Their humble employment was no sinecure; for this was the favourite stall with the purchasers of better style, since the articles were, in general, tasteful, and fairly worth the moderate price set on them. At Miss Cleveland's counter there was much noisy laughter-- many jocular cheats--tricks for gaining money, and refusals to give change; and it seemed to be very popular with the Stoneborough people, and to carry on a brisk trade. The only languor was in Lady Leonora's quarter--the articles were too costly, and hung on hand; nor were the ladies sufficiently well known, nor active enough, to gain custom, excepting Meta, who drove a gay traffic at her end of the stall, which somewhat redeemed the general languor.
Her eyes were, all the time, watching for her father, and, suddenly perceiving him, she left her trade in charge of the delighted and important Mary, and hastened to walk round with him, and show him the humours of the fair.
Mary, in her absence, had the supreme happiness of obtaining Norman as a customer. He wanted a picture for his rooms at Oxford, and water-coloured drawings were, as Tom had observed, suitable staple commodities for Miss Rivers. Mary tried to make him choose a brightly-coloured pheasant, with a pencil background; and, then, a fine foaming sea-piece, by some unknown Lady Adelaide, that much dazzled her imagination; but nothing would serve him but a sketch of an old cedar tree, with Stoneborough Minster in the distance, and the Welsh hills beyond, which Mary thought a remarkable piece of bad taste, since--could he not see all that any day of his life? and was it worth while to give fourteen shillings and sixpence for it? But he said it was all for the good of Cocksmoor, and Mary was only too glad to add to her hoard of coin; so she only marvelled at his extravagance, and offered to take care of it for him; but, to this, he would not consent. He made her pack it up for him, and had just put the whitey-brown parcel under his arm, when Mr. Rivers and his daughter came up, before he was aware. Mary proudly advertised Meta that she had sold something for her.
"Indeed! What was it?"
"Your great picture of Stoneborough!" said Mary.
"Is that gone? I am sorry you have parted with that, my dear; it was one of your best," said Mr. Rivers, in his soft, sleepy, gentle tone.
"Oh, papa, I can do another. But, I wonder! I put that extortionate price on it, thinking no one would give it, and so that I should keep it for you. Who has it, Mary?"
"Norman, there. He would have it, though I told him it was very dear."
Norman, pressed near them by the crowd, had been unable to escape, and stood blushing, hesitating, and doubting whether he ought to restore the prize, which he had watched so long, and obtained so eagerly.
"Oh! it is you?" said Mr. Rivers politely. "Oh, no, do not think of exchanging it. I am rejoiced that one should have it who can appreciate it. It was its falling into the hands of a stranger that I disliked. You think with me, that it is one of her best drawings?"
"Yes, I do," said Norman, still rather hesitating. "She did that with C--, when he was here last year. He taught her very well. Have you that other here, that you took with him, my dear? The view from the gate, I mean."
"No, dear papa. You told me not to sell that."
"Ah! I remember; that is right. But there are some very pretty copies from Prout here."
While he was seeking them, Meta contrived to whisper, "If you could persuade him to go indoors--this confusion of people is so bad for him, and I must not come away. I was in hopes of Dr. May, but he is with the little ones."
Norman signed comprehension, and Meta said, "Those copies are not worth seeing, but you know, papa, you have the originals in the library."
Mr. Rivers looked pleased, but was certain that Norman could not prefer the sketches to this gay scene. However, it took very little persuasion to induce him to do what he wished, and he took Norman's arm, crossed the lawn, and arrived in his own study, where it was a great treat to him to catch any one who would admire his accumulation of prints, drawings, coins, etc.; and his young friend was both very well amused and pleased to be setting Miss Rivers's mind at ease on her father's account. It was not till half-past four that Dr. May knocked at the door, and stood surprised at finding his son there. Mr. Rivers spoke warmly of the young Oxonian's kindness in leaving the fair for an old man, and praised Norman's taste in art. Norman rose to take leave, but still thought it incumbent on him to offer to give up the picture, if Mr. Rivers set an especial value on it. But Mr. Rivers went to the length of being very glad that it was in his possession, and added to it a very pretty drawing of the same size, by a noted master, which had been in the water-colour exhibition, and, while Norman walked away, well pleased, Mr. Rivers began to extol him to his father, as a very superior and sensible young man, of great promise, and began to wish George had the same turn.
Norman, on returning to the fancy fair, found the world in all the ardour of raffles. Lady Leonora's contributions were the chief prizes, which attracted every one, and, of course, the result was delightfully incongruous. Poor Ethel, who had been persuaded to venture a shilling to please Blanche, who had spent all her own, obtained the two jars in potichomanie, and was regarding them with a face worth painting. Harvey Anderson had a doll, George Rivers a wooden monkey, that jumped over a stick; and, if Hector Ernescliffe was enchanted at winning a beautiful mother-of-pearl inlaid workbox, which he had vainly wished to buy for Margaret, Flora only gained a match-box of her own, well known always to miss fire, but which had been decided to be good enough for the bazaar.
Bv fair means or foul, the commodities were cleared off, and, while the sunbeams faded from the trodden grass, the crowds disappeared, and the vague compliment, "a very good bazaar," was exchanged between the lingering sellers and their friends.
Flora was again to sleep at the Grange, and return the next day, for a committee to be held over the gains, which were not yet fully ascertained. So Dr. May gathered his flock together, and packed them, boys and all, into the two conveyances, and Ethel bade Meta good-night, almost wondering to hear her merry voice say, "It has been a delightful day, has it not? It was so kind of your brother to take care of papa."
"Oh, it was delightful!" echoed Mary, "and I took one pound fifteen and sixpence!"
"I hope it will do great good to Cocksmoor," added Meta, "but, if you want real help, you know, you must come to us."
Ethel smiled, but hurried her departure, for she saw Blanche again tormented by Mr. George Rivers, to know what had become of the guard, telling her that, if she would not say, he should be furiously jealous.
Blanche hid her face on Ethel's arm, when they were in the carriage, and almost cried with indignant "shamefastness." That long-desired day had not been one of unmixed happiness to her, poor child, and Ethel doubted whether it had been so to any one, except, indeed, to Mary, whose desires never soared so high but that they were easily fulfilled, and whose placid content was not easily wounded. All she was wishing now was, that Harry were at home to receive his paper- case.
The return to Margaret was real pleasure. The narration of all that had passed was an event to her. She was so charmed with her presents, of every degree; things, unpleasant at the time, could, by drollery in the relating, be made mirthful fun ever after; Dr. May and the boys were so comical in their observations--Mary's wonder and simplicity came in so amazingly--and there was such merriment at Ethel's two precious jars, that she could hardly wish they had not come to her. On one head they were all agreed, in dislike of George Rivers, whom Mary pronounced to be a detestable man, and, when gently called to order by Margaret, defended it, by saying that Miss Bracy said it was better to detest than to hate, while Blanche coloured up to the ears, and hid herself behind the arm-chair; and Dr. May qualified the censure by saying, he believed there was no great harm in the youth, but that he was shallow-brained and extravagant, and, having been born in the days when Mr. Rivers had been working himself up in the world, had not had so good an education as his little half- sister.
"Well, what are you thinking of?" said her father, laying his ha
nd on Ethel's arm, as she was wearily and pensively putting together the scattered purchases before going up to bed.
"I was thinking, papa, that there is a great deal of trouble taken in this world for a very little pleasure."
"The trouble is the pleasure, in most cases, most misanthropical miss!"
"Yes, that is true; but, if so, why cannot it be taken for some good?"
"They meant it to be good," said Dr. May. "Come, I cannot have you severe and ungrateful."
"So I have been telling myself, papa, all along; but, now that the day has come, and I have seen what jealousies, and competitions, and vanities, and disappointments it has produced--not even poor little Blanche allowed any comfort--I am almost sick at heart with thinking Cocksmoor was the excuse!"
"Spectators are more philosophical than actors, Ethel. Others have not been tying parcels all day."
"I had rather do that than-- But that is the 'Fox and the Grapes,'" said Ethel, smiling. "What I mean is, that the real gladness of life is not in these great occasions of pleasure, but in the little side delights that come in the midst of one's work, don't they, papa? Why is it worth while to go and search for a day's pleasuring?"
"Ethel, my child! I don't like to hear you talk so," said Dr. May, looking anxiously at her. "It may be too true, but it is not youthful nor hopeful. It is not as your mother or I felt in our young days, when a treat was a treat to us, and gladdened our hearts long before and after. I am afraid you have been too much saddened with loss and care--"
"Oh, no, papa!" said Ethel, rousing herself, though speaking huskily. "You know I am your merry Ethel. You know I can be happy enough-- only at home--"
And Ethel, though she had tried to be cheerful, leaned against his arm, and shed a few tears.
"The fact is, she is tired out," said Dr. May soothingly, yet half laughing. "She is not a beauty or a grace, and she is thoughtful and quiet, and so she moralises, instead of enjoying, as the world goes by. I dare say a night's rest will make all the difference in the world."
"Ah! but there is more to come. That Ladies' Committee at Cocksmoor!"
"They are not there yet, Ethel. Good-night, you tired little cynic."
CHAPTER IV.
Back then, complainer... Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast Thy bread upon the waters, sure at last In joy to find it after many days.--Christian Year.
The next day Ethel had hoped for a return to reason, but behold, the world was cross! The reaction of the long excitement was felt, Gertrude fretted, and was unwell; Aubrey was pettish at his lessons; and Mary and Blanche were weary, yawning and inattentive; every straw was a burden, and Miss Bracy had feelings.
Ethel had been holding an interminable conversation with her in the schoolroom, interrupted at last by a summons to speak to a Cocksmoor woman at the back door, and she was returning from the kitchen, when the doctor called her into his study.
"Ethel! what is all this? Mary has found Miss Bracy in floods of tears in the schoolroom, because she says you told her she was ill- tempered."
"I am sure you will be quite as much surprised," said Ethel, somewhat exasperated, "when you hear that you lacerated her feelings yesterday."
"I? Why, what did I do?" exclaimed Dr. May.
"You showed your evident want of confidence in her."
"I? What can I have done?"
"You met Aubrey and Gertrude in her charge, and you took them away at once to walk with you."
"Well?"
"Well, that was it. She saw you had no confidence in her."
"Ethel, what on earth can you mean? I saw the two children dragging on her, and I thought she would see nothing that was going on, and would be glad to be released; and I wanted them to go with me and see Meta's gold pheasants."
"That was the offence. She has been breaking her heart all this time, because she was sure, from your manner, that you were displeased to see them alone with her--eating bon-bons, I believe, and therefore took them away."
"Daisy is the worse for her bon-bons, I believe, but the overdose of them rests on my shoulders. I do not know how to believe you, Ethel. Of course you told her nothing of the kind crossed my mind, poor thing!"
"I told her so, over and over again, as I have done forty times before but her feelings are always being hurt."
"Poor thing, poor thing! no doubt it is a trying situation, and she is sensitive. Surely you are all forbearing with her?"
"I hope we are," said Ethel; "but how can we tell what vexes her?"
"And what is this, of your telling her she was ill-tempered?" asked Dr. May incredulously.
"Well, papa," said Ethel, softened, yet wounded by his thinking it so impossible. "I had often thought I ought to tell her that these sensitive feelings of hers were nothing but temper; and perhaps-- indeed I know I do--I partake of the general fractiousness of the house to-day, and I did not bear it so patiently as usual. I did say that I thought it wrong to foster her fancies; for if she looked at them coolly, she would find they were only a form of pride and temper."
"It did not come well from you, Ethel," said the doctor, looking vexed.
"No, I know it did not," said Ethel meekly; "but oh! to have these janglings once a week, and to see no end to them!"
"Once a week?"
"It is really as often, or more often," said Ethel. "If any of us criticise anything the girls have done, if there is a change in any arrangement, if she thinks herself neglected--I can't tell you what little matters suffice; she will catch me, and argue with me, till-- oh, till we are both half dead, and yet cannot stop ourselves."
"Why do you argue?"
"If I could only help it!"
"Bad management," said the doctor, in a low, musing tone. "You want a head!" and he sighed.
"Oh, papa, I did not mean to distress you. I would not have told you if I had remembered--but I am worried to-day, and off my guard--"
"Ethel, I thought you were the one on whom I could depend for bearing everything."
"These were such nonsense!"
"What may seem nonsense to you is not the same to her. You must be forbearing, Ethel. Remember that dependence is prone to morbid sensitiveness, especially in those who have a humble estimate of themselves."
"It seems to me that touchiness is more pride than humility," said Ethel, whose temper, already not in the smoothest state, found it hard that, after having long borne patiently with these constant arguments, she should find Miss Bracy made the chief object of compassion.
Dr. May's chivalrous feeling caused him to take the part of the weak, and he answered, "You know nothing about it. Among our own kith and kin we can afford to pass over slights, because we are sure the heart is right--we do not know what it is to be among strangers, uncertain of any claim to their esteem or kindness. Sad! sad!" he continued, as the picture wrought on him. "Each trifle seems a token one way or the other! I am very sorry I grieved the poor thing yesterday. I must go and tell her so at once."
He put Ethel aside, and knocked at the schoolroom door, while Ethel stood, mortified. "He thinks I have been neglecting, or speaking harshly to her! For fifty times that I have borne with her maundering, I have, at last, once told her the truth; and for that I am accused of want of forbearance! Now he will go and make much of her, and pity her, till she will think herself an injured heroine, and be worse than ever; and he will do away with all the good of my advice, and want me to ask her pardon for it--but that I never will. It was only the truth, and I will stick to it."
"Ethel!" cried Mary, running up to her, then slackening her pace, and whispering, "you did not tell Miss Bracy she was ill-tempered."
"No--not exactly. How could you tell papa I did?"
"She said so. She was crying, and I asked what was the matter, and she said my sister Ethel said she was ill-tempered."
"She made a great exaggeration then," said Ethel.
"I am sure she was very cross all day," said Mary.
"Well, that is no business of yours," said Ethel pet
tishly. "What now? Mary, don't look out at the street window."
"It is Flora--the Grange carriage," whispered Mary, as the two sisters made a precipitate retreat into the drawing-room.
Meanwhile, Dr. May had been in the schoolroom. Miss Bracy had ceased her tears before he came--they had been her retort on Ethel, and she had not intended the world to know of them. Half disconcerted, half angry, she heard the doctor approach. She was a gentle, tearful woman, one of those who are often called meek, under an erroneous idea that meekness consists in making herself exceedingly miserable under every kind of grievance; and she now had a sort of melancholy satisfaction in believing that the young ladies had fabricated an exaggerated complaint of her temper, and that she was going to become injured innocence. To think herself accused of a great wrong, excused her from perceiving herself guilty of a lesser one.
"Miss Bracy," said Dr. May, entering with his frank, sweet look, "I am concerned that I vexed you by taking the children to walk with me yesterday. I thought such little brats would be troublesome to any but their spoiling papa, but they would have been in safer hands with you. You would not have been as weak as I was, in regard to sugar- plums." Such amends as these confused Miss Bracy, who found it pleasanter to be lamentable with Ethel, than to receive a full apology for her imagined offence from the master of the house. Feeling both small and absurd, she murmured something of "oh, no," and "being sure," and hoped he was going, so that she might sit down to pity herself, for those girls having made her appear so ridiculous.
No such thing! Dr. May put a chair for her, and sat down himself, saying, with a smile, "You see, you must trust us sometimes, and overlook it, if we are less considerate than we might be. We have rough, careless habits with each other, and forget that all are not used to them."
Miss Bracy exclaimed, "Oh, no, never, they were most kind."
"We wish to be," said Dr. May, "but there are little neglects--or you think there are. I will not say there are none, for that would be answering too much for human nature, or that they are fanciful--for that would be as little comfort as to tell a patient that the pain is only nervous--"
The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations Page 48