Chapter 9. Punishment Land

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_ CHAPTER IX. PUNISHMENT LAND

Pauline did leave the room. She passed her sisters, who stared at her in horrified amazement. She knew that their eyes were fixed upon her, but she was doubtful if they pitied her or not. Just at that moment, however, she did not care what their feelings were. She had a momentary sense of pleasure on getting into the soft air. A gentle breeze fanned her hot cheeks. She took her old sailor hat from a peg and ran fast into a distant shrubbery. Miss Tredgold had said that she might take exercise in the north walk. If there was a dreary, ugly part of the grounds, it might be summed up in the north walk. The old garden wall was on one side of it, and a tattered, ugly box-hedge on the other. Nothing was to be seen as you walked between the hedge and the wall but the ground beneath your feet and the sky above your head. There was no distant view of any sort. In addition to this disadvantage, it was in winter an intensely cold place, and in summer, notwithstanding its name, an intensely hot place. No, Pauline would not go there. She would disobey. She would walk where she liked; she would also talk to whom she liked.

She stood for a time leaning against a tree, her face scarlet with emotion, her sailor hat flung on the ground. Presently she saw Penelope coming towards her. She felt quite glad of this, for Penelope might always be bribed. Pauline made up her mind to disobey thoroughly; she would walk where she pleased; she would do what she liked; she would talk to any one to whom she wished to talk. What was Penelope doing? She was bending down and peering on the ground. Beyond doubt she was looking for something.

"What is it, Pen?" called out her sister.

Penelope had not seen Pauline until now. She stood upright with a start, gazed tranquilly at the girl in disgrace, and then, without uttering a word, resumed her occupation of searching diligently on the ground. Pauline's face put on its darkest scowl. Her heart gave a thump of wild indignation. She went up to Penelope and shook her by the arm. Penelope, still without speaking, managed to extricate herself. She moved a few feet away. She then again looked full at Pauline, and, to the amazement of the elder girl, her bold black eyes filled with tears. She took one dirty, chubby hand and blew a kiss to Pauline.

Pauline felt suddenly deeply touched. She very nearly wept herself.

"Oh, dear Penny," she said, "how good you are! I didn't know you'd feel for me. I can bear things better if I know you feel for me. You needn't obey her, need you? See, I've got three-ha'pence in my pocket. I'll give you the money and you can buy lollypops. I will really if only you will say a few words to me now."

"I daren't," burst from Penelope's lips. "You have no right to tempt me. I can't; I daren't. I am looking now for Aunt Sophy's thimble. She was working here yesterday and she dropped it, she doesn't know where. She's awful fond of it. She'll give me a penny if I find it. Don't ask me any more. I've done very wrong to speak to you."

"So you have," said Pauline, who felt as angry as ever. "You have broken Aunt Sophia's word--not your own, for you never said you wouldn't speak to me. But go, if you are so honorable. Only please understand that I hate every one of you, and I'm never going to obey Aunt Sophia."

Penelope only shook her little person, and presently wandered away into a more distant part of the shrubbery. She went on searching and searching. Pauline could see her bobbing her little fat person up and down.

"Even Penny," she thought, "is incorruptible. Well, I don't care. I won't put up with this unjust punishment."

The dinner-gong sounded, and Pauline, notwithstanding her state of disgrace, discovered that she was hungry.

"Why should I eat?" she said to herself. "I won't eat. Then perhaps I'll die, and she'll be sorry. She'll be had up for manslaughter; she'll have starved a girl to death. No, I won't eat a single thing. And even if I don't die I shall be awfully ill, and she'll be in misery. Oh dear! why did mother die and leave us? And why did dreadful Aunt Sophy come? Mother was never cross; she was never hard. Oh mother! Oh mother!"

Pauline was now so miserable that she flung herself on the ground and burst into passionate weeping. Her tears relieved the tension of her heart, and she felt slightly better. Presently she raised her head, and taking out her handkerchief, prepared to mop her eyes. As she did so she was attracted by something that glittered not far off. She stretched out her hand and drew Miss Tredgold's thimble from where it had rolled under a tuft of dock-leaves. A sudden burst of pleasure escaped her lips as she glanced at the thimble. She had not seen it before. It certainly was the most beautiful thimble she had ever looked at. She put it on the tip of her second finger and turned it round and round. The thimble itself was made of solid gold; its base was formed of one beautifully cut sapphire, and round the margin of the top of the thimble was a row of turquoises. The gold was curiously and wonderfully chased, and the sapphire, which formed the entire base of the thimble, shone in a way that dazzled Pauline. She was much interested; she forgot that she was hungry, and that she had entered into Punishment Land. It seemed to her that in her possession of the thimble she had found the means of punishing Aunt Sophia. This knowledge soothed her inexpressibly. She slipped the lovely thimble into her pocket, and again a keen pang of downright healthy hunger seized her. She knew that food would be awaiting her in the schoolroom. Should she eat it, or should she go through the wicket-gate and lose herself in the surrounding Forest?

Just at this moment a girl, who whistled as she walked, approached the wicket-gate, opened it, and came in. She was dressed in smart summer clothes; her hat was of a fashionable make, and a heavy fringe lay low on her forehead. Pauline looked at her, and her heart gave a thump of pleasure. Now, indeed, she could bear her punishment, and her revenge on Miss Tredgold lay even at the door. For Nancy King, the girl whom she was not allowed to speak to, had entered the grounds.

"Hullo, Paulie!" called out that young lady. "There you are! Well, I must say you do look doleful. What's the matter now? Is the dear aristocrat more aristocratic than ever?"

"Oh, don't, Nancy! I ought not to speak to you at all."

"So I've been told by the sweet soul herself," responded Nancy. "She wrote me a letter which would have put another girl in such a rage that she would never have touched any one of you again with a pair of tongs. But that's not Nancy King. For when Nancy loves a person, she loves that person through thick and thin, through weal and woe. I came to-day to try to find one of you dear girls. I have found you. What is the matter with you, Paulie? You do look bad."

"I'm very unhappy," said Pauline. "Oh Nancy! we sort of promised that we wouldn't have anything more to do with you."

"But you can't keep your promise, can you, darling? So don't say any more about it. Anyhow, promise or not, I'm going to kiss you now."

Nancy flung her arms tightly round Pauline's neck and printed several loud, resounding kisses on each cheek; then she seated herself under an oak tree, and motioned to Pauline to do likewise.

Pauline hesitated just for a moment; then scruples were forgotten, and she sat on the ground close to Nancy's side.

"Tell me all about it," said Nancy. "Wipe your eyes and talk. Don't be frightened; it's only poor old Nancy, the girl you have known since you were that high. And I'm rich, Paulie pet, and although we're only farmer-folk, we live in a much finer house than The Dales. And I'm going to have a pony soon--a pony of my very own--and my habit is being made for me at Southampton. I intend to follow the hounds next winter. Think of that, little Paulie. You'll see me as I ride past. I'm supposed to have a very good figure, and I shall look ripping in my habit. Well, but that's not to the point, is it? You are in trouble, you poor little dear, and your old Nancy must try and make matters better for you. I love you, little Paulie. I'm fond of you all, but you are my special favorite. You were always considered something like me--dark and dour when you liked, but sunshiny when you liked also. Now, what is it, Paulie? Tell your own Nancy."

"I'm very fond of you, Nancy," replied Pauline. "And I think," she continued, "that it is perfectly horrid of Aunt Sophia to say that we are not to know you."

"It's snobbish and mean and unlady-like," retorted Nancy; "but her saying it doesn't make it a fact, for you do know me, and you will always have to know me. And if she thinks, old spiteful! that I'm going to put up with her nasty, low, mean, proud ways, she's fine and mistaken. I'm not, and that's flat. So there, old spitfire! I shouldn't mind telling her so to her face."

"But, on the whole, she has been kind to us," said Pauline, who had some sense of justice in her composition, angry as she felt at the moment.

"Has she?" said Nancy. "Then let me tell you she has not a very nice way of showing it. Now, Paulie, no more beating about the bush. What's up? Your eyes are red; you have a great smear of ink on your forehead; and your hands--my word! for so grand a young lady your hands aren't up to much, my dear."

"I have got into trouble," said Pauline. "I didn't do my lessons properly yesterday; I couldn't--I had a headache, and everything went wrong. So this morning I could not say any of them when Aunt Sophia called me up, and she put me into Punishment Land. You know, don't you, that I am soon to have a birthday?"

"Oh, don't I?" interrupted Nancy. "Didn't a little bird whisper it to me, and didn't that same little bird tell me exactly what somebody would like somebody else to give her? And didn't that somebody else put her hand into her pocket and send---- Oh, we won't say any more, but she did send for something for somebody's birthday. Oh, yes, I know. You needn't tell me about that birthday, Pauline Dale."

"You are good," said Pauline, completely touched. She wondered what possible thing Nancy could have purchased for her. She had a wild desire to know what it was. She determined then and there, in her foolish little heart, that nothing would induce her to quarrel with Nancy.

"It is something that you like, and something that will spite her," said the audacious Nancy. "I thought it all out, and I made up my mind to kill two birds with one stone. Now to go on with the pretty little story. We didn't please aunty, and we got into trouble. Proceed, Paulie pet."

"I didn't learn my lessons. I was cross, as I said, and headachy, and Aunt Sophia said I was to be made an example of, and so she sent me to Punishment Land for twenty-four hours."

"Oh, my dear! It sounds awful. What is it?"

"Why, none of my sisters are to speak to me, and I am only to walk in the north walk."

"Is this the north walk?" asked Nancy, with a merry twinkle in her black eyes.

"Of course it isn't. She may say what she likes, but I'm not going to obey her. But the others won't speak to me. I can't make them. And I am to take my meals by myself in the schoolroom, and I am to go to bed at seven o'clock."

Pauline told her sad narrative in a most lugubrious manner, and she felt almost offended at the conclusion when Nancy burst into a roar of laughter.

"It's very unkind of you to laugh when I'm so unhappy," said Pauline.

"My dear, how can I help it? It is so ridiculous to treat a girl who is practically almost grown up in such a baby fashion. Then I'd like to know what authority she has over you."

"That's the worst of it, Nancy. Father has given her authority, and she has it in writing. She's awfully clever, and she came round poor father, and he had to do what she wanted because he couldn't help himself."

"Jolly mean, I call it," said Nancy. "My dear, you are pretty mad, I suppose."

"Wouldn't you be if your father treated you like that?"

"My old dad! He knows better. I've had my swing since I was younger than you, Paulie. Of course, at school I had to obey just a little. I wasn't allowed to break all the rules, but I did smuggle in a good many relaxations. The thing is, you can do what you like at school if only you are not found out. Well, I was too clever to be found out. And now I am grown up, eighteen last birthday, and I have taken a fancy to cling to my old friends, even if they have a snobby, ridiculous old aunt to be rude to me. My dear, what nonsense she did write!--all about your being of such a good family, and that I wasn't in your station. I shall keep that letter. I wouldn't lose it for twenty shillings. What have you to boast of after all is said and done? A tumble-down house; horrid, shabby, old-fashioned, old-maidy clothes; and never a decent meal to be had."

"But it isn't like that now," said Pauline, finding herself getting very red and angry.

"Well, so much the better for you. And did I make the little mousy-pousy angry? I won't, then, any more, for Nancy loves little mousy-pousy, and would like to do what she could for her. You love me back, don't you, mousy?"

"Yes, Nancy, I do love you, and I think it's a horrid shame that we're not allowed to be with you. But, all the same, I'd rather you didn't call me mousy."

"Oh dear, how dignified we are! I shall begin to believe in the ancient family if this sort of thing continues. But now, my dear, the moment has come to help you. The hour has arrived when your own Nancy, vulgar as she is, can lend you a helping hand. Listen."

"What?" said Pauline.

"Jump up, Paulie; take my hand, and you and I together will walk out through that wicket-gate, and go back through the dear old Forest to The Hollies, and spend the day at my home. There are my boy cousins from London, and my two friends, Rebecca and Amelia Perkins--jolly girls, I can tell you. We shall have larks. What do you say, Paulie? A fine fright she'll be in when she misses you. Serve her right, though."

"But I daren't come with you," said Pauline. "I'd love it more than anything in the world; but I daren't. You mustn't ask me. You mustn't try to tempt me, Nancy, for I daren't go."

"I didn't know you were so nervous."

"I am nervous about a thing like that. Wild as I have been, and untrained all my life, I do not think I am out-and-out wicked. It would be wicked to go away without leave. I'd be too wretched. Oh, I daren't think of it!"

Nancy pursed up her lips while Pauline was speaking; then she gave vent to a low, almost incredulous whistle. Finally she sprang to her feet.

"I am not the one to try and make you forget your scruples," she said. "Suppose you do this. Suppose you come at seven o'clock to-night. Then you will be safe. You may be wicked, but at least you will be safe. She'll never look for you, nor think of you again, when once you have gone up to bed. You have a room to yourself, have you not?"

Pauline nodded.

"I thought so. You will go to your room, lock the door, and she will think it is all right. The others won't care to disturb you. If they do they'll find the door locked."

"But I am forbidden to lock my room door."

"They will call to you, but you will not answer. They may be angry, but I don't suppose your sisters will tell on you, and they will only suppose you are sound asleep. Meanwhile you will be having a jolly good time; for I can tell you we are going to have sport to-night at The Hollies--fireworks, games, plans for the future, etc., etc. You can share my nice bed, and go back quite early in the morning. I have a lot to talk over with you. I want to arrange about our midnight picnic."

"But, Nancy, we can't have a midnight picnic."

"Can't we? I don't see that at all. I tell you what--we will have it; and we'll have it on your birthday. Your birthday is in a week. That will be just splendid. The moon will be at the full, and you must all of you come. Do you suppose I'm going to be balked of my fun by a stupid old woman? Ah! you little know me. My boy cousins, Jack and Tom, and my friends, Becky and Amy, have made all arrangements. We are going to have a time! Of course, if you are not there, you don't suppose our fun will be stopped! You'll hear us laughing in the glades. You won't like that, will you? But we needn't say any more until seven o'clock to-night."

"I don't think I'm coming."

"But you are, Paulie. No one will know, and you must have a bit of fun. Perhaps I'll show you the present I'm going to give you on your birthday; there's no saying what I may do; only you must come."

Nancy had been standing all this time. Pauline had been reclining on the ground. Now she also rose to her feet.

"You excite me," she said. "I long to go, and yet I am afraid; it would be so awfully wicked."

"It would be wicked if she was your mother, but she's not. And she has no right to have any control over you. She just got round your silly old father----"

"I won't have dad called silly!"

"Well, your learned and abstracted father. It all comes to much the same. Now think the matter over. You needn't decide just this minute. I shall come to the wicket-gate at half-past seven, and if you like to meet me, why, you can; but if you are still too good, and your conscience is too troublesome, and your scruples too keen, you need not come. I shall quite understand. In that case, perhaps, I'd best not give you that lovely, lovely present that I saved up so much money to buy."

Pauline clasped her hands and stepped away from Nancy. As she did so the breeze caught her full gray skirt and caused it to blow against Nancy. Nancy stretched out her hand and caught hold of Pauline's pocket.

"What is this hard thing?" she cried. "Have you got a nut in your pocket?"

"No," said Pauline, instantly smiling and dimpling. "Oh, Nancy, such fun!"

She dived into her pocket and produced Miss Tredgold's thimble.

"Oh, I say!" cried Nancy. "What a beauty! Who in the world gave you this treasure, Paulie?"

"It isn't mine at all; it belongs to Aunt Sophia."

"You sly little thing! You took it from her?"

"No, I didn't. I'm not a thief. I saw it in the grass a few minutes ago and picked it up. It had rolled just under that dock-leaf. Isn't it sweet? I shall give it back to her after she has forgiven me to-morrow."

"What a charming, return-good-for-evil character you have suddenly become, Pauline!"

As Nancy spoke she poised the thimble on her second finger. Her fingers were small, white, and tapering. The thimble exactly fitted the narrow tip on which it rested.

"I never saw anything so lovely," she cried. "Never mind, Paulie, about to-morrow. Lend it to me. I'd give my eyes to show it to Becky."

"But why should I lend it to you? I must return it to Aunt Sophia."

"You surely won't give it back to her to-day."

"No, but to-morrow."

"Let to-morrow take care of itself. I want to show this thimble to Becky and Amy. I have a reason. You won't refuse one who is so truly kind to you, will you, little Paulie? And I tell you what: I know you are starving, and you hate to go into the house for your food. I will bring you a basketful of apples, chocolates, and a peach or two. We have lovely peaches ripe in our garden now, although we are such common folk."

Pauline felt thirsty. Her hunger, too, was getting worse. She would have given a good deal to have been able to refuse the horrid meals which would be served to her in the schoolroom. Perhaps she could manage without any other food if she had enough fruit.

"I should like some very much," she said. "Aunt Sophia has, as she calls it, preserved the orchard. We are not allowed to go into it."

"Mean cat!" cried Nancy.

"So will you really send me a basket of fruit?"

"I will send Tom with it the instant I get home. He runs like the wind. You may expect to find it waiting for you in half-an-hour."

"Thank you. And you will take great care of the thimble, won't you?"

"Of course I will, child. It is a beauty."

Without more ado Nancy slipped the thimble into her pocket, and then nodding to Pauline, and telling her that she would wait for her at the wicket-gate at half-past seven, she left her.

Nancy swung her body as she walked, and Pauline stood and watched her. She thought that Nancy looked very grown-up and very stylish. To look stylish seemed better than to look pretty in the eyes of the inexperienced little girl. She could not help having a great admiration for her friend.

"She is very brave, and so generous; and she knows such a lot of the world!" thought poor Pauline. "It is a shame not to be allowed to see her whenever one likes. And it would be just heavenly to go to her to-night, instead of spending hungry hours awake in my horrid bedroom." _

Read next: Chapter 10. Discipline

Read previous: Chapter 8. Music Hath Charms

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