Girls of the Forest Part 6

"But what are we to do? We must get her something."

"Can't she have tea and bread-and-b.u.t.ter? We've half-a-pound of cooking b.u.t.ter in the house."

"Are there any eggs?"

"No. I broke the last carrying it across the kitchen an hour ago. My hands were all of a tremble with the pain, and the egg slipped."

"Betty, you are too dreadful! Won't you put that paper down and try to help us?"

Betty looked at the three faces. In their shabby dresses, and with their pretty, anxious eyes, Verena having a frown between her charming brows, they made a picture that struck the cook's heart. With all her odd and peculiar ways, she was affectionate.

"Are you fretting about it, Miss Renny?" she asked.

As she spoke she put down her feet and pushed the tempting number of the _Family Paper_ from her.

"There!" she said; "poor little Miss Dunstable may marry the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton just as soon as she pleases, but I won't have you put out, Miss Renny."

"I did want something nice for dinner," said Verena.

"Then I'll manage it. There ain't a better cook than I anywhere when I'm put on my mettle. Miss Penny, will you help me?"

"Certainly," said Penelope.

"Well, run into the garden and pick all the peas you can find. There's a nice little joint in the larder, and I'll roast it, and you shall have a beautiful dinner. Now off you go, dears. You shall have custard-pudding and cream and strawberry-jam afterwards."

"Oh, how nice!" cried Penelope, with a little gasp. "Be sure you give us _plenty_ of strawberry-jam, and make a very large custard-pudding, for there's such a lot of us to eat the things, and I generally get the teeniest little bit."

"You are a nursery child, and it's in the nursery you'll have your tea,"

said Verena in a stern tone. "Go and pick the peas."

"Not me," said Penelope.

She sat down just where she was, in an obstinate heap, in the middle of the floor.

"If I are not to eat those peas I don't pick 'em," she said. "I wor going to be kind, but I won't be kind if I'm to be turned into a nursery child."

"Oh! do let her come to the dining-room just for to-night," pleaded Pauline.

"Very well, then; just for once," said Verena.

CHAPTER IV.

THE LIFE OF MISRULE.

Dinner went off better than the girls had expected. But to Miss Tredgold it was, and ever would be, the most awful meal she had eaten in the whole course of her existence. The table was devoid of all those things which she, as a refined lady, considered essential. The beautiful old silver spoons were dirty, and several of them bent almost out of recognition. A like fate had befallen the forks; the knives were rusty, the handles disgracefully dirty; and the tablecloth, of the finest damask, was almost gray in color, and adorned with several large holes. The use of serviettes had been long abolished from The Dales.

The girls, in honor of the occasion, had put on their best frocks, and Verena looked fairly pretty in a skimpy white muslin made in an obsolete style. The other girls each presented a slightly worse appearance than their elder sister, for each had on a somewhat shabbier frock, a little more old-fashioned and more outgrown. As to Mr. Dale, it had been necessary to remind him at least three times of his sister-in-law's arrival; and finally Verena had herself to put him into his very old evening-coat, to brush him down afterwards, and to smooth his hair, and then lead him into the dining-room.

Miss Tredgold, in contradistinction to the rest of the family, was dressed correctly. She wore a black lace dress slightly open at the neck, and with elbow sleeves. The children thought that she looked dazzlingly fashionable. Verena seemed to remember that she had seen figures very like Aunt Sophia's in the fashion books. Aunt Sophia's hair in particular absorbed the attention of four of her nieces. How had she managed to turn it into so many rolls and spirals and twists? How did she manage the wavy short hair on her forehead? It seemed to sit quite tight to her head, and looked as if even a gale of wind would not blow it out of place. Aunt Sophia's hands were thin and very white, and the fingers were half-covered with sparkling rings, which shone and glittered so much that Penelope dropped her choicest peas all over her frock as she gazed at them.

John was requisitioned to wait at table, and John had no livery for the purpose. The family as a rule never required attendance at meals. On this occasion it was supposed to be essential, and as Betty refused point-blank to stir from the kitchen, John had to come to the fore.

"No, no, Miss Renny," said Betty when poor Verena begged and implored of the good woman to put in an appearance. "No, you don't. No, you certain sure don't. Because you looked pretty and a bit coaxing I gave up Miss Dunstable and the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton two hours ago, but not another minute will I spare from them. It's in their select society that I spend my haristocratic evening."

Verena knew that it would be useless to coax Betty any further. So John appeared with the potatoes in a large dish on a rusty tray, each potato having, as Betty expressed it, a stone inside. This she declared was the proper way to cook them. The peas presently followed the potatoes. They were yellow with age, for they ought to have been eaten at least a week ago. The lamb was terribly underdone, and the mint sauce was like no mint sauce that Miss Tredgold had ever dreamed of. The pudding which followed was a pudding that only Betty knew the recipe for, and that recipe was certainly not likely to be popular in fashionable circles. But the strawberry-jam was fairly good, and the cream was excellent; and when, finally, Miss Tredgold rose to the occasion and said that she would make some coffee, which she had brought down from town, in her own coffee-pot on her own etna, the girls became quite excited.

The coffee was made, and shed a delicious aroma over the room. Mr. Dale was so far interested that he was seen to sniff twice, and was found to be observing the coffee as though he were a moth approaching a candle. He even forgot his Virgil in his desire to partake of the delicious stimulant. Miss Tredgold handed him a cup.

"There," she said. "If you were ever young, and if there was ever a time when you cared to act as a gentleman, this will remind you of those occasions.--And now, children, I introduce you to 'Open sesame;' and I hope, my dear nieces, by means of these simple cups of coffee you will enter a different world from that which you have hitherto known."

The girls all drank their coffee, and each p.r.o.nounced it the nicest drink they had ever taken.

Presently Miss Tredgold went into the garden. She invited Verena and Pauline to accompany her.

"The rest of you can stay behind," she said. "You can talk about me to each other as much as you like. I give you leave to discuss me freely, knowing that, even if I did not do so, you would discuss me all the same.

I am quite aware that you all hate me for the present, but I do not think this state of things will long continue. Come, Verena; come, Pauline. The night is lovely. We will discuss nature a little, and common sense a great deal."

The two girls selected to walk with Miss Tredgold looked behind at the seven girls left in the dining-room, and the seven girls looked back at them with a mixture of curiosity and pity.

"Never mind your sisters now," said Miss Tredgold. "We want to talk over many things. But before we enter into any discussion I wish to ask a question."

"Yes," said Verena in her gentle voice.

"Verena," said her aunt suddenly, "how old are you?"

"Fifteen," said Verena.

"Precisely. And on your next birthday you will be sixteen, and on the following seventeen, and on the next one again eighteen. You have, therefore, nearly three years in which to be transformed from a little savage into a lady. The question I now want to ask you is: Do you prefer to remain a savage all your days, uneducated, uncultured, your will uncontrolled, your aspirations for good undeveloped; or do you wish to become a beautiful and gracious lady, kind, sympathetic, learned, full of grace? Tell me, my dear."

"How can I?" replied Verena. "I like my life here; we all suit each other, and we like The Dales just as it is. Yes, we all suit each other, and we don't mind being barbarians."

Miss Tredgold sighed.

"I perceive," she said, "that I shall have uphill work before me. For you of all the young people, Verena, are the easiest to deal with. I know that without your telling me. I know it by your face. You are naturally gentle, courteous, and kind. You are easy to manage. You are also the most important of all to be brought round to my views, for whatever you do the others will do. It is on you, therefore, that I mean to exercise my greatest influence and to expend my heaviest forces."

"I don't quite understand you, Aunt Sophia. I know, of course, you mean kindly, but I would much rather----"

"That I went away? That I left you in the disgraceful state in which I have found you?"

"Well, I don't consider it disgraceful; and----"

"Yes? You would rather I went?"

Verena nodded. After a moment she spoke.