A Modern Tomboy: A Story for Girls

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER XIX.

  A SORT OF ANGEL.

  Irene pulled with swift, sure strokes across the summer lake. The lakewas one of the great features of the place. It was a quarter of a milewide, and half a mile in length, and had been carefully attended to byowner after owner for generations; so that groups of water-lilies grewhere, and swans arched their proud white necks and spread out theirfeathered plumes. Little Agnes had never seen anything so lovely before,and when she bent forward and saw her own reflection in the water shegave a scream of childish pleasure.

  "Oh, how happy sister Emily must be!" was her remark.

  Again Irene made the strange answer, "Don't ask for a day or two."

  Then little Agnes raised grave dark eyes to Irene's face.

  "But any one would be happy with you," she said. "To look at you is sucha comfort."

  "Tell me about yourself," said Irene suddenly, shipping her oars,bending forward, and fixing her intensely bright eyes on the child.

  She did not feel at all like a changeling now. That wild thing in herbreast was still. She felt somewhat like a mother, somewhat like anordinary little girl might feel towards a loved baby-sister, or eventowards a doll. This new sense of protection had a marvelous effect uponher. She would not have minded if little Agnes had crept into her armsand laid her head on her breast.

  "Tell me what you did before you came here," she said.

  "But don't you know?" said Agnes. "Sister Emily has been living with youfor a long time. She must have told you about me."

  "I am ashamed to say I never asked her anything about you."

  "I suppose that is because you are very thoughtful. You weredetermined--yes, determined--not to give her pain. She is always so sadwhen she thinks of us; but Hughie and I are not really unhappy. We don'tmind things now."

  "What do you mean by 'now'? Tell me--do tell me."

  "Oh, we are at school. Hughie is at a pretty good school, although it israther rough. He is learning hard. He is to be apprenticed to a tradesome day. Dear sister Emily cannot afford to bring him up as agentleman; but she is saving every penny of her money to put him into areally good trade. Perhaps he will be a bookbinder, or perhaps acabinetmaker."

  "But people of that sort are not gentry," said Irene. Then she coloredand bit her lips.

  Little Agnes had seen so much of the rough side of life that she was notat all offended.

  "Sister Emily says that she could not afford to bring us up as a ladyand gentleman, and so we are to be trained for something else. I thinkshe is going to put me into a shop."

  "Indeed she won't," said Irene fiercely, "for I won't let her."

  There was a new tone in her voice which frightened little Agnes. Shesank back among her soft cushions.

  "You mustn't be angry with her, for she is the best sister in all theworld. No one else would work so hard to support us. You know, whenfather and mother died there wasn't a penny-piece to keep us, and wewere both very young; and if it hadn't been for Emily I might have beensent to one of those dreadful charity schools. But as it is, I am beingtaught, and now I am staying at this lovely place for the holidays, andI have met you, and I think you are a sort of angel."

  Irene burst into a ringing laugh.

  "You're the very first person who has ever called me that," she said."Now look here, Agnes; there's just one thing I want to ask you."

  "What is that?" asked little Agnes.

  "Don't speak to the servants about me, nor even to your beloved Emily,nor much to Rosamund. You think certain things about me. Other peoplemay not agree with you."

  "I should like to fight them if they differed," said the little girl.

  "Well, that's all right; you can fight them by-and-by if you like; butat present say nothing about me. I am your friend; it will depend onwhether you keep silence or not whether I continue to be your friend. Aslong as I am your friend you are safe and happy here, so that is allright."

  Little Agnes, never having heard anything about Irene except that shewas her sister Emily's pupil, believed these words, and continued tolook with a fascinated gaze at the white-throated swans, at thebeautiful water-lilies, and at the calm reflection of the boat and theirtwo selves in the water. She saw nothing whatever of the rapid stream inthe centre of the lake, where poor Miss Carter had almost met her death,nor did she see any fierce or turbulent side to Irene's erratic nature.

  By-and-by the bell sounded, and Irene exclaimed, "I declare it is timefor us to go in. You are much too young to sit up to dinner. I will seethat you are put to bed, and have something very nice for you to eat,and I will sit with you until you fall asleep."

  "But you will want your own dinner," said little Agnes.

  "My own dinner doesn't matter in the very least. I will have a snatch ofsomething when I go downstairs. Now come along."

  She began to ply her oars again, and in a minute or two they had landed,the boat had been moored, and the two children went up to the house.

  Hughie was standing on the steps, blowing a loud whistle through hisfingers.

  "Hullo, Aggie!" he cried. "Why, you are looking as fresh as possible;and Miss Irene--the wonderful Miss Irene"--here he gave a mocking bowto Irene--"has taken you under her wing. I can tell you sister Emily ispretty jealous."

  Irene looked at him with small favor.

  "Will you please let us pass?" she said.

  The boy made another sweeping bow, and Irene and little Agnes passedinto the house. They went upstairs. Irene took her little friend to thepink room next to her own. Here all her things had been unpacked alreadyby Miss Frost herself, who had now, however, vanished. Agnes, tired,happy, pleased with her new friend, fearing nothing, trusting allthings, was soon got into bed, and Irene sat by her until she droppedasleep. Then she laid a light kiss on her forehead, closed the doorsoftly, and went downstairs.

  Dinner was a thing of the past. Hughie and Miss Frost were pacing aboutin one of the corridors. Irene ran into the drawing-room. Lady Jane waslying on one of the sofas, half-asleep. She started up when she saw herdaughter, and said in a quiet tone, "You will want some dinner, won'tyou?"

  "Yes; I have desired James to give me something. He is getting itready."

  "I will come and sit with you while you eat it," said Rosamund, who wasalso there, jumping up and tossing down the book she had been lookingthrough somewhat restlessly.

  The two girls moved off. Irene satisfied her appetite, and then Rosamundasked her to come with her into one of the greenhouses.

  "Well," said Irene, her eyes sparkling, "I suppose you are satisfiedwith me to-night. I have behaved well to little Agnes, have I not?"

  "In one sense you have behaved well enough; but you have quite forgottenone thing."

  "I do hope you are not going to scold me, I feel so wonderfullyvirtuous. She is a dear little soul, and I have promised to take herunder my protection--that is, if no one will interfere. But I see youmean to begin at once. It is exceedingly unkind of you. What is wrongnow?"

  "Only Miss Frost--poor Miss Frost! You seem to have taken the littlesister quite away from her. She has not been able to speak to the littlething since she arrived, and she has done everything for her."

  "It doesn't matter what Frosty has done in the past. I mean to doeverything for little Agnes in the future--that is, if I am not bullied.If I am, I----What is it, Rosamund?"

  "Dear Irene, I quite know what you feel. It is the first time you havefound some one absolutely to trust you. Little Agnes trusts you; but youought to remember that she is Miss Frost's little sister. You ought notto hurt her feelings. You ought to let Miss Frost do something for her,too. If you had been supporting somebody very precious and very dear fora great many years, and then quite a fresh person came along and tookthat treasure from you, how would you feel?"

  "I'm sure I don't know. I can't understand the position. I only knowthat I like little Agnes, and as long as she is left with me I shall begood to her. The best possible thing for Frosty and yourself and thathorrid, tiresome
boy to do is to go away, I'll look after little Agnes."

  "You were very sweet to her to-day, I will admit that; but what I wantto say is, do try and remember that Miss Frost will want to seesomething of her too. Don't let Miss Frost become too jealous, for sheis devoted to her little sister."

  "Well, I hate the boy," said Irene. "He was so rude when we came off thelake, and he whistled in such a defiant way. He isn't one bit agentleman. Little Agnes told me that he was going to be a sort oftradesman. We oughtn't to have those people coming to the house. Youshouldn't have insisted on my inviting them; you really shouldn't,Rosamund."

  "I thought you were quite above that sort of thing," said Rosamund in alofty tone. "But never mind. Do what you wish; only remember that boththe boy and girl are your guests, and that I am going away next week."

  Irene suddenly felt that Rosamund, much as she adored her, was a littletoo dictatorial that evening. She had expected great praise for herconduct, instead of which she had been blamed. She ran out into the coolnight air, notwithstanding the expostulations of her mother, and came inlate, feeling fagged and wearied. She did not invite Rosamund, as washer custom, to come to her bedroom; but she went there alone, lockingthe outer door, and then softly opening the door between herself and thenew treasure she had found. Yes, little Agnes was a treasure. She wassomething more precious than gold. She was like a doll of the mostbeautiful order.

  Now, Irene had always despised dolls; but this living doll, with thepink cheeks, and the black eyelashes, and the soft hair, and the sweetlittle face, was altogether a different matter. The little one stirredin her sleep and breathed a name softly. Irene bent to listen--the namewas her own.

  "Irene darling!" murmured little Agnes.

  "Oh, she is a pet! I am so glad she has come! I'd almost die for her!"thought the girl.

  She went back to her own room after gazing once again at the sweetlittle face. That night, for the first time for years, Irenedeliberately dropped on her knees and uttered a prayer full ofthankfulness to God. "I thank Thee, great good God, for having given mea darling little girl to protect and love. Please don't allow Frosty tobe jealous, and please let her stay with me, for she is just the personto quiet that horrid living thing inside me," whispered the child. Thenshe got into bed and fell fast asleep.

  She was awakened by cries before morning dawned. In a moment she startedup, sprang out of bed, and rushed into the next room. Little Agnes wassitting up in her bed, puzzled and terrified.

  "Where am I? Oh, what has happened?"

  "Are you frightened, darling?" said Irene. "Are you really frightened?Would you like to come into my bed? Have you had a bad dream?"

  "I have. I thought I was at school, and that Mrs. Treadgold, one of ourmistresses, had beaten me. I fancied that she was beating me hard, andthat made me wake. Now I remember that I am with you. Oh, yes, I shouldlike to come into your bed."

  "Then you shall come at once," said Irene.

  She lifted the little girl out. She herself felt quite old and motherlybeside the little one. During the remainder of the night they slept ineach other's arms, and much of the hardness and the wildness of Irene'snature melted away during that sleep, and some of that motherhood whichis the most blessed gift God can give to a girl visited her.

  She herself insisted on helping Agnes to dress in the morning, and thenthey went down to breakfast hand in hand.