Girls of the Forest Part 26

Pauline got up in time for late dinner. She was, of course, excused wearing her dinner-blouse, and was still treated somewhat as an invalid.

But on Sunday morning she was so much better that she was able to wear her white dress, and able also to join her sisters in the garden.

They all went to the pretty little church in the next village, and Miss Tredgold accompanied them.

Looking back on it afterwards, that Sunday always seemed to Pauline like an exquisite dream of peace. Her lie did not press at all against her heart. The discomfort of it was for the time in abeyance. She tried to forget Miss Tredgold's ideal girl; she was happy without knowing why. She was happy, but at the same time she was quite well aware of the fact that her happiness would come to an end on Sunday night. She was quite certain that on Monday morning her grave and terrible troubles would begin. She would have to see Nancy. She would have to decide with regard to the midnight picnic. There was no joy for Pauline in the thought of that picnic now, but she dared not stay away from it, for if she did Nancy would have her way. Nancy's temper, quick and hot as a temper could be, would blaze up. She would come to Miss Tredgold and tell her everything.

If it had been awful to Pauline's imagination to think of Miss Tredgold knowing the truth before, what would it be to her now after the lie she had told?

"I must coax Nancy," thought the little girl to herself. "I must tell her that I can't go to the picnic, and I must implore her not to tell. Oh, what shall I do? How shall I persuade her?"

On Sunday morning, therefore, notwithstanding her promises, Pauline was inattentive at lessons. But Miss Tredgold was not inclined to be over-severe. The doctor had said that the child had not only been badly burnt, but had also received a nervous shock. He had further added that the more liberty she was given, and the more fresh air just at present, the better.

Accordingly Pauline was sent into the garden long before the others had finished their lessons. She presently sat down under the shade of a tree.

She was not to meet Nancy till six o'clock.

By-and-by Penelope came out, saw her sister, and ran towards her.

"Have you got the thimble?" she asked.

"Of course I haven't. I don't know anything about the thimble. What do you mean?"

Alas for Pauline! Her first lie had made her second easy.

Penelope looked at her in puzzled wonder.

"I thought you did know about it," she said, disappointment stealing over her shrewd little face.

"I don't know anything about it. Don't worry me."

"You are so cross that I'm sure you have done something desperate naughty," said Penelope. "I want to find out what it is, and I don't want to stay with you. I think you are horrid."

She marched away defiantly, her squat little figure and bare legs looking so comical that Pauline burst out laughing.

"What am I coming to?" she said to herself. "This is lie number two. Oh, dear! I feel just as if a net were surrounding me, and the net was being drawn tighter each moment, and I was being dragged into a pit out of which there is no escape. What shall I do?"

Just then Mr. Dale, who seldom left the house, appeared in view. He was walking slowly, his hands thrust into his pockets, his head bent forward; he was murmuring some sentences of his beloved Virgil to himself. He took no notice of Pauline. He did not even see her. Neither did he notice the chair in which she was sitting. He came bang up against her before he knew that she was there.

"What have I done?" he exclaimed. "Oh, it is you, Pauline! How inconsiderate of you to sit like this on the lawn!"

"But we always sit on the chairs, dad," said Pauline, springing to her feet.

He forgot that he had made the remark. He laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I have been having a delightful time," he said--"truly a delightful time. All this morning I have been in contact with n.o.ble thoughts. My child, can you realize, even dimly, what it is to dip into those mines of wealth--those mines of illimitable wisdom and greatness and strength and power? Oh, the ma.s.siveness of the intellects of the old cla.s.sic writers!

Their lofty ideas with regard to time and eternity--where can their like be found?"

Pauline yawned.

"Are you tired?" asked her father.

"No--only worried," she answered.

She did not know why she made the latter remark; but at the same time she was perfectly well aware that anything she said to her father was safe, as he would absolutely forget it in the course of the next minute. He was roused now from his visions of the past by a certain pathos in the little face. He put his arm round the child and drew her to him.

"My dear, pretty little girl," he said.

"Am I pretty?" asked Pauline.

He gazed at her out of his short-sighted eyes.

"I think not," he said slowly. "I was imagining you were Verena, or perhaps Briar. Briar is certainly very pretty. No, Pauline, you are not pretty; you are plain. But never mind; you have perhaps got"--he put a finger on each temple--"you have perhaps got something greater."

"It doesn't matter if you are plain or not," said Pauline almost crossly, "when you are awfully worried."

"But what worries you, my child? I would not have one so young subjected to worries. My dear, is it possible that you already are perplexed with the ways of this present life? Truly, I am scarcely surprised. The life we lead in these degenerate days is so poor; the giants have left the earth, and only the pigmies are left. Don't worry about life, child; it isn't worth while."

"I am not," said Pauline bluntly. "I am worrying because----"

"Because of what, dear?"

"Because I am going to be desperately naughty."

Mr. Dale shook his head slowly.

"I wouldn't," he said. "It is very uncomfortable and wrong, and it sullies the conscience. When the conscience gets sullied the nature goes down--imperceptibly, perhaps, but still it goes down. If your worry is an affair of the conscience, take it to Him who alone can understand you."

Pauline looked at her father with awed astonishment.

"You mean G.o.d?" she said. "Will He help me?"

"Certainly He will. He is the Great Deliverer, and His strength is as immeasurable as it ever was. He gave power to the martyrs to go through the flames. He will help a little, weak girl if she asks Him. Oh, my dear, it has struck twelve! I have lost a quarter of an hour. Don't keep me another moment."

The scholar and dreamer hurried to the house. Long before he got there he had forgotten Pauline and her childish worries. She was going to be desperately naughty. He certainly no longer remembered those words.

Meanwhile the child stayed behind with her hands clasped.

"I wish he had told me more," she said to herself. "I don't believe G.o.d could put this straight."

CHAPTER XV.

THE NET.

On Monday Pauline's troubles began over again. She ought to have been very happy on this special day, for the birthday--the great, important birthday, her very own, when she would reach the completion of her fourteenth year--was near at hand. But although Pauline was perplexed and unhappy, there was nevertheless a birthday feeling in the air. In the first place, there was a great and exciting sense of mystery. The girls were seen darting quickly here and there; in every imaginable corner there were whispered consultations. Aunt Sophia, in particular, never looked at Pauline without smiling. She was kindness itself. It seemed to the poor little girl that her aunt had taken a great fancy to her. This was the case. Miss Tredgold was interested in all her nieces, but even Verena with her daintiness and pretty face, and Briar with her most charming personality, did not attract Miss Tredgold as did the blunt-looking, almost plain child who called herself Pauline.

"She has got character and independence," thought the good lady. "She will be something by-and-by. She will always be able to hold her own in the world. She is the kind of girl who could do much good. It hurt me very much to send her into Punishment Land, but she is all the better for it. Oh, yes, she must taste the rough as well as the smooth if she is to be worth anything. She will be worth a good deal; of that I am convinced."