Wych Hazel Part 16

In the hall, which at a glance she saw was square and wide, and felt was flagged with stone, stood a large packing case; and about it and so busy with it that for a second they did not observe her, were a girl and young man, the latter knocking off boards and drawing out nails with his hammer, while the other hovered over the work and watched it absorbedly. In a moment more they both looked up. The hammer went down and with a face of illumination Rollo came forward.

'Why here she is!' he exclaimed gayly, 'dropped into our hands! and as wet as if she had fallen from the clouds literally. Here Rosy, carry off this lady to your domains.

This is Primrose Maryland, Miss Kennedy.'

A primrose she evidently was, sweet and good and fresh like one, with something of a flower's gravity, too. That could be seen at a glance; also that she was rather a little person, though full and plump in figure, and hardly pretty, at least in contrast with her brilliant neighbour. Wych Hazel's first words were of unbounded surprise.

'From what possible part of the clouds did you fall, Mr.

Rollo!'--then with a blush and a look of apology to Miss Maryland, 'I ought to excuse myself; I didn't know where I was coming. And my horse quite refused to stand upon more than two feet at once, I found the storm uncomfortable--and so jumped off and ran in. It's the fault of your door for being open, Miss Maryland!'

'I am very glad,' said Primrose simply. 'The door stood open because it was so hot. We were going to see you this afternoon but the storm hindered us. Now, will you come up-stairs and get on something dry?'

CHAPTER XII.

AT DR. MARYLAND'S.

They went up a low staircase and along a gallery to Primrose's room. Large and low, as nice as wax, and as plain. How unlike any room at Chickaree, Wych Hazel could not help feeling, while its little mistress was opening cupboards and drawers, and getting out the neatest and whitest of cambric jackets and ruffles and petticoats, and bringing forth all accommodations of combs and brushes. Meanwhile Wych Hazel could not help seeing some of the tokens about the place that told what kind of life was lived there. Its spotlessly neat and orderly condition was one token; but there were signs of business.

Work-baskets, with what seemed fulness of work, were about the room; books, not in great numbers, but lying in little business piles, with business covers and the marks of use.

Papers were on one table by the window, with pen and ink and pencil and cards. And everywhere a simplicity that showed no atom of needless expenditure. Very unlike Chickaree?

Primrose the while was neat-handedly helping to array her guest in fresh apparel. She had pretty little hands, and they were quick and skilful; and as she stooped to try on a slipper or manage a fastening, Wych Hazel had a view of a beautiful head of fair brown hair, in quiet arrangement that did not show all its beauty; and when from time to time the eyes were lifted, she saw that they were very good eyes; as reposeful as a mountain tarn, and as deep too, where lay thought shadows as well as sunshine. They were shining eyes now, with secret admiration and pleasure and good will and eager interest.

'Are you come to stay a good while at Chickaree? I hope you will.'

'Maybe--perhaps. O my boots are not wet, Miss Maryland,--and I don't think I caught enough raindrops to hurt. How kind you are!--And how well your brother describes you.'

'Arthur?--I wish he would not describe me. Chickaree is such a beautiful place, I should think one might like to stay there.

I have been hoping about it, ever since I heard you were coming. Father knows Mr. Falkirk, and used to know your father and mother, so well, that I have almost felt as if I knew you,--till I saw you.'

'And you don't feel so now?' with a shade of disappointment.

'No,' said Primrose laughing. 'But I am sure I shall very soon, if you will let me. I have wished for it so much! There, won't that do? It is lucky I had some of Prue's things here-- mine are too short. Prue is my sister. It looks very nice, I think.'

'O yes,' her guest answered, taking up her bunch of roses, fresh with the rain. 'Thank you very much! But why do you say that about your brother?'

'Arthur?--O--descriptions never tell the truth.'

'I am sure he did,' said Wych Hazel. 'And I know I would give anything to have anybody to talk so about me.'

Primrose returned a somewhat earnest and wondering look at her new friend; then took her hand to lead her down stairs.

In the hall they found Mr. Rollo; not by his packing case exactly, for he had taken that to pieces, and the contents stood fair to view; a very handsome new sewing machine.

Surrounded with bits of board and litter, he stood examining the works and removing dust and bits of paper and string. Over the litter sprang to his side Primrose and laid her hand silently in his, and with downcast eyes stood still looking at the machine. The bright eyes under their lids spoke as much joy as Rosy's face often showed; yet she was perfectly still.

'Well?' said Rollo, squeezing the little hand and looking laughingly down at her.

'You are so good!'

'You don't think it,' said he. 'You know better; and as you always speak perfect truth, I am surprised to hear you.'

'You are good to me,' said Primrose in a low tone.

'I should be a pleasant fellow if I wasn't,' said he stooping to kiss her, at which the flush of pleasure on Rosy's cheek deepened; 'but in the meantime it is proper we should look after the comfort of our prisoner.' Then stepping across the litter to where Wych Hazel stood, he went on--'You know, of course, that you stand in that relation to us, Miss Kennedy?

Primrose is turnkey, and I am governor. Would you like to see the inside of the jail?'

The 'prisoner' had stood still in grave wonderment at people and things generally; especially at the footing Mr. Rollo seemed to have in this house.

'Governor to a steam engine is an easier post,' she said, throwing off her thoughts.

'I have been that'--he said, as he led her into a room on the right of the hall.

This room took in the whole depth of the house, having windows on three sides; low, deep windows, looking green, for the blinds were drawn together. The ceiling was low, too; and from floor to ceiling, everywhere except where a door or window broke the s.p.a.ce, the walls were lined with books. There was here no more than up stairs evidence of needless money outlay; the furniture was chintz covered, the table-covers were plain.

But easy chairs were plenty; the tables bore writing-materials and drawing-materials and sewing-materials; and books lay about, open from late handling; and a portfolio of engravings stood in a corner. Rollo put his charge in an easy chair, and then went from window to window throwing open the blinds. The windows opened upon green things, trees and flowers and vines; the air came in fresher; the rain was softly falling fast and thick, and yet the pale light cheered up the whole place wonderfully.

'Your windows are all shut, Rosy!' said Rollo as he went from one to the other--'is that the way you live? You must keep them open now I am come home!'

'It was so hot,'--said the voice of Rosy from the hall.

'Hot? that is the very reason. What are you about? Rosy!--'

He went to the door, and then from where she sat Wych Hazel could see the prompt handling which Rosy's endeavours to put away the disorder received. She was taken off from picking up nails, and dismissed into the library; while Rollo himself set diligently about gathering together his boards and rubbish.

Primrose came in smiling.

'It is better with the windows open,' she said; 'but I was so busy this morning I believe I forgot. And father never comes into this room till evening. How it rains! I am so glad!'

And taking a piece of work from a basket, she placed herself near Wych Hazel and began to sew. It was a pretty home picture, such as Wych Hazel--in her school life and ward life-- had seen few. Just why it made her feel quiet she could not have told. Yet the brown eyes went somewhat gravely from Primrose at her work to the hall where Rollo felt so much at home--then round the room and towards the window, watching the rain.

'Won't you give me some work?' she asked suddenly.

'O talk!' said Primrose, looking up. 'Don't work.'

'It takes more than work to stop my mouth,' said Wych Hazel, 'Ah, I can work, though you don't believe it, Miss Rosy; do please give me that ruffle--or a handkerchief,--don't you want some marked? I can embroider like any German.'

Primrose doubted her powers of sewing and talking both at once; but finally supplied her with an immense white cravat to hem, destined for the comfort of Dr. Maryland's throat; and working and chatting did go on very steadily for some time thereafter, both girls being intent on each other at least, if not on the hemming, till Rollo came back. He interrupted the course of things.

'Now,' said Rollo, 'I am going to ask you first, Primrose--are you setting about to make Miss Kennedy as busy as yourself?'

'I wish I could, you know,' said Primrose, half smiling, half wistfully.

'And I want to know from you, Miss Kennedy, where Mr. Falkirk is this afternoon?'

'In the depths of a nap, I suppose. Is the rain slackening, Mr. Rollo?'

'What do you think?'--as with a fresher puff of wind the rush of the raindrops to the earth seemed to be more hurried and furious. Wych Hazel listened, but did not speak her thoughts.

Rollo considered her a little, and then drew up the portfolio stand and began to undo the fastenings of the portfolio.

'Do you like this sort of thing?'