Girls of the Forest Part 56

"That man is enough to turn the brain of any one," was Miss Tredgold's private e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. Aloud she said:

"I presume, Farmer King, that you have not come here without a story to tell."

"That is just it, madam. And now, if I may speak, I will tell you my story."

"We are all prepared to listen," said Miss Tredgold.

"Yes, Robert, and with attention--with attention and interest," said Mr.

Dale. "Why, upon my word, this is almost as good as a fresh rendering of the immortal Plato. Sit down, farmer, sit down."

The farmer did not sit down.

"It's no use mincing matters," he said, "nor walking round the bush. It is just this. If there is a family on this earth that I have been proud to have to do with, it is that of the Dales. If there were children that I loved next to my own, it was the Dales. Why, I was brought up, so to speak, to look on them as my liege lords. My mother had the old feudal principles in her, and she never went with the times. She never held that we were as good as our betters. We were good enough, straight enough, honest enough, but we hadn't the blue blood of the Dales in us. That is how I was brought up. Well, you, sir, were married, and came to live here with your good lady. It was the will of the Almighty that she should be taken, and the children were left motherless; and my little Nancy and I, we used to watch to do them a kindness. They were right pleased to come over and see us, and to ride barebacked on my two Forest ponies, and have their fun whenever they could get as far away as The Hollies. And Nancy was free to come to your house, and much she enjoyed it."

"Well, Robert, very natural--very natural indeed," said Mr. Dale.

"So I took it; so I took it."

Here the farmer flashed an angry eye in the direction of Miss Tredgold.

"But never mind," he continued. "I did not presume--far from that--far indeed from that. It pleased the Almighty to give you ten daughters, Mr.

Dale, and to give me but one. And I love my one as much, perhaps, as you love the whole of your ten. But be that as it may, when Nancy went to The Dales to have her fun and her larks and her gay time, I was as pleased as Punch. And then this good lady came, and she said to herself, 'Who is Nancy King?' and the young ladies told her the plain truth; and then this good lady did not take the trouble to inquire. A farmer's daughter was only a farmer's daughter to her. Oh, I am not blaming her; but a little thought, a little less prejudice, would have prevented a lot of mischief.

Anyhow, the good aunt gave the word--my girl and the young ladies were to have nothing to do with each other in the future. Mark you that, sir, when they were brought up, so to speak, together--always tumbling about in the same hay-field, and riding the same ponies, and playing the same games. It was all to end because of madam. Now, Mr. Dale, I was real mad when Nancy came and told me what had happened. My feelings were hot and strong and bitter, and I thought the treatment dealt out to my child and me none too just. So, sir, when Nancy asked me to help her, I helped with a will. When Miss Pauline came over to see us--which she did unknown to her aunt--I gave her the best of welcomes, and we started our midnight picnic for no other reason in life but to have her with us."

"When did you have your midnight picnic?" asked Miss Tredgold very gently. "When? Kindly give me the date."

The farmer looked into her face. When he saw how white she was, and when he glanced at the two little girls, Briar and Patty, his heart smote him.

"I was given over to evil feelings at that time," he said, "and I don't pretend for a moment I did right. Miss Pauline didn't want to be coaxed, but Nancy was a rare temptress. We did our best, and the children came--three of them. You want to know the date, madam. It was the date of Miss Pauline's birthday--the night after her birthday. Oh, yes, madam, we had our wild time--a right good time, too." The farmer gave a short laugh. "You thought your young ladies quite out of the reach of the influence of Farmer King and his family; but you never guessed, madam, that all through one long beautiful summer night we had revels in the woods--dancing, madam; and a picnic, no less; and the young miss crowned with flowers as queen, and given the best presents we could give her. We took a drive under the oaks and elms and beeches of the New Forest, and you never guessed, madam--never. But Miss Pauline, Miss Briar, and Miss Patty were there, and Miss Pauline was our queen. Ah! she had a gay birthday, but you ask her what sort of a birthnight she had. It is true she was queen of the day, but that was nothing to the time when she was queen of the night. Well, sir"--the farmer's eyes shone as he spoke---- "I meant it as a big joke, and I was desperately proud of myself; but I saw even then that Miss Pauline was fretting, and I spoke to her quite seriously, and I said, 'If ever the time comes when you want a friend, I am the man for your purpose. Don't you forget that; because you are a Dale and I am a King, and you Dales have always been our liege lords, so don't you forget that.' And the child, sir, she believed me. Lots of things happened afterwards, but of them I have nothing to say until last night. Miss Pauline came back to me, and she reminded me of what I had said to her that night in the woods. And, sir--and, madam--I mean to keep my promise. I came home at midnight, and there she was standing at the gate, white and slim and pretty as though she was a moonbeam. And she said, 'You promised to help me when I was in trouble, and I have come to you to get you to keep your promise.' Now, sir and madam, I have come here about that. The young lady wants to be helped. She has got a shock, and wants a bit of humoring. She says some words which have no meaning to me, but they mean something to her, and she must be humored. 'I want to wash and be clean,' she keeps saying; and she wants Nancy and me to take her away to the seaside where the waves are big and strong, and she insists on it that she will only go with Nancy and me. So, Miss Tredgold and Mr. Dale, I have come here to-day to say that we mean to take her."

"Can I see her?" asked Miss Tredgold. "I have nothing to say. Perhaps I did wrong that time. We all make mistakes sometimes. I ought to have known you better, Mr. King. But that time is over. The important thing now is to restore the balance of Pauline's mind. Can I see her?"

"You can, madam, when the right time comes; but that is not to-day, and it won't be to-morrow. This is my business now, madam, and you must leave it to me."

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE CLEANSING WATERS.

That very day Farmer King went away with his daughter and Pauline. They went to a small village called Rosestairs, not many miles from Easterhaze. The farmer was immensely proud and pleased at having the care of Pauline, and he was determined that if man could restore her to health, he would be that individual. Rosestairs was a very pretty little place, and quite sheltered. The Kings took lodgings in a tiny cottage, where they lived as plainly as people could. Here Pauline rested and took long walks, and, as she expressed it afterwards, found herself again. But although day by day the weight in her head grew less, the haunting words still clung to her: "Wash and be clean." One night they entered into her dreams, and she awoke quite early with the words hovering on her lips: "Wash, Pauline; wash and be clean." Nancy was sleeping peacefully by her side. Pauline raised her head. She felt well--absolutely well--but for those haunting words. She stole out of bed and went and stood by the window.

The sea was only a few yards off, and the waves were coming in fresh and lovely and sparkling. "Come, wash," they seemed to say, and each soft thud of a wave on the sh.o.r.e seemed to repeat the words.

"I will--I will; I must," thought the young girl.

She opened her trunk very softly, took out her bathing-dress, put it on, and ran down to the beach. There was no one about. In a moment she had entered the waves. She breasted them as far as her waist; she ducked and covered herself with the invigorating salt water. And as the sparkling salt water rolled over her, it seemed to her fancy that a load rolled off her mind. She felt light of heart and gay. She felt cheerful and happy. A few minutes later she was back in the cottage. Nancy turned in her sleep, started, opened her sleepy eyes, and looked at the dripping figure standing in the middle of the room.

"Why, Paulie," she cried, "what are you doing? Oh, you are dripping wet; your hair and all. What have you been at?"

"I am wet because I have washed. I have washed and I am clean. Oh, Nancy, Nancy! it is as right as possible. The terrible, haunting words have gone, and the longing for the sea has gone. I know that I am forgiven.

Nancy, do you hear? I am washed, and I am clean. Oh! I know at last what it means."

"For goodness' sake take off those wet things and get back into bed and let me warm you up. You will catch your death."

"My death!" cried Pauline, "when I am so happy I scarcely know how to contain myself."

Nancy sprang out of bed, dragged Pauline towards her, and helped her to pull off her wet things. Then she wrapped her up in her warm night-dress, made her cuddle down in bed, and kissed her and hugged her.

"Oh, dear!" she said, "you are the queerest girl; but your face looks as it did long ago."

"I feel as I did long ago--or, rather, I feel different. I was a child then and did not understand much. Now, it seems to me, I understand a great deal--yes, a great deal. Oh! and there is your father in the garden. I must dress; I must go to him."

So Pauline jumped out of bed, got quickly into her clothes, and ran out to join the farmer.

"Mr. King," she cried, "I am quite well again."

"It looks like it, little missy," said the farmer.

"I am," repeated Pauline. "I am as perfectly well as a girl can be. You know how often I told you I wanted to wash and be clean. I had my wash this morning, and it was really what I did want, for that dull feeling has left my head. I know just everything, and how I behaved, and all the rest, and I am prepared to take the bitter as well as the sweet. It is very, very sweet living here with you and Nancy, and whatever happens, you will be my friends as long as I live. And it is very bitter to think that I must tell Aunt Sophia and Verena and the rest of them the whole truth; but, bitter or not, I am going to do it, and I am going back to them, for it is right. I want to go back to them this very day. May I?"

"Yes, my la.s.s; I understand you," said the farmer gravely.

It was a lovely day for the time of year; although it was November, the sun shone brilliantly. Miss Tredgold stood on the lawn in front of the house and talked to Verena, who stood by her side.

"I understand all of you now, Verena," she said, "except Pauline. I never did understand her, and I sometimes think I never shall, poor child!"

"Oh, yes, you will," said Verena. "When Paulie comes back she will be as you never knew her--as she used to be, her sweetest and best. In some ways she is stronger and better and braver than any of us. I think she ought to make a splendid woman some day, for she has so much character and so much determination."

"I think I have done the rest of you good by coming here; but if I have done Pauline harm, I sometimes wonder if I can ever be happy again," said the poor lady.

"You have not done her harm. Only wait until she comes back. She is just getting the right treatment now. She felt everything so terribly that her mind was quite numb and incapable of conducting her right for a time; but wait until she returns."

"Day after day I long and hope for her return," said Miss Tredgold, "but day after day there is a fresh excuse."

"And yet you say you want her to return," said Verena. "Oh, aunty, aunty!

who is this coming up the path? Here she is--Paulie herself; and Nancy is following her, and there is Farmer King. They have entered by the wicket-gate and are coming up through the plantation. Oh, look, look! And she is well. I know by the way she walks, by the way she runs, by the way she smiles. She is as well as ever she was in all her life."

"Better--far better than ever!" cried Pauline's gay and almost rollicking voice. "Here I am, stronger than ever, and quite, quite well."

The next moment Pauline's arms were flung round her aunt's neck.

"You must forgive me first of all," she said. "I have come back to confess, and I want to get my confession over. I want all the others to stand round and listen. Ah! here they come. Don't rush at me for a moment, girls. Don't hug me or do anything of that sort. Stand still and listen, listen, listen. I was rebellious, and I did wrong, and----"

"My darling," interrupted Miss Tredgold, "we know the whole story. We only want you to confess that you did wrong, and then never, never to allude to it again; for I see, Pauline, by your eyes that you mean to do right now."