A Young Mutineer Part 27

"It's all the better," thought the little girl, "it's easier to say good-by when she's not extra loving."

Hilda went back to her accounts, and Judy and Susan walked down the terrace, and turning the corner were lost to view.

They had gone on a little way, and Susan was about to hail a pa.s.sing omnibus, when Judy suddenly put her hand on the servant's arm.

"Susan," she said, "I am going to tell you the secret now. You'll be _sure_ to keep it?"

"Well, of course, miss, I'll do my best--I hope I aint one of the blabbing sort."

"I don't think you are, Susan--you look as if a person could trust you.

I'm going to trust you with a most important thing."

"Very well, miss--I'll be proud I'm sure; but hadn't we better stop that 'bus--there's the conductor looking at us."

"Does that 'bus go in the direction of Waterloo Station?" asked Judy.

"Waterloo--bless you, Miss Judy--I don't know whether it do or not. I don't s'pose so for a quarter of a minute. Waterloo is miles from here--that I do know. But it's nothing to us where Waterloo is, miss, it's to Kensington Gardens we're going, and the 'bus has gone on now, so there's no good our worrying ourselves about it. Another will pa.s.s us in a minute. There are plenty half empty at this hour of the day."

"I wish you would stop talking, Susan, and let me explain what I mean,"

said Judy, almost fretfully. "It's to Waterloo I want to go, not to Kensington Gardens. Do you hear me--do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I suppose you're joking me, Miss Judy. My missis said we were to go to Kensington Gardens."

"Please, Susan, stop for a minute. I want to say something very important. _I am going home._ That's the secret. I am going home to Aunt Marjorie and to father, and my little sister Babs, and the way home is by Waterloo, so I must get there. Now do you understand? That's the secret--I am going home to-day."

Judy's face was so pale, and her words so intensely earnest, that Susan saw at last that the secret was no joking matter, but something real and hard to bear.

"Now I wonder what the little dear is up to," she said under her breath.

"You know, Miss Judy, pet," she replied aloud in as soothing a voice as she could command, "that you don't really mean to run away like that,--for it is running away to go back to your home, and never say a word to Mrs. Quentyns, and she so wrapped up in you, and your room furnished so prettily and all."

Judy had to gulp down a sob before she answered Susan.

"I didn't expect you to understand me," she said with a dignity which made a deep impression on the maid. "I'm not running away, and I'm doing right not wrong. You don't suppose it's always very pleasant to do right, but sometimes one can't think about what's pleasant. I wouldn't have asked you to help me at all, Susan, but I don't know how to get to Waterloo Station. Of course I came from there with my sister, but I didn't notice the road we took, nor anything about it. I know we were a long time in a cab, so I suppose the station is a good way from Philippa Terrace. What you have got to do now, Susan, is to obey me, and not to ask any questions. I really know what I'm about, and I promise that you shan't get into any trouble."

But to Judy's surprise Susan was firm.

"I won't have hand nor part in the matter," she said; "I was told to take you to Kensington Gardens, miss, and it's there we've got to go, or we'll turn round and go back to Philippa Terrace."

For a moment or two Judy felt afraid that all her plans were in jeopardy. She might of course call a cab on her own account, and trust the driver to take her safely to her destination; but brave as she was, she had scarcely courage for this extreme step; besides, the driver of the hansom might take it into his head to listen to Susan's strong objections, and even if he did obey Judy, Susan would go back to Philippa Terrace, and tell Hilda everything, and then Hilda would follow Judy to Waterloo, and prevent her going home at all.

The strongest feeling in the child's mind was a desire to be safe back in the Rectory before Hilda knew anything about her determination.

"Then she can't do anything," thought Judy. "She'll have nothing for it but to make herself quite happy with Jasper again."

Suddenly an idea came to her.

"I won't argue with you any more, Susan," she said. "I suppose you _think_ you are doing right, and if you do, of course I can't expect you to act in any other way. If you knew everything that is in my heart, I am quite sure you would help me; but as you don't, I must think of something else. You know Mr. Rivers, don't you--the gentleman who dined at Philippa Terrace two nights ago?"

"Yes, miss, of course."

"My sister and I took lunch with him yesterday," continued Judy. "He is a very nice gentleman; he's a great friend of Mr. Quentyns."

"Oh, yes, miss, I'm aware," replied the maid.

"He lives in chambers," continued Judy. "I don't in the least know what chambers means; but he asked me to go and see him some day and have lunch with him. He wrote his address on a piece of paper and gave it to me, and I have it in my purse. My sister said I might certainly lunch with Mr. Rivers. Now, Susan, I intend to go to him to-day. So please call a hansom, and I shall drive there at once. You can come or not as you please. If you prefer it you can go home; but of course I'd rather you came with me."

Susan deliberated. Certainly Miss Judy was in a very queer condition, and it would be as much as her place was worth to take her to Waterloo; but to drive with her to the chambers of that nice gentleman who was, she knew, one of her master's greatest friends, seemed a shifting of responsibility which was quite a way out of the dilemma, for not for worlds would Susan do anything really to hurt the child's feelings.

"All right, miss," she said after a pause; "even that seems queer enough, but Mr. Rivers can explain matters himself to my missis. Here's a nice 'ansom with a steady horse. Stop, driver, please, stop! Draw up here by the lamp-post. Now, miss, shall I get in first and give you a hand?"

"No, Susan; I can get into a hansom without anyone helping me."

"Drive to No. 10 Johnson's Court, Lincoln's Inn Fields," said Judy, in a clear voice to the man; and then she and Susan found themselves bowling away farther and farther from West Kensington, from Judy's pretty bedroom, from Hilda and her love.

In an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time they arrived at their destination; the driver pulled up his horse at No. 10 Johnson's Court, with an _esprit_ which Judy would have much admired had her thoughts been less pre-occupied.

She jumped out with alacrity, declining Susan's a.s.sistance, and asked the man what his fare was. He named a sum which Susan took into her head to consider exorbitant, and which she loudly objected to Judy's paying; but the little girl gave it without a moment's hesitation, and the next instant was running up the stairs to Rivers' chambers.

What might have happened had that gentleman been out no one can say; Judy's heroic impulse might after all have come to nothing, and Jasper might still have had to complain of that three, which means trumpery, invading his house; but it so happened that Rivers was in, and, busy man that he was, comparatively disengaged. When Judy inquired for him he was standing in his clerk's room, giving some directions. At the sound of her voice he looked up, and with a start and smile of delight came forward to welcome her.

"I am very glad to see you," he said; "how kind of you to remember your promise."

Then, seeing by her face that Judy's poor little heart was very full, he took her into his private room, and desired Susan to wait in the clerk's room.

"Now, Jack the Giant Killer, what is it?" said Rivers; "what's the matter?"

"I told you," said Judy; "I told you yesterday, that _perhaps_ I was going to stop being a mutineer. Well, I have stopped. I thought you'd like to know."

"So I do, Judy," said Rivers. "I am proud to be acquainted with a little girl who has such immense control over herself. I should like to hear how you have contrived to get out of the state of rebellion into the state of submission. I know of course that you have been killing a giant, but I am interested in the process."

"I'm killing the giant by going home," said Judy, standing very erect by Rivers' table, and pushing back her shady hat from her white forehead.

"I am going home, back to Little Staunton Rectory. I see what you mean, that it's better--better for Jasper and Hilda, to be without--without _me_. I pretended not to understand you the other night, but I don't pretend any longer now; and yesterday evening, when Hilda and I were all alone, for Jasper had gone away down to Richmond, I--I made up my mind.

Hilda doesn't know anything about it."

"Sit down, Judy," said Rivers. "I cannot tell you how I respect you."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'D RATHER STAND, PLEASE." P. 222.]

"I'd rather stand, please," said Judy. "Hilda doesn't know," she continued, "and she _mustn't_ know until I am safe back at Little Staunton Rectory. Susan--you know Susan, she's Hilda's parlor-maid; well, Susan came out with me this morning, and I coaxed her very hard to take me to Waterloo, but she refused. I don't quite know how to get there by myself, so now I want to know if you will take me?"

"Certainly I will," said Rivers. "What is more, I'll go with you to the Rectory. I have nothing special to do to-day, and it will be quite a pleasure to spend a little time in your company. Do you know anything about the trains, and what is the name of the station we have to go to?"

Judy named the one nearest to the Rectory.

"You had better sit down for a moment," pursued Rivers. "I have an 'A B C' here, so I can tell you in a moment which is the best train to take.

Now, what is the matter?"

"Only, Mr. Rivers, Hilda must not know anything--anything about it until I am safe home. Can this be managed?"