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Six to Sixteen: A Story for Girls, a novel by Juliana Horatia Ewing |
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Chapter 22. A New Home... |
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_ CHAPTER XXII. A NEW HOME--THE ARKWRIGHTS' RETURN--THE BEASTS--GOING TO MEET THE BOYS--JACK'S HATBOX--WE COME HOME A RATTLER It is not often (out of a fairy tale) that wishes to change the whole current of one's life are granted so promptly as that wish of mine was. The next morning's post brought a letter from Mrs. Arkwright. They were staying in the south of England, and had seen the Bullers, and heard all their news. It was an important budget. They were going abroad once more, and it had been arranged between my two guardians that I was to remain in England for my education, and that my home was to be--with Eleanor. Matilda was to go with her parents; to the benefit, it was hoped, of her health. Aunt Theresa sent me the kindest messages, and promised to write to me. Matilda sent her love to us both. "And the day after to-morrow they come home!" Eleanor announced. When the day came we spent most of it in small preparations and useless restlessness. We filled all the flower vases in the drawing-room, put some of the choicest roses in Mrs. Arkwright's bedroom, and made ourselves very hot in hanging a small union-jack which belonged to the boys out of our own window, which looked towards the high-road. Eleanor even went so far as to provoke a severe snub from the cook, by offering suggestions as to the food to be prepared for the travellers. The dogs fully understood that something was impending, and wandered from room to room at our heels, sitting down to pant whenever we gave them a chance, and emptying the water jug in Mr. Arkwright's dressing-room so often that we were obliged to shut the door when Keziah had once more filled the ewer. About half-an-hour after the curfew bell had rung the cab came. The dogs were not shut up this time, and they, and we, and the Arkwrights met in a very confused and noisy greeting. "GOD bless you, my dear!" I heard Mr. Arkwright say very affectionately, and he added almost in the same breath, "Do call off the dogs, my dear, or else take your mother's beasts." I suppose Eleanor chose the latter alternative, for she did not call off the dogs, but she took away two or three tin cans with which Mr. Arkwright was laden, and which had made him look like a particularly respectable milkman. "What are they?" she asked. "Crassys," said Mrs. Arkwright, with apparent triumph in her tone, "and Serpulae, and two Chitons, and several other things." I thought of Uncle Buller's "collection," and was about to ask if the new "beasts" were insects, when Eleanor, after a doubtful glance into the cans, said, "Have you brought any fresh water?" Mrs. Arkwright pointed triumphantly to a big stone-bottle cased in wickerwork, under which the cabman was staggering towards the door. It looked like spirits or vinegar, but was, as I discovered, seawater for the aquarium. With this I had already made acquaintance, having helped Eleanor to wipe the mouths of certain spotted sea anemones with a camel's-hair brush every day since my arrival. "The Crassys are much more beautiful," she assured me, as we helped Mrs. Arkwright to find places for the new-comers. "We call them Crassys because their name is Crassicornis. I don't believe they'll live, though, they are so delicate." "I rather think it may be because being so big they get hurt in being taken off the rocks," said Mrs. Arkwright, "and we were very careful with these." "I'm _afraid_ the Serpulae won't live!" said Eleanor, gazing anxiously with puckered brows into the glass tank. Mrs. Arkwright was about to reply, when the dogs burst into the room, and, after nearly upsetting both us and the aquarium, bounded out again. "Dear boys!" cried Eleanor. And "Dear boys!" murmured Mrs. Arkwright from behind the magnifying glass, through which she was examining the "beasts." "I wonder what they're running in and out for?" said I. The reason proved to be that supper was ready, and the dogs wanted us to come into the dining-room. Mr. Arkwright announced it in more sedate fashion, and took me with him, leaving Eleanor and her mother to follow us. "In three days more," said Eleanor, as we sat down, "the boys will be here, and then we shall be quite happy." Eleanor and I were as much absorbed by the prospect of the boys' arrival as we had been by the coming of her parents. We made a "ruin" at the top of the little gardens, which did not quite fulfil our ideal when all was done, but we hoped that it would look better when the ivy was more luxuriant. We made all the beds look very tidy. The fourth bed was given to me. "Now you _are_ our sister!" Eleanor cried. "It seems to make it so real now you have got _her_ bed." We thoroughly put in order the old nursery, which was now "the boys' room," a proceeding in which Growler and Pincher took great interest, jumping on and off the beds, and smelling everything as we set it out. Growler was Clement's dog, I found, and Pincher belonged to Jack. "They'll come in a cab, because of the luggage," said Eleanor, "and because we are never quite sure when they will come; so it's no use sending to meet them. They often miss trains on purpose to stay somewhere on the road for fun. But I think they'll come all right this time--I begged them to--and we'll go and meet them in the donkey-carriage." The donkey-carriage was a pretty little thing on four wheels, with a seat in front and a seat behind, each capable of holding one small person. Eleanor had almost outgrown the front seat, but she managed to squeeze into it, and I climbed in behind. We had dressed Neddy's head and our own hats liberally with roses, so that our festive appearance drew the notice of the villagers, more than one of whom, from their cottage-doors, asked if we were going to meet "the young gentlemen," and added, "They'll be rare and glad to get home, I reckon!" Impatience had made us early, and we drove some little distance before espying the cab, which toiled uphill at much the same pace as the black snails crawled by the roadside. Eleanor drew up by the ditch, and we stood up and waved our handkerchiefs. In a moment two handkerchiefs were waving from the cab-windows. We shouted, and faint hoorays came back upon the breeze. Neddy pricked his ears, the dogs barked, and only the cabman remained unmoved, though we could see sticks and umbrellas poked at him from within, in the vain effort to induce him to hasten on. At last we met. The boys tumbled out, one on each side, and a good deal of fragmentary luggage tumbled out after them. Clement seemed to be rather older than Eleanor, and Jack, I thought, a little younger than me. "How d'ye do, Margery?" said Jack, shaking me warmly by the hand. "I'm awfully glad to hear the news about you; we shall be all square now, two and two, like a quadrille." "How do you do, Miss Vandaleur?" said Clement. "Look here, Eleanor," Jack broke in again; "I'll drive Margery home in the donkey-carriage, and you can go with Clem in the cab. I wish you'd give me the wreath off your hat, too." Eleanor willingly agreed, the wreath was adjusted on Jack's hat, and we were just taking our places, when he caught sight of the luggage that had fallen out on Clement's side of the cab--some fishing-rods, a squirrel in a fish-basket, and a hat-box. "Oh!" he screamed, "there's my hat-box! Take the reins, Margery!" and he flew over the wheel, and returned, hat-box in hand. "Is it a new hat?" I asked sympathizingly. "A hat!" he scornfully exclaimed. "My hat's loose in the cab somewhere, if it came at all; but all my beetles are in here, pinned to the sides. Would you mind taking it on your knee, to be safe?" And having placed it there, he scrambled once more into the front seat, and we were about to start (the cab was waiting for us, the cabman looking on with a grim smile at Jack, whilst energetic Eleanor rearranged the luggage inside), when there came a second check. "Have you got a pin?" Jack asked me. "I'll see," said I; "what for?" "To touch up Neddy with. We're going home a rattler." But on my earnestly remonstrating against the pin, Jack contented himself with pointing a stick, which he assured me would "hurt much more." "Now, cabby!" he cried, "keep your crawler back till we're well away. You'd better let us go first, or we might pass you on the road, and hurt the feelings of that spirited beast of yours. Do you like going fast, Margery?" "As fast as you like," said I. I knew nothing whatever of horses and donkeys, or of what their poor legs could bear; but I very much liked passing swiftly through the air. I do not think Neddy suffered, however, though we went back at a pace marvellously different from that at which we came. We were very light weights, and Master Neddy was an overfed, underworked gentleman, with the acutest discrimination as to his drivers. Jack's voice was quite enough; the stick was superfluous. When we came to the top of the steep hill leading down to the village, Jack asked me, "Shall we go down a rattler?" "Oh, do!" said I. "Hold on to the hat-box, then, and don't tumble out." Down we went. The carriage swayed from side to side; I sat with my arms tightly clasped round the hat-box, and felt as if I were flying straight down on to the church-tower. It was delightful, but I noticed that Jack did not speak till we reached the foot of the hill. Then he said, "Well, that's a blessing! I never thought we should get safe to the bottom." "Then why did you drive so fast?" I inquired. "My dear Margery, there's no drag on this carriage; and when I'd once given Neddy his head he couldn't stop himself, no more could I. But he's a plucky, sure-footed little beast; and I shall walk up this hill out of respect for him." I resolved to do the same, and clambered out, leaving the hat-box on the seat. I went up to Jack, who was patting Neddy's neck, on which he stuck out his right arm, and said, "Link!" "What?" said I. "Link," said Jack; and as he stuck out his elbow again in an unmistakable fashion, I took his arm. "We call that linking, in these parts," said Jack. "Good-evening, Mrs. Loxley. Good-evening, Peter. Thank you, thank you. I'm very glad to get home too--I should think not!" These sentences were replies to the warm greetings Jack received from the cottage-doors; the last to the remark, "You don't find a many places to beat t'ould one, sir, I expect!" "I'm very popular in the village," said my eccentric companion, with a sigh, as we turned into the drive. "Though I say it that shouldn't, you think? Well! _Ita vita. Such is life's half circle_. Do you know Leadbetter? That's the way he construed it." "I know you all talk in riddles," said I. "Well, never mind; you'll know Leadbetter, and all the old books in the house by and by. Plenty of 'em, aren't there? The governor had a curate once, when his throat was bad. _He_ said it was an Entertaining Library of Useless Knowledge. I've brought home one more volume to add to it. Second prize for chemistry. Only three fellows went in for it; which you needn't allude to at head-quarters;" and he sighed again. As we passed slowly under the shadow of the heavy foliage, Jack, like Eleanor, put up his left arm to drag down a bunch of roses. They were further advanced now, and the shower of rose-leaves fell thickly like snowflakes over us--over Jack and me, and Neddy and the carriage, with the hat-box on the driving seat. We must have looked very queer, I think, as we came up out of the overshadowed road, like dwarfs out of a fairy tale, covered with flowers, and leading our carriage with its odd occupant inside. Keziah, who had been counting the days to the holidays, ran down first to meet us, beaming with pleasure; though when Jack, in the futile attempt to play leap-frog with her against her will, damaged her cap, and clung to her neck till I thought she would have been throttled, she indignantly declared that, "Now the young gentlemen was home there was an end of peace for everybody, choose who they might be." _ |
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