Girls of the Forest Part 42

"There's no time like the night for telling things," she thought to herself. "Aunt Sophy can't get away from me at night. It's only to stay awake, perhaps to pertend to have a nightmare. Anyhow, night is the time to do what I have to do."

Being quite sure, therefore, that she would get her opportunity of talking to Aunt Sophia, she revived for the time being to enjoy herself.

Her volatile spirits rose. She laughed and talked, and ate an enormous meal. After the sort of tea-dinner was over the three girls went out by themselves on the sands.

"You may stay out half-an-hour," said Miss Tredgold: "no longer, for Penelope has to go to bed. Afterwards I will take a walk with you two elder ones if you care to have me."

"Of course we care to have you, dear Aunt Sophy," said Verena in her gentlest tone; and then the three started off. Penelope, in honor of her recent arrival, was promoted to the place in the middle. She laid a hand on each sister's arm and swung herself along. People remarked the trio, and said to themselves what a remarkably fat, healthy-looking little girl the one in the middle was.

"Well, Pen," said Pauline as they approached the house, having discussed all sorts of subjects, "I can't see where the tum-ache and the sore throat and the pale cheeks come in."

"They're gone," said Penelope. "I knew the sea would cure 'em. I am quite perfect well. I am going to be quite perfect well while I am here. I love the sea; don't you?"

"Come, wash and be clean," whispered the sea to Pauline.

She was silent. Verena said, however, that she greatly liked the sea.

They went back to the house. Penelope was escorted upstairs. Pauline helped her to undress, and presently she was tucked into her little bed.

"It seems a'most as if I wor still a nursery child," she said to her elder sister.

"Why so?" asked Pauline.

"Being sent to bed afore you and Renny. I am quite as old as you and Renny--in my mind, I mean."

"Don't talk nonsense," said Pauline almost crossly.

"Paulie," said Penelope, taking hold of her hand and pulling her towards her, "I went to see Nancy King t'other day."

"Why did you do that?" asked Pauline.

"Because I wanted to come to the sea, and there was no other way. Vinegar wouldn't do it, nor tum-aches, but I thought Nancy might."

"I don't know what you mean," said Pauline. "In what possible way could Nancy King have brought you here?"

"Only that I got so desperate after seeing her that I wrote that funny, funny letter, and nursey helped me; and now I'm here, and I think I can do what I like. You had best be friends with me now, for I can do just what I like."

Pauline felt just a little afraid. She knelt down by Pen.

"Tell me why you went," she said. "You know you disobeyed Aunt Sophy when you went."

"Yes; but what's one more in a family doing disobeying things?" answered Pen in her glib fashion. "But now listen. I will tell you."

She related her adventures with much glee--her walk through the woods, her arrival, the terrible way in which Lurcher had treated her, the kindness of the farmer, the proposed dinner, Nancy's manners. She was working up to the grand climax, to the moment when she should speak about the thimble.

"What do you think?" she said suddenly. "Nancy put me on a sofa, and I slept. I slept sound, and when I woke up I saw Nancy sitting by the window sewing. She wor making a blue scarf, and her thimble went flashing in and out; and what do you think, Paulie? What _do_ you think?"

"Well?" said Pauline.

"Pauline, dear, are you ready?" called a voice from below.

"I must go," said Pauline; "but tell me at once, Pen, what you mean."

"It was the thimble--the lost one," said Penelope--"the one with the dark-blue top and the light-blue stones round the rim, the goldy thimble which was Aunt Sophy's."

In spite of her efforts Pauline did find herself turning white.

"Pauline, dear, we can't wait any longer," said Miss Tredgold's voice.

"I must go," said Pauline. "Tell me afterwards."

"Whisper," said Penelope, pulling her hand. "I have got it. The deep-blue top and the light-blue stones and the goldy middle--I have it all. And I can tell Aunt Sophy, and show it, and I will if--if you don't tell me about----"

"About what?"

"About that time when three peoples walked across the lawn--the night after your birthday, I mean. Will you tell? I asked Briar, and she said she didn't know. She told a lie. Are you going to tell a lie, too? If you do I will---- Well, I won't say any more; only I have put it in the safest of places, and you will never find it. Now you can go down and go out with Aunt Sophy. Now you know, 'cos I've told you."

Pauline slowly left the room. She felt dazed. Once again Miss Tredgold called her. She ran to her washstand, filled her basin with cold water, and dipped her face into it. Then she ran downstairs. She found it difficult to a.n.a.lyze her own sensations, but it seemed to her that through her little sister's eyes she saw for the first time her own wickedness.

"To think that Pen could do it, and to think that I could be afraid of her!" she thought.

She went out and walked with her aunt and Verena, but the insistent voice of the sea, as with each swish of the waves it cried, "Come, wash and be clean," hit like a hammer on her brain.

"What is the matter with Pauline?" thought Verena.

"The child is tired; she is not quite well yet," was Miss Tredgold's mental reflection.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE WHITE BAY.

Penelope did not repeat her threat, but she watched Pauline. Miss Tredgold also watched Pauline. Verena felt uncomfortable, without quite knowing why. The keen vigor and joy of the first days at the seaside had departed. Pauline became pale once more, and Miss Tredgold's anxieties about her were revived. The Dales were a healthy race, but one or two of the Tredgolds had died of consumption. Miss Tredgold remembered a young--very young--sister of her own who had reached Pauline's age, and then quite suddenly had become melancholy, and then slightly unwell, and then more unwell, until the fell scourge had seized her as its prey. She had died when between sixteen and seventeen. Miss Tredgold seemed to see her sister's face in Pauline's. She did not for a single moment accuse the child of any wrong-doing. She did not imagine that what ailed her could have to do with the mind. Nevertheless she was anxious about her.

Miss Tredgold had a good deal of penetration, but she was not accustomed to children. She thought that children of Pen's age were more little animals than anything else. It did not occur to her that a small child like Pen could have a mind of a very extraordinary order, and that the mind of this child could work in a direction which might hurt others. She did not suppose such a terrible child could exist.

Pauline was therefore more or less a prey to the naughtiness of Pen, who used her as a weapon for her own enjoyment. Pen was quite determined to enjoy herself at the seaside. She would have her bucket and spade and make castles in the sand as long as ever she liked, and she would play with other children, and would make acquaintance with them. She insisted also on going very often to the shops to buy caramels or chocolates. In short, she was determined that during her brief stay at Easterhaze she would have as good a time as possible. It is quite on the cards that she would not have had so good a time as she did but for the agency of Pauline. Pauline, however, in spite of herself, sided with Pen. She almost hated Pen, but she sided with her. She used to throw her voice into the scale of Pen's desires, and Pen in consequence got pretty much what she wanted.

There came a day when two children, a boy and a girl of the name of Carver, ran up to Pen and asked her if she would join them in going round the next promontory and gathering sh.e.l.ls in a wide bay on the other side, which was known as the White Bay. The way to this bay, except at low-water, was not very safe, as during high-tide the sea was apt to come up and cut off retreat. Pen, however, knew nothing about this. The moment she was asked to go it occurred to her that there could be no such delightful place as the White Bay anywhere else in the world. She knew well, however, that Miss Tredgold never allowed her to go fifty yards from the house on either side. She looked up. Pauline was walking along the upper walk. She had a story-book in her hand. She meant to reach one of the shelters and sit down there to read. Pen turned to the two Carvers and said that she must ask permission, but she would be with them in a minute. She then scrambled up the path and ran to Pauline's side.

"Pauline," she said, "I am going to the White Bay with the Carvers--those two children there--that boy and girl; you see 'em. We are going at once.

They have got a basket of cakes, and we are going to gather sh.e.l.ls and have a jolly time. We won't be back till one o'clock."

"But you can't go," said Pauline. She did not know of any danger in going; she only thought that Penelope meant to disobey Miss Tredgold.

"Aunt Sophy is out, and she has not given you leave," she said. "You must stay where you are, Pen."

"But you can give me leave, Paulie, darling, can you not?"

"I can't do anything of the sort; you mustn't ask me."