Barbara in Brittany Part 1

Barbara in Brittany.

by E. A. Gillie.

CHAPTER I.

AUNT ANNE.

Barbara entered the nursery with rather a worried look on her face.

"Aunt Anne is coming to-morrow, children," she announced.

"To-morrow!" exclaimed a fair-haired boy, rising from the window-seat.

"Oh, I say, Barbe, that's really rather hard lines--in the holidays, too."

"Just as we were preparing to have a really exciting time," sighed Frances, who was her brother's close companion and ally.

"I know it's a little hard," Barbara said consolingly, sitting down beside them and taking one of the twins on her lap, while the other leaned up against her. "But you will all try to be good and nice to her, won't you? She went away with a bad opinion of us last time, and it worries mother. Besides, we mustn't forget that she was father's sister."

"I can't think how she ever came to be," sighed Frances. "She's so dreadfully particular, and we always seem naughtier when she's here.

But we'll make an effort, Barbara."

"And you won't run away as soon as she speaks to you, Lucy?" Barbara went on, looking at the little girl in her lap. "It's rude, you know.

You must try to talk nicely when she wants you to."

"Yes;" and the child nodded. "Only she does seem to make a lot of concussions when she comes."

"You mean discussions," Donald corrected. "You shouldn't use words you don't understand, Lucy. But I must say I agree with you; I know she always raises my corruption."

"What!" gasped Barbara.

"Raises my corruption," repeated her brother; "that's a good old Scottish expression that I've just found in a book, and it means--'makes you angry.'"

"Well, don't use it before Aunt Anne, there's a dear," Barbara urged, getting up. "She thinks we use quite enough queer expressions as it is."

"I'll speak like a regular infant prodigy. But surely you're not going yet? You've just come!"

"I must help to get things ready for Aunt Anne," Barbara said gaily, for she had recovered her spirits since procuring the children's promise of good behaviour. "I'll come to you later."

"Barbara is really rather an angel," remarked Donald after she had gone. "It's not many sisters would slave in the house, instead of having another maid, to let a fellow go to a decent school."

"You're quoting mother," Frances replied, hanging out of the window in a dangerous position; "but, of course, it's true. If I only had time I'd write a fascinating romance about her."

"I'll read every page of it and buy a hundred copies," her brother promised gallantly; but, as he knew that there was nothing Frances hated more than writing, he felt pretty safe. "Of course," he pursued, "Aunt Anne thinks mother spoils us. I don't quite think that--it's just that she's so nice and sympathetic with us when we're naughty, and Aunt Anne doesn't understand that. But still, to please Barbe, and as we've promised, we must try to be respectable and good this time.

Remember, twins!"

The twins were not noted for long memories, but their intentions were good, and the first day of Aunt Anne's visit pa.s.sed very well, the children remembering to rub their feet on the mat, shut the door softly, and not fidget at meals. But the exertion seemed too much for them, and the second day began rather boisterously, and did not improve as it went on. After lunch, when the twins came into the drawing-room, Lucy drew a footstool near her aunt, and sat down meekly upon it, thinking that the sooner Aunt Anne began to talk the sooner it would be over.

Aunt Anne was feeling almost as much embarra.s.sed by the presence of so many children as they were by that of their aunt, but her sense of duty was strong, and she began to make conversation with the one nearest her--who happened to be Lucy.

"What are you doing in lessons now, Lucy?"

Lucy looked solemn.

"Chiefly history," she said.

Frances laughed.

"It's only stories," she exclaimed, "that Barbara tells her and d.i.c.k."

"It's history," repeated Lucy indignantly; "isn't it, d.i.c.k? It's all about England."

"I should have thought writing was more suitable for a little girl like you."

Frances opened her mouth to retort, but caught a warning glance from Barbara and subsided. Then conversation languished and Lucy looked across longingly at her sister, to see if she had done her duty. But not being able to catch her eye, she sighed, and supposing she had not yet fulfilled her part, cast about in her mind for something else to say.

"Do you live far from here?" she began suddenly, staring at her aunt.

"Quite a long way," Miss Britton replied. "In Wales--perhaps you know where that is?"

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Lucy, rising in her excitement. "It's where the ancient Britons were sent. Barbara told us about them. Oh, please Aunt Anne, aren't you an ancient Briton?"

Aunt Anne smiled grimly.

"No, I am not. They lived in quite the olden times, and were clothed in skins."

"But are you sure?" pressed the child. "It's just the skins seem wanting. They were driven into Wales, and surely you're a Briton and come from the olden times. You're really quite ancient aren't you, Aunt Anne?"

Barbara was thankful her aunt laughed, but she was not so glad that Donald and Frances found their laughter so irrepressible that they had to resort to the sofa-cushions; and when the twins were dismissed a little later by Mrs. Britton, she was rather relieved to see them follow. But from that moment the spirit of hilarity seemed to have fallen upon all the children, and Barbara looked regretfully at the falling rain and wondered how she should keep them occupied for the rest of the day--for it was just the beginning of the holidays, when they were usually allowed a good deal of liberty.

She knew by the noise that presently sounded from upstairs that they had begun "hide-and-seek," and she read disapproval of the uproar in her aunt's face, and went upstairs to suggest something else. The children good-temperedly betook themselves to "soap bubbles," Frances consenting to fetch the tray "to keep things tidy" if Donald would take it back; and Barbara left them, congratulating herself that they were safely settled over something quiet.

It was, therefore, surely an evil fate that made Aunt Anne begin to go upstairs later in the afternoon, just as Donald was descending rapidly with the tray--not in his hand.

"I _am_ so sorry," he said, getting up in dismay after his rapid slide.

"What a comfort I didn't knock you over; but it's so much the quickest way of bringing a tray down. I---- Have you ever tried it?"

If he had not been considerably agitated he would not have asked such a foolish question, and perhaps if Aunt Anne had really not got a severe fright she would not have been so much annoyed. But as it was, she stalked past him without saying a word and went up to her room.

"There!" he said ruefully, "I've done it, and I really did mean to be good."

The incident subdued them all considerably, and Barbara hoped that now they might get to the end of the visit without any further mishaps.

But next morning at breakfast that hope was banished, for her aunt came downstairs with such an expression of annoyance upon her face, that every one knew something really unpleasant was coming.

"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Britton asked anxiously. "Did you not sleep well--or--surely the children did not--annoy you in any way?" Visions of apple-pie beds were floating before her mind, although the children's looks of innocence somewhat rea.s.sured her on that point.

"Some one has annoyed me considerably," Aunt Anne said coldly, "by interfering with my clothes. When I came to put on my blue blouse this morning, I found that every other one of the silver b.u.t.tons had been cut off."

There was a gasp of astonishment, and Barbara was just about to scorn the notion that any of the children could have been concerned in the matter, when her eyes fell on d.i.c.k's face. Miss Britton was looking in the same direction.