Chapter 18. Vinegar

________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XVIII. VINEGAR

It was certainly not at all remarkable that the entire party should be drowsy and languid on the following day. Pauline had dark shadows under her eyes, and there was a fretful note in her voice. Nurse declared that Briar and Patty had caught cold, and could not imagine how they had managed to do so; but Miss Tredgold said that colds were common in hot weather, and that the children had played too long in the open air on the previous night. In short, those who were out of the mischief suspected nothing, and Pauline began to hope that her wild escapade would never be known. Certainly Briar and Patty would not betray her.

They had all managed to climb up the tree and get in at her window without a soul knowing. Pauline therefore hoped that she was quite safe; and the hope that this was the case revived her spirits, so that in the afternoon she was looking and feeling much as usual. As she was dressing that morning she had made a sort of vow. It was not a bit the right thing to do, but then poor little Pauline was not doing anything very right just then. This was her vow. She had said in her prayer to God:

"If You will keep Aunt Sophy from finding out how naughty I have been, I will, on my part, be extra good. I will do my lessons most perfectly, and never, never, never deceive Aunt Sophy again."

Now, Pauline, unaware that such a prayer could not possibly be answered, felt a certain sense of security after she had made it.

In addition to the beautiful chain with its locket and its diamond star in the middle, she had received several other presents of the gay and loud and somewhat useless sort. Nancy's friends, Becky and Amy, had both given her presents, and several young people of the party had brought little trifles to present to the queen of the occasion. There was a time when Pauline would have been highly delighted with these gifts, but that time was not now. She felt the impossible tidies, the ugly pin-cushions, the hideous toilet-covers, the grotesque night-dress bags to be more burdens than treasures. What could she possibly do with them? The gold chain and locket were another matter. She felt very proud of her chain and her little heart-shaped locket. She was even mad enough to fasten the chain round her neck that morning and hide it beneath her frock, and so go downstairs with the diamond resting on her heart.

Miss Tredgold had wisely resolved that there were to be very few lessons that day. The girls were to read history and a portion of one of Shakespeare's plays, and afterwards they were to sit in the garden and do their fancy-work. They were all glad of the quiet day and of the absence of excitement, and as evening progressed they recovered from their fatigue, and Pauline was as merry as the rest.

It was not until preparation hour that Pauline felt a hand laid on her arm; two keen black eyes looked into her face, and a small girl clung to her side.

"Oh, what is it, Pen?" said Pauline, almost crossly. "What do you want now?"

"I thought perhaps you'd like to know," replied Penelope.

"To know what, you tiresome child? Don't press up against me; I hate being pawed."

"Does you? Perhaps you'd rather things was knowed."

"What is it, Pen? You are always so mysterious and tiresome."

"Only that I think you ought to tell me," said Penelope, lowering her voice and speaking with great gentleness. "I think you ought to tell me all about the things that are hidden away in that bandbox under your bed."

"What do you mean?" said Pauline, turning pale.

"Why, I thought I'd like to go into your room and have a good look round."

"But you have no right to do that sort of thing. It is intolerably mean of you. You had no right to go into my bedroom."

"I often does what I has no right to do," said Penelope, by no means abashed. "I went in a-purpose 'cos you didn't tell me what you wished to tell me once, and I was burning to know. Do you understand what it is to be all curiosity so that your heart beats too quick and you gets fidgety? Well, I was in that sort of state, and I said to myself, 'I will know.' So I went into your room and poked about. I looked under the bed, and there was an old bandbox where you kept your summer hat afore Aunt Sophy came; and I pulled it out and opened it, and, oh! I see'd---- Paulie, I'd like to have 'em. You doesn't want 'em, 'cos you have hidden 'em, and I should like to have 'em."

"What?"

"Why, that pin-cushion for one thing--oh! it's a beauty--and that tidy. May I have the pin-cushion and the tidy, Paulie--the purple pin-cushion and the red tidy? May I?"

"No."

"May Aunt Sophy have them?"

"Don't be silly."

"May anybody have them?"

"They're mine."

"How did you get them?"

"That's my affair."

"You didn't get them from me, nor from any of the other girls--I can go round and ask them if you like, but I know you didn't--nor from father, nor from Aunt Sophy, nor from Betty, nor from John, nor from any of the new servants. Who gave them to you?"

"That's my affair."

"You won't tell?"

"No."

"May I tell Aunt Sophy about the bandbox chock-full of funny things pushed under the bed?"

"If you do----"

Penelope danced a few feet away. She then stood in front of her sister and began to sway her body backwards and forwards.

"I see'd," she began, "such a funny thing!"

"Penelope, you are too tormenting!"

"I see'd such a very funny thing!"

Miss Tredgold was seen approaching. Penelope looked round at her and then deliberately raised her voice.

"I see'd such a very, very funny thing!"

"What is it, Pen? Why are you teasing your sister?" said Miss Tredgold.

"I aren't!" cried Penelope. "I are telling her something what she ought to know. It is about something I---- Shall I go on, Paulie?"

"No; you make my head ache. Aunt Sophy, may I go in and lie down?"

"Certainly, my dear. You look very pale. My poor child, you were over-excited yesterday. This won't do. Penelope, stop teasing your sister, and come for a walk with me. Pauline, go and lie down until dinner-time."

Pauline went slowly in the direction of the house, but fear dogged her footsteps. What did Penelope know, and what did she not know?

Meanwhile Miss Tredgold took the little girl's hand and began to pace up and down.

"I have a great deal to correct in you, Pen," she said. "You are always spying and prying. That is not a nice character for a child."

"I can be useful if I spy and pry," said Penelope.

"My dear, unless you wish to become a female detective, you will be a much greater nuisance than anything else if you go on making mysteries about nothing. I saw that you were tormenting dear little Pauline just now. The child is very nervous. If she is not stronger soon I shall take her to the seaside. She certainly needs a change."

"And me, too?" said Penelope. "I want change awful bad."

"Not a bit of you. I never saw a more ruddy, healthy-looking little girl in the whole course of my life."

"I wonder what I could do to be paled down," thought Penelope to herself; but she did not speak her thought aloud. "I mustn't tell Aunt Sophy, that is plain. I must keep all I know about Paulie dark for the present. There's an awful lot. There's about the thimble, and--yes, I did see them all three. I'm glad I saw them. I won't tell now, for I'd only be punished; but if I don't tell, and pretend I'm going to, Paulie will have to pay me to keep silent. That will be fun."

The days passed, and Pauline continued to look pale, and Miss Tredgold became almost unreasonably anxious about her. Notwithstanding Verena's assurance that Pauline had the sort of complexion that often looked white in summer, the good lady was not reassured. There was something more than ordinary weakness and pallor about the child. There was an expression in her eyes which kept her kind aunt awake at night.

Now this most excellent woman had never yet allowed the grass to grow under her feet. She was quick and decisive in all her movements. She was the sort of person who on the field of battle would have gone straight to the front. In the hour of danger she had never been known to lose her head. She therefore lost no time in making arrangements to take Verena and Pauline to the seaside. Accordingly she wrote to a landlady she happened to know, and engaged some remarkably nice rooms at Easterhaze on the south coast. Verena and Pauline were told of her plans exactly a week after the birthday. Pauline had been having bad dreams; she had been haunted by many things. The look of relief on her face, therefore, when Miss Tredgold told her that they were to pack their things that day, and that she, Verena, and herself would start for Easterhaze at an early hour on the following morning, was almost beyond words.

"Why is you giving Pauline this great big treat?" asked Penelope.

"Little girls should be seen and not heard," was Miss Tredgold's remark.

"But this little girl wants to be heard," replied the incorrigible child. "'Cos she isn't very strong, and 'cos her face is palefied."

"There is no such word as palefied, Penelope."

"I made it. It suits me," said Penelope.

"Pauline's cheeks are rather too pale," answered Miss Tredgold.

She did not reprove Penelope, for in spite of herself she sometimes found a smile coming to her face at the child's extraordinary remarks.

Presently Penelope slipped away. She went thoughtfully across the lawn. Her head was hanging, and her whole stout little figure testified to the fact that she was meditating.

"Off to the sea!" she muttered softly to herself. "Off to the big briny waves, to the wadings, to the sand castles, to the shrimps, to the hurdy-gurdies, and all 'cos she's palefied. I wish I could be paled."

She ran into the house, rushed through the almost deserted nursery, and startled nurse out of her seven senses with a wild whoop.

"Nursey, how can I be paled down?"

"Nonsense, child! Don't talk rubbish."

"Am I pale, nursey, or am I a rosy sort of little girl?"

"You are a sunburnt, healthy-looking little child, with no beauty to fash about," was nurse's blunt response.

"Am I healthy-looking?"

"Of course you are, Miss Pen. Be thankful to the Almighty for it, and don't worry me."

Pen stuck out her tongue, made a hideous face at nurse, and darted from the room. She stood in the passage for a minute or two reflecting, then she slipped round and went in the direction of Pauline's bedroom.

The bandbox chock-full of those vulgar presents had been pushed into the back part of a dark cupboard which stood in the little girl's room. Penelope knew all about that. She opened the cupboard, disappeared into its shadows, and then returned with an orange-colored tidy and a chocolate-red pin-cushion. Having made a bag of the front of her frock, she slipped the pin-cushion and tidy into it, and ran off to the kitchen. Aunt Sophia visited the kitchen each morning, but Pen knew that the hour of her daily visit had not yet arrived. Betty was there, surreptitiously reading a copy of the _Faithful Friend_. She started when Pen darted into her domain.

"Now what is it, Miss Penelope? For goodness' sake, miss, get out of this. Your aunt would be flabbergasted to see you here."

For response Pen planted down in front of Betty the orange-colored tidy and the chocolate-red pin-cushion.

"Here's some things," she said. "Here's two nice things for a nice body. What will that nice body give for these nice things?"

"My word!" said Betty, "they're natty."

She took up the pin-cushion and examined it all over. She then laid it down again. She next took up the tidy, turned it from side to side, and placed it, with a sigh of distinct desire, beside the pin-cushion.

"Them's my taste," she said. "I like those sort of fixed colors. I can't abide the wishy-washy tastes of the present day."

"They's quite beautiful, ain't they?" said Pen. "I'll give them to you if you will----"

"You will give them to me?" said Betty. "But where did you get them from?"

"That don't matter a bit. Don't you ask any questions and you will hear no lies. I will give them to you, and nobody and nothing shall ever take them from you again, if you do something for me."

"What's that, Miss Pen?"

"Will you, Betty--will you? And will you be awful quick about it."

"I should like to have them," said Betty. "There's a friend of mine going to commit marriage, and that tidy would suit her down to the ground. She'd like it beyond anything. But, all the same, I don't hold with young ladies forcing their way into my kitchen; it's not haristocratic."

"Never mind that ugly word. Will you do what I want?"

"What is it, Miss Pen?"

"Palefy me. Make me sort of refined. Take the color out of me. Bleach me--that's it. I want to go to the seaside. Pale people go; rosy people don't. I want to be awful pale by to-night. How can it be done? It's more genteel to be pale."

"It is that," said Betty, looking at the rosy Penelope with critical eyes. "I have often fretted over my own color; it's mostly fixed in the nose, too. But I don't know any way to get rid of it."

"Don't you?" said Penelope.

Quick as thought she snatched up the pin-cushion and tidy.

"You don't have these," she said. "Your friend what's going to be married won't have this tidy. If you can't take fixed colors out of me, you don't have fixed colors for your bedroom, so there!"

"You are awful quick and smart, miss, and I have heard tell that vinegar does it."

"Vinegar?"

"I have heard tell, but I have never tried it. You drink it three times a day, a wine-glass at a time. It's horrid nasty stuff, but if you want to change your complexion you must put up with some sort of inconvenience."

"Suppose, Betty, you and me both drink it. Your nose might get white, and I might go to the seaside."

"No, miss, I'm not tempted to interfere with nature. I've got good 'ealth, and I'll keep it without no vinegar."

"But will you give me some? You shall have the pin-cushion and the tidy if you do."

"'Arriet would like that tidy," contemplated Betty, looking with round eyes at the hideous ornament.

"You sneak round to the boot-house, and I'll have it ready for you," she said. "Come at eleven, come again at half-past three, and come at seven in the evening."

This was arranged, and Pen, faithfully to the minute, did make her appearance in the boot-house. She drank off her first glass of vinegar with a wry face; but after it was swallowed she began to feel intensely good and pleased with herself.

"Will it pale me in an hour?" was her thought.

She ran upstairs, found a tiny square of looking-glass, concealed it in her pocket, and came down again. During the remainder of the day she might have been observed at intervals sneaking away by herself, and had any one followed her, that person would have seen her taking the looking-glass from her pocket and carefully examining her cheeks.

Alas! the vinegar had only produced a slight feeling of discomfort; it had not taken any of the bloom out of the firm, fat cheeks.

"It's horrid, and it's not doing it," thought the child. "I wish I hadn't gived her that tidy and that pin-cushion. But I will go on somehow till the color is out. They will send for me when they hear that I'm bad. Perhaps I'll look bad to-night."

But Pen's "perhapses" were knocked on the head, for Miss Tredgold made a sudden and most startling announcement.

"Why wait for the morning?" she exclaimed. "We are all packed and ready. We can easily get to Easterhaze by a late train to-night."

Accordingly, by a late train that evening Miss Tredgold, Verena, and Pauline departed. They drove to Lyndhurst Road, and presently found themselves in a first-class carriage being carried rapidly away.

"I am glad I thought of it," said Miss Tredgold, turning to the two girls. "It is true we shall arrive late, but Miss Pinchin will have things ready, as she will have received my telegram. We shall sleep at our new quarters in peace and comfort, and be ready to enjoy ourselves in the morning." _

Read next: Chapter 19. Glengarry Caps

Read previous: Chapter 17. A Wild Frolic

Table of content of Girls of the Forest


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book