Aunt Mary Part 7

'There, now you may go, old fellow,' said Harry Maitland, releasing the arms, which he had held so tightly that Maurice was fain to rub them violently to restore the circulation, while the whole party laughed heartily at his expense.

'I wish Harry was at home with you sometimes,' said Edward Firman, who did not seem at all to relish his boisterous ways.

'I wish he was,' replied Maurice, who looked rather red and angry at having been so ignominiously made captive. 'But you don't think,' he added, 'that I would let him master me so easily as he has done now, Ned; I was taken unawares, and that's not fair.'

'But that was the only way to save the poor cat,' said Dora Maitland: 'she might have been killed if you had struck her with that large piece of wood; and I think Cousin Harry did quite right in holding your arms.'

'Such a fuss about a cat!' cried Maurice, still smarting under the supposed affront. 'You should see how I served one the other day, when she came prowling about the house to steal anything she could lay hold of.'

'Don't let him tell--don't let him tell it, 'cried both Lucy and Ethel Firman; 'it is a great shame of you, Maurice, to boast of your own bad deeds,' said both his sisters; and as the servants were just then again setting out the table with refreshments, the young party were saved the infliction of hearing an exploit boasted of, which would certainly have lowered Maurice Firman considerably in the eyes of all present.

'I did not intend to hurt you, Maurice,' said Harry Maitland, as he clapped his friend on the back, and held out his hand in token of amity.

'Oh, I know that,' replied the boy; 'I shouldn't play tricks with cats where there are girls.'

'Nor at all, I think,' responded his friend; 'it is a cowardly thing to hurt a dumb creature that cannot speak or fight for itself.'

'Can't they, though!' cried Maurice; 'I know, if they don't speak, they can make a horrible outcry. And as to fighting, just look here, my boy, what do you think of that for a scratch, which a wretch of a cat gave me because I took up her kitten and made it squall? Why, she flew at me like mad, and before I could put the kitten down, she gave me this wound;' and Maurice uncovered his wrist, and showed a very red and angry-looking scratch.

'It's your own fault; you should let the cats alone,' said his sisters.

'Mamma is always scolding you for teasing them.'

'Well, I think we have had enough of cats,' said Robert Newlove; 'I don't like them myself, but I should be very sorry to hurt them;' and in this charitable declaration he was seconded by the whole party, Maurice excepted.

We must now bid good-night to our young friends, as they will soon do to each other. Aunt Mary and Clara are expected home to-morrow, and that careful domestic of hers, Bridget Morley, who has lived so many years at Oak Villa, has got everything in apple-pie order for her much-esteemed mistress, and a lovely brood of chickens, which have been hatched since they went away, to present to the young lady who has the charge of all the poultry.

CHAPTER X.

THE BROKEN BOX.

Before we congratulate ourselves on Aunt Mary's return home, let us just take a look at the disappointed Mabel, after her sister Julia had gone to the tea-party.

It was in vain that her too indulgent mother tried to soften her affliction, very injudiciously, we think, as every remark of hers only elicited a fresh burst of feeling; and Mrs. Ellis felt it quite a relief when the self-tormenting girl rose up hastily and retreated to her bedroom, there to ponder over, not her own delinquencies, we fear, but the wrongs inflicted on her by others.

A little voice which said, 'May I come in, Mabel?' roused her for a moment, and she answered very crossly: 'What is it you want, Fred? I wish you would not come teasing me. Go away; I don't want any of you.

'I only want to show you the nice box of puzzles papa has brought home for me,' replied Freddy. 'I want you, Mabel dear, to help me to put it together. I won't tease you.'

'I don't want to see your box, and I shan't open the door,' said the ungracious girl. 'Take your box away, and get some one else to help you to put your puzzle together,' she added; and poor Fred, thus rudely repressed, turned to wend his way downstairs again. Unfortunately, his foot caught the fringe of the door-mat, which caused him to fall heavily and strike his head against the railing of the banisters, while the pretty box, escaping from his hand, went right down the stairs into the hall, where it burst open, and scattered the inclosed pieces right and left.

Mabel was now quite roused, and fearing that her papa, attracted by the noise, might come up to see what was the matter, rather than being moved by any sisterly feeling, she reluctantly opened the door, and lifted up the prostrate Freddy, who, although he had received a rather severe blow on the forehead from coming in contact with the railings, was too much of a man to cry, and seemed more anxious about the fate of his new plaything, than desirous of obtaining either aid or sympathy; nor was he very likely to obtain either from Mabel, though she took him into her room to scold him for what he had done.

'Now just see what you have done,' said the selfish girl, 'by bringing up that nasty box, and then letting it fall down the stairs. I hear papa's voice in the hall; he will most likely come up here, and I shall get scolded for your stupidity.'

'I will go down to him,' said Freddy, 'and then I can tell him all about the box falling; papa needn't come up here.'

'How came you to let your box fall, Fred?' inquired Mr. Ellis, helping the boy to pick up the scattered pieces.

'I caught my foot in the fringe of the bedroom mat, papa,' replied Freddy; 'I am so sorry the box is broken.'

'Yes, so am I,' said his father; 'but why did you take it upstairs? that is what I should like to know.'

As there was no answer returned to this question, Mr. Ellis stated the truth himself.

'I suppose,' he continued, 'you went to show it to your sister Mabel--was that it?'

'Yes, papa,' said the boy, still holding down his head; and kind papa, seeing there was something wrong, would not then press further questions on his little boy, though he remarked to his wife, when they were again seated, that he should indeed be very glad when Mabel was under the care of someone who knew how to manage her, for he was quite disgusted with her exhibitions of temper.

'My sister will I dare say be here to-morrow,' said Mrs. Ellis; 'and I will tell her what you wish respecting Mabel, though I know she does not like the poor girl: and Mabel will find Oak Villa very different to home, I am afraid.'

'That is not what I am afraid of,' replied Mr. Ellis; 'my fear is, that Miss Livesay will find the girl so intolerable, that we shall soon have her back on our hands again.'

'Oh, Arthur! you are so very severe in your remarks,' said the too indulgent mother. 'My sister is very patient, and very kind to children, though she is so firm.'

'Which I am sorry to say you are not, my dear; and it is this want of firmness which occasions all the mischief,' said the gentleman; adding, rather bitterly, 'You order a thing to be done, but you take no care to see your orders enforced, and thus we are plagued with unruly children and wilful servants.'

'Well, dear, you are always finding fault with me, whatever I do,' said the poor self-afflicted lady, though she must have felt that what her good husband had said was quite true; and well would it have been for him, for herself, and indeed for the whole household, if, instead of considering herself a martyr, she had set to work to amend the errors which he had pointed out; but, alas! we don't see ourselves as others see us.

CHAPTER XI.

AUNT MARY'S RETURN.

On the evening of the day after the juvenile party, a cab drove up to the garden gate of Oak Villa, and Dora and Annie Maitland, who had been on the look-out for some time at the window of an upper room, had the satisfaction of seeing their kind preceptress, and her niece Clara Beaumont, alight from it, receiving and giving at the same time the welcome nod and smile of recognition. But here is the trusty Bridget, with her merry face beaming with gladness, and her voice almost tremulous with joy, for she has had rather a dull time of it while her mistress and Clara have been away; though Jane Somers, a young girl living not far off from Oak Villa, came regularly to sleep at the house.

'Well, Bridget, and how have you been all this time? not idle, I can see at the first glance,' said Aunt Mary, looking round at the brightly-polished furniture and fire-irons.

'Oh no, ma'am, I don't think anybody can be idle at your house,' replied Bridget; 'and I have had plenty to do, for I have cleaned the house from top to bottom, and have taken care of the cat and the fowls. And oh, Miss Clara, the old hen has brought out such a beautiful set of chickens as you never seed afore; but I dare say you be too tired to come and look at them now,' added Bridget.

'Yes, we are too tired now,' said Miss Livesay, answering for her niece; 'we want to take off our wraps, and have some tea. Besides, you forget, my good woman,' added her mistress, 'that the chickens are now all hidden under their mother's wing, and she wouldn't suffer us to disturb them.'

'Dear me, I quite forgot that,' said Bridget, as she busied herself in a.s.sisting in the removal of cloaks and shawls, and carrying off trunks and band-boxes; one of the latter of which her kind mistress told her was for her, and contained a new cap and bonnet.

'Oh, ma'am, you are so kind,' said the pleased domestic; 'you never forget anyone.' And she hurried away with her load, with a glad tear glistening in her eye.

It was quite true what Bridget had said about Aunt Mary--she was indeed kind-hearted and open-handed: but with all this she was not foolishly indulgent. Her judgment was correct, and having made up her mind as to what was the right course to pursue, she took pains to see her plans carried out. Often and often had she remonstrated with her sister, Mrs.

Ellis, on her laxity of discipline, both with her children and servants; and sometimes she had ventured, though that perhaps was not very wise, to set their mutual friend Mrs. Maitland before her as a pattern for mothers and mistresses. This, however, invariably produced some angry retort, or at least a flood of tears, and ended with a secret determination on the part of the elder sister to say no more on the subject, but permit things to take their course; though she had made up her mind on coming home to do as Mr. Ellis had once suggested to her, that was, to receive Mabel as one of her pupils.

This was entirely with the idea of relieving her sister, and effecting a reformation, if possible, in the character of her niece; though she almost dreaded the introduction of such an element of discord into their peaceful and happy household. Mabel, we have seen, had a great dislike to her gentle cousin Clara, perhaps because she had heard her praises often sounded; and she disliked her Aunt Mary quite as much, though it would have been difficult for her to have given a 'reason why,' if it had been asked for.

'I shall hate them both, I know I shall,' said Mabel to her sister Julia, on the morning of the day on which Miss Livesay was expected to come to Camden Terrace. 'There will be lessons and work, lessons and work, all the day long. I shall be miserable, I know I shall; and I'll tell mamma so, and beg of her not to let me go.'