "Yes, but I don't want her to wait," said Maggie. "She has nothing to eat,and she'll be so dreadfully, dreadfully hungry. She has got fourteenpennies, and she can't get anything to eat until she has thirty. Oh,Waters! if you do know figures, please tell me how many days poor Susy mustlive without any food until she has got the thirty pennies."

  Waters laughed.

  "Things won't be as bad as that for Susy Aylmer," she said. "She is asturdy little piece, and I don't believe she denies herself much; don't youfret about her, Miss Maggie darling."

  "Yes, but what is the difference between fourteen and thirty?" insistedMaggie. "Ralph only gets a penny a day; how many days will have to passbefore Susy gets the thirty pennies?"

  "She has fourteen now," said Waters; "well--well, it is something of aposer; I never had much aptitude in the figure line, Miss Maggie. Fourteenin hand, thirty to make up; well--well, let's try it by our fingers. Tenfingers first, five on each hand. Bear that in your mind, Miss Maggie. Addten to fourteen, makes twenty-four; come now, I'm getting on, but thatisn't thirty, is it, darling? Try the fingers again; five more fingersmakes twenty-nine, and one--why, there we are--thirty. Ten, five, and onemake sixteen. There, Miss Maggie, sixteen pennies more she'll have to get."

  Just at this moment Mrs. Grenville entered the room, and Maggie'sconversation with the good-natured lady's maid was brought to an abruptconclusion.

  The next morning Maggie awoke out of a profound sleep, in which she hadbeen dreaming of Jo as turned into a real angel with wings, and of Susy asplaying on the most perfect tambourine that was ever invented. The littlegirl awoke out of this slumber to hear the unfamiliar London sounds, and tosit up in bed and rub her sleepy eyes. The hours kept at Mrs. Grenville'swere not so early as those enjoyed at Tower Hill. Maggie was tired of lyingin bed; she was occupying a tiny room which led out of Miss Grey's, and shenow jumped up and went to the window. What was her amazement to see justunder the window, walking leisurely across the road, one of the objects ofher last vivid dream, Susy Aylmer herself! Susy's very stout little formwas seen crossing the street and coming right up to the Grenvilles' house.Maggie was charmed to see her, and took not an instant in making up hermind to improve the occasion. She knocked violently on the pane, but herroom was too high up for even Susy's quick ears to discern this signal, andshe then, in her little blue dressing-gown, rushed through Miss Grey'sroom, and ran as fast as her small feet would carry her down the stairs,down and down until she reached the front hall. There were no servants inthe hall, but the chain had already been taken off the hall door, andMaggie had no difficulty in slipping back the bolt. She opened the door andstood on the steps.

  "Susy! Susy! Susy!" she screamed.

  Susy at this moment was receiving what indeed she came for every morning--agood supply of broken bread and meat from Mrs. Grenville's cook. Mrs.Grenville allowed the cook to give these things to Mrs. Aylmer, and Susywas generally sent to fetch them. She was much amazed to see the prettylittle country lady calling to her so vehemently; she was also delighted,and came to the foot of the hall-door steps, and looked up at Maggie with avery eager face. For a girl who was so dreadfully starved, Maggie could nothelp thinking the said face rather round and full; however, she would notallow this passing reflection to spoil her interest. She beckoned to Susy,and said in a whisper:

  MAGGIE STOOD IN A CONTEMPLATIVE ATTITUDE.--Page 91.]

  "I'm most terrible sorry for you. If I had any money I'd give it toyou--really and truly I would, but I haven't got nothing at all. Fatherhas--father's ever so rich, but he's not with me, he's far away, and Ican't--oh! Susy, can you write?"

  Maggie stood in a contemplative attitude. Susy posed herself on one leg,held her basket of broken meat in a careless manner, as though it did notaccount for anything at all, and kept her quick and intelligent eyes fixedon the little princess.

  "I do want to help you, very much," said Maggie, at last. "I want to helpyou my own self, without any one knowing anything about it. I think I wantto do this as much for Jo as for you. Once I didn't like Jo at all, but nowI do love her; she looks so beautiful and so sweet. I don't think you do;you have rather a cross face, and you are very red, and you've such fatcheeks; but maybe being hungry makes people look cross and red."

  "And--and--fat," continued Susy eagerly. "I'm puffed out with being soholler inside. I am now, missie, really. It's an awfully empty feel, and itwon't go, not a bit of it, till I gets that 'ere tambourine."

  "I wish I could help you!" continued Maggie again.

  Just then there were sounds inside the house, sounds of dustpans andbrushes, and of industrious maids approaching, and Susy knew that heropportunity was short.

  "I believe you, missie," she said, "I believe in your kind 'eart, missie.It do seem a shame as you shouldn't have no money, for you would know howto pervide for the poor and needy, missie; but--but it might be managed inother ways, Miss Maggie."

  "In other ways?" repeated Maggie. "How, Susy--how, dear, nice Susy?"

  "Why, now, you hasn't nothing as you could sell, I suppose?"

  "That I could sell?" repeated little Miss Ascot. "Oh, dear, no, I haven'tnothing at all to make a shop with, if that's what you mean."

  "I wasn't thinking of that, missie; I was wondering now if you had anylittle bit of dress as you didn't want. Your clothes is very 'andsome, andsomething as you didn't greatly care for would fetch a few pence if it wassold, and so help on the tambourine."

  Maggie's blue eyes began to sparkle.

  "Why, there's my new hat," she said; "mother got it from London only a weekago, and I know it cost pounds--it has two long white feathers; I like itvery much, but I could do without it, 'cause I've got my little commongarden-hat to wear. Do you think I'd get two or three pennies for my newbest hat with the feathers and the lace, Susy?"

  "Oh, yes, missie--oh, yes, missie; I seed the hat yesterday, and I neverclapped my two eyes on such a beauty. But it seems a pity to take it awayfrom you, missie dear, and maybe the little common garden-hat would fetchenough to buy the tambourine."

  "Oh, I wouldn't sell that at all," said Maggie; "I am very fond of mygarden-hat, 'cause father likes me in it; and 'sides, I've gatheredstrawberries in it, and I've had wild birds' eggs in it. I'd much, muchrather sell the stupid new hat."<
br />
  Susy was quite agreeable to the transfer, and it was finally arranged thatthe two little girls were to meet each other at the same hour on thefollowing morning, and Susy was to accompany Maggie to the pawnbroker's,where the new hat might be disposed of.

  If there was a commonplace, ordinary, every-day London child, it was SusyAylmer. She was the sister of two little brothers, who also belonged to avery easily found class of human beings; she was the daughter of anindustrious, hard-working, every-day mother; and yet she was also sister toJo!

  How Jo got into that home was a puzzle to all who knew her; she had innaterefinement; she had heaven-born beauty. Her ideas were above her class; herlittle flower-like face looked like some rare exotic among its rudercompanions.

  Mrs. Aylmer alone knew why Jo was different from her other children. Jorepresented a short, bright episode in the hard-working woman's life. Shehad been born in good days, in sweet, happy, country days. Her father hadbeen like her, refined in feature and poetic in temperament. Shortly afterJo's birth the Aylmers had come to London, poverty and all its attendantills had over-taken them, and after a few years Aylmer had fallen a victimto consumption, and had left his wife with four young children on herhands, the three younger of whom altogether resembled her.

  Mrs. Aylmer had no time to grieve--she was a brave woman; there are manybrave women in the world, thank God; among the working poor they areperhaps more the rule than the exception. She turned round, faced herposition, and managed after a fashion to provide for her children. Manyvisitors came to see her, for she was eminently respectable, and had anhonest way about her which impressed people, and all these visitors pitiedher when they saw Jo.

  Poor little Jo was a cripple, a lovely cripple, but still unable to walkor move from her little sofa. The visitors congratulated Mrs. Aylmer on herstrong boys and stalwart-looking little daughter, but they invariablypitied her about Jo. Nothing made that worthy woman so angry. "For Jo is mybrightest blessing," she would exclaim; "she's always like a bit ofsunshine in the room. Trouble, bless her! she a trouble! Why, don't shetake the trouble off my shoulders more than any one else ever did or everwill do? Ask me who never yet spoke a cross word, and I'll tell you it'sthat little pale girl who can never lift herself off the sofa. Ask me whokeeps the peace with the others, and I'll tell you again it's little Jo.And she don't preach, not she, for she don't know how, and she never looksreproachful for all the roughness and the wildness of the others; but herlife's one sarmin, and, in short, we none of us could get on without her.Jo my trouble indeed! I only wish them visitors wouldn't talk about whatthey knows nothing on."

  What Mrs. Aylmer felt for her little lame daughter was also, althoughperhaps in a slightly minor degree, acknowledged by the boys and Susy. Theyclung to Jo, and looked up to her. The boys, who were the two youngest ofthe family, had a habit of giving her their absolute confidence. They notonly told her of their good deeds, but of their naughty ones. They had ahabit of pouring out their little scrapes and misdemeanors with one of Jo'sthin hands clasped to their tearful faces, and when she forgave, and whenshe encouraged, the sunshine came out again on them.

  But Susy was different from the boys, and of late she had kept theknowledge of more than one naughty little action from Jo. The history ofthe tambourine, the history of the purchase of that redoubtable instrumentwhich was to make Susy's fortune and fill the Aylmers' home with not onlythe necessaries, but also some of the dainties of life, was, of course,known by Jo. No one had ever been more interested in the purchase of amusical instrument than she was in the collecting of that hoard which wasto result in the buying of Susy's tambourine. Jo was a delightful andsympathizing listener, and Susy liked nothing better than to kneel by hersofa and pour out her longings and dreams into so good a listener's ears;but Susy had kept more than one secret to herself, and she said nothing toJo about her interview with little Miss Ascot, nor about the arrangementshe had made with that little lady to purchase the tambourine out of theproceeds of the sale of her best hat.

  Susy knew perfectly that Jo would not approve of anything so underhanded,and she resolved to keep her own counsel. She returned home, however, inthe wildest spirits, and indulged all day long in fantastic day-dreams. Jowas having a bad day of much pain and suffering, but Susy's brightness wasinfectious, and Mrs. Aylmer thought as she tidied up her place and made itstraight, that surely there never were happier children than hers.

  "But we won't have the tambourine for many and many a day yet," said Ben."Don't be too sure, Susy; how can you tell but that Master Ralph'll gettired of saving up all his pennies for you? Hanyhow," continued Ben, with aprofound sigh, "we has a sight of days to wait afore we gets 'arf a crown."

  "I knows what I knows," answered Susan oracularly. "Look here, Jo, you'rethe one for making up real 'ticing pictures. I wants to make a day-dream,and you tell me what to do with it when we get it. S'pose now--oh, do bequiet, Ben and Bob--s'pose now I 'ad the tambourine, and it wor a beauty;well, s'pose as the day is fine, and the hair balmy, and every-body goesout, so to speak, with their pockets open, and they sees me--I'm dressed upsmart and tidy--"

  "Oh, my, and ain't you red about the face, just?" here interrupts Bob.

  "Well, don't interrupt; I can't help my 'plexion; I'm tidy enough--and I'mdancing round, and I'm playing the tambourine like anything, and I'msinging. Well, maybe it's 'Nelly Bly,' or maybe it's the 'Ten Little NiggerBoys;' hanyhow I takes; I'm nothing but little Susy Aylmer, but I takes.The crowd collects, and they laugh, and they likes it, and then, theladies and the gents, they go by, so they give me their pennies--lots of'em; and one old gent, he have no change, and he throws me a shilling.Well, now, that's my day-dream. I comes home, I gives the pennies tomother, but I keeps the shilling; I keeps the shilling for a treat for usfour young 'uns. Now, Jo, speak up. What shall we do with our day-dream?"

  The boys were here wildly excited. To all intents and purposes the shillingwas already in Susy's possession. Bob, to relieve his over-chargedfeelings, instantly stood on his head, and Ben set to work to punch him;Jo's eyes began to shine.

  "'Tis a real beautiful day-dream, Susy darlint," she said.

  "Yes, ain't it, Jo? a whole shilling; you mind that, Jo. Now make up whatwe'll do with it. Let's all sit quiet, and shut our heyes, and listen toJo. You'll be sure to make up something oncommon, Joey dear."

  Jo, when she spoke, or at least when she made up what her brothers andsisters called day-dreams, always clasped her hands and gazed straightbefore her; her large violet-tinted eyes began to see visions, nowhere tobe perceived within that commonplace, whitewashed room; the children wholistened to her instinctively perceived this, and they usually closed theirown eyes in order to follow her glowing words the better.

  On this occasion she spoke slowly, and after a pause.

  "A whole shilling," she began; "it's a sight of money, and it ought to do adeal. What I'm thinking is this: suppose we had a wan, a wan as would holdus all, mother, and Susy, and Ben, and Bob, and there was lots of greengrass in the bottom of the wan, so we all of us sat easy, and had no paineven when it moved. Suppose there was two horses to the wan, and a kinddriver, and we went werry quick; we went away from the houses, and thestreets, and we left the noise ahind us, and the dust and the dirt ahindus, and we got out into fields. Fields, with trees a-growing, and realyellow buttercups looking up at you saucy and perky like, and dear littlewhite daisies, like bits of snow with yellow eyes. S'pose we all got outthere, right in the fields, and we seed a little brook running and rushingpast us, and we see the fishes leaping for joy out of the water; and if thesun was werry hot we got under a big tree, where it was shady, and we satthere; mother and I sat side by side, and you, Susy, and you, Ben and Bob,just rolled about on the green, and picked the buttercups and the daisies.Why, I can think of nothing better than that, unless, maybe, angels cameand talked to us while we were there."

  Here Jo paused abruptly, and the three children who had sat absolutelymotionless opened their eyes; the two boys sig
hed deeply, but Susy after atime began to cut up the day-dream; while Jo thought of angels as the onlypossible culmination to such intense joy, it occurred to practical Susy tosuggest a good substantial dinner to be eaten under the shade of the greentrees.