A Young Mutineer Part 7

Judy came slowly up to the window.

"Where were you going, my pet?" asked Aunt Marjorie.

"Only for a walk," she answered.

"A walk all by yourself? How pale you are, dearie. Have you a headache?"

"No, Auntie."

Aunt Marjorie pulled Judy forward. She felt her forehead and looked at her tongue, and put her in such a position that she could gaze down into her throat.

Not being able to detect anything the matter, she thought it best to scold her niece a little.

"Little girls oughtn't to walk slowly and to be dismal," she said. "It is very wrong and ungrateful of them. They ought to run about and skip and laugh. Work while you work, and play while you play. That was the motto when I was a little girl. Now, Judy, love, go out with Babs and have a good romp. You had better both of you go to the hay-field, for it might distract your poor father to hear your two merry voices. Run, my dears, run; make yourselves scarce."

"Come, Babs," said Judy. She held out her hand to her little sister, and the two went away together.

"Do you know, Judy," said Babs, the moment they were out of Aunt Marjorie's hearing, "that I saw a quarter of an hour ago a great big spider in the garden catching a wasp. He rolled the poor wasp round and round with his web until he made him into a ball."

"And did you leave that poor wasp to die?" asked Judy, keen interest and keen anger coming into her voice.

"No, I didn't," said Babs. "I took him away from the spider. I wouldn't be kite so cruel as to let the poor thing die; but I s'pect he'll die all the same, for he can't get out of the ball that he's in."

"Poor darling!" said Judy. "Let's go and find him and try to get the web off him. Do you know where he is, Babs?"

"I put him on an ivy leaf on the ground," said Babs, "under the yew-tree down there. I can find him in a minute."

"Well, let's go and save him as quickly as possible."

The two children rushed with eagerness and vigor down the slops.

Aunt Marjorie could see them as they disappeared out of sight.

She turned to weep and bewail herself once more, and Judy and Babs began industriously to look for the wasp.

They were busily engaged on their hands and knees searching all over the ground for the identical ivy leaf where Babs had placed the rescued insect, when a voice sounded in their ears, and Judy raised her head to see pretty Mildred Anstruther standing by her side.

Mildred was one of the belles of the county; her hair was as bright as a sunbeam, her eyes as blue as a summer sky, her full lips were red, her cheeks had the bloom of the peach upon them. Mildred was a well-grown girl, with a largely and yet gracefully developed figure.

In addition to her personal charms she had a considerable fortune. It went without saying, therefore, that she was greatly admired.

Mildred had often been the talk of Little Staunton; her numerous flirtations had caused head-shakings and dismal croaks from many of the old maids of the neighborhood. The sterner s.e.x had owned to heart-burnings in connection with her, for Mildred could flirt and receive any amount of attention without giving her heart in return. She was wont to laugh at love affairs, and had often told Hilda that the prince to whom alone she would give her affections was scarcely likely to appear.

"The time when G.o.ds used to walk upon the earth is over, my dear Hilda,"

she used to say. "When I find the perfect man, I will marry him, but not before."

Mildred, who was twenty-six years of age, had therefore the youngest and smoothest of faces; care had never touched her life, and wrinkles were unlikely to visit her.

For some reason, however, she looked careworn now, and Judy, with a child's quick perception, noticed it.

She was fond of Mildred, and she put up her lips for a kiss.

"What's the matter, Milly?" she asked; "have you a cold?"

"No, my love; on principle I never allow myself to have anything so silly; but I am shocked, Judy--shocked at what I have read in the morning papers."

"Oh, about our money," replied Judy in an unconcerned voice. "Have you found that wasp, Babs? Are you looking on _all_ the ivy leaves?"

"I picked an ivy leaf, and put it down just here," replied Babs, "and I put the wasp in it most carefully; the wind must have caught it and blown it away."

"Oh, dear; oh, dear! the poor creature, what will become of it?"

answered Judy. She was down on her hands and knees again, poking and examining, but poking and examining in vain.

"It's very rude of you, Judy, not to pay me the least attention," said Mildred. "I have come over on purpose to see you, and there you are squatting on the ground, pushing all that rubbish about. You have no manners, and I'll tell Hilda so; and, Babs, what are you about not to give me a hug?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I HAVE COME ON PURPOSE TO SEE YOU, JUDY." P. 60.]

Babs raised a somewhat grimy little face.

"We can't find the poor wasp," she said. "He was rolled up in the spider's web, and I put him on an ivy leaf, and now he's gone."

"You had better go on looking for him, Babs," said Judy, "and I'll talk to Milly." She rose as she spoke and placed her dirty little hand on Miss Anstruther's arm. "So you heard about our money, Milly?" she said.

"Aunt Marjorie is in an awful state, she has cried and cried and cried; but the rest of us don't care."

"You don't care? Oh, you queer, queer people! You don't mean to tell me, little Judy, that Hilda doesn't care?"

"Hilda cares the least of all," replied Judy; "she has got Jasper."

Judy's face clouded over as she spoke.

"I wonder what _he'll_ say to this business," remarked Miss Anstruther, half to herself; "he's not at all well off--it ought to make a tremendous difference to him."

"He certainly isn't to be pitied," said Judy; "he's going to get Hilda."

"And what about Hilda's money?" laughed Miss Anstruther. Her face wore an expression which was almost disagreeable, her big blue eyes looked dark as they gazed at the child.

Judy's own little face turned pale. She didn't understand Miss Anstruther, but something impelled her to say with great fierceness:

"I hate Jasper!"

Miss Anstruther stooped down and kissed her.

"You are a queer, pa.s.sionate little thing, Judy," she said, "but it's a very good thing for Hilda to be engaged to a nice sensible fellow like Jasper Quentyns, and of course it is more important now than ever for her. He'll be disappointed, of course, but I dare say they can get along somehow. Ah, there's Aunt Marjorie coming out of the house. I must run and speak to her, poor dear; how troubled she looks! and no wonder."

Mildred ran off, and Judy stood where she had left her, in the center of the lawn, quivering all over.

What did Milly mean by saying that Jasper would be disappointed--Jasper, who was going to get Hilda--Hilda herself? What could anyone want more than the sun? what could any man desire more than the queen of all queens, the rose of all roses?

Thoughts like these flitted through little Judy's mind in confused fashion. Hilda was to be married to Jasper, and the Rectory of Little Staunton would know her no more. That indeed was a sorrow to make everyone turn sick and pale, but the loss of the money was not worth a moment's consideration.