The New Mistress: A Tale. Fenn George Manville
she at last began to wipe her eyes, after kissing Hazel again and again.
“I suppose we must accept our fate, my dear,” she said at last. “I’m sure I do mine. And now mind this. Cissy – Mabel!”
“Yes, mamma! Oh, sister Hazel, isn’t it time to go?”
“I say you will mind this. Cissy – Mabel, you are to – But must they walk in procession with those terrible children, Hazel?”
“Why not, dear? They will be with me, and what can be more innocent and pleasant than this treat to the poor girls? There, there, I know, for my sake, you will come up and lend your countenance to their sports.”
“Well, well,” sighed Mrs Thorne. “I’ll try. But mind me, Hazel,” she exclaimed sharply, “I’m not coming up with that dreadful woman, Mrs Chute. I am coming by myself.”
“Yes, dear, I would,” said Hazel.
“And mind this. Cissy and Mabel, though you are going to walk behind the school children and carry flowers, you are not to forget that you are young ladies. Mind that.”
“No, mamma!” in duet.
“And – Oh dear me, Hazel, there is some one at the front door, and I’ve only got on my old cap. I really cannot be seen; I – Good gracious me, Hazel, don’t let any one in.”
Too late. Hazel had already opened the door and admitted little Miss Burge, who came trotting in with her face all smiles.
“I thought I should never get through the children,” she panted; “and ain’t it ’ot? How well you do look, my dear! Lavender muslin suits you exactly. And how are you, my bonny little ones?” she cried, kissing the two girls. “But there, I’ve no time to lose. The band will be here directly, and my brother is with the boys; and, Mrs Thorne, he sends his compliments to you.”
Mrs Thorne had drawn herself up very stiffly in her chair, and was preserving a dignified silence, feeling offended at their visitor’s want of recognition; but Mr Burge’s compliments taught her that this patron of the school acknowledged her status in society, and she smiled and bowed.
“And he said that he hoped you would excuse his not calling to invite you himself, but – now, bless my heart, what was the rest of it?”
She looked in a perplexed way at Hazel, and then at the ceiling, as if expecting to read it there.
“Oh, I know – but he had been so busy over the preparations, and he hoped you would come and look on; and the pony carriage will be here to fetch you at twelve.”
“I’m sure – really – I am greatly obliged to Mr Burge – ”
“Mr William Forth Burge,” said Miss Burge correctively.
“To Mr William Forth Burge for his kindness, and of course I shall be most happy.”
Hazel’s eyes had filled with tears at the quiet unassuming kindness of these people, and she looked her gratitude at their visitor.
“My brother’s in such spirits, my dear, and he’s next door; and he said at breakfast that he was proud to say he came to Plumton Schools himself when he was a boy, and nobody should say he was too proud to march round the town with them to-day.”
“And – and is he going to walk in the procession. Miss Burge?” asked Mrs Thorne.
“That he is, ma’am,” said the little lady. “So I said to him at breakfast, ‘well, Bill,’ I said – you see I always call him ‘Bill,’ Mrs Thorne, though he has grown to be such a rich and great man. It seems more natural so – ‘well, Bill,’ I said, ‘if with all your money and position you’re not too proud to walk with the boys, I won’t be too proud to walk with the girls.’”
“And – and are you going to walk with them, Miss Burge?” said Mrs Thorne, with trembling eagerness.
“That I am, ma’am,” cried Miss Burge, rustling her voluminous blue silk dress, “and I’ve come down to ask Miss Thorne if she would allow me to walk with her, and – Oh, my gracious! How it did make me jump!”
The cause of Miss Burge’s start was the preliminary boom boom, boom of Mrs Thorne’s horror, the big drum, for the band had been marched up silently to the front of the schools, and the next moment the place was echoing with the brazen strains.
Chapter Ten.
Mr Canninge Assists
Mr William Forth Burge was gorgeous in the newest of frock-coats and the whitest of waistcoats, as he stood outside the schools watching the marshalling of the little forces, and then, glossy hat in one hand, orange handkerchief in the other, he gave the signal to start; and, with the excellent brass band playing its loudest, and the children for the most part bearing flowers or flags, the long procession started, to march up the High Street, round the market-place, past the church, and in and out of Bush Lane and Padley’s Road, the boys cheering, the girls firing off a shrill “hurrah” now and then; and whenever the band ceased, either the boys or the girls were started in some simple school chorus, such as poor George W. Martin or Hullah wrote, to be sung ere long through the length and breadth of the land.
It was a simple affair, but well worth seeing, if only to watch the faces of the mothers and fathers of the children, ready at their doors to smile at “our Mary,” or “little Jack,” or “the bairns.”
Mr William Forth Burge was perspiring everywhere – now in the front to stimulate the band, now standing still on a doorstep, hat in one hand, orange handkerchief in the other, till the whole procession, boys and girls, had passed, with a word for every one in turn, and looking thoroughly happy in the simplicity of his heart.
Mr Chute, on the contrary, was very dignified and stern, but ready to raise his best hat to Hazel whenever he had a chance.
At last the vicarage was reached, a halt called, and the children gave a hearty cheer, which brought out the vicar, now ready to join Mr William Forth Burge and walk with the schools, the town being passed.
There needed no fugleman to bring forth cheers from the children as they reached the gates of the garden, for here was a wonderful archway of evergreens and flowers, the work of the two gardeners, and beneath this they had hardly filed before numbers of the townspeople began to arrive. Then there was a carriage or two, and, assisted by the vicar’s sisters, little Miss Burge had quite a reception on the green terrace in front of the drawing-room, the wives and daughters of the neighbouring clergy, who all wished they had a William Forth Burge in their own parishes, arriving to do honour to the event.
The grounds were very pretty, and only separated by a light wire fence from a large paddock, which, having been fed off by sheep, was as smooth as a lawn; and here, for the hour before dinner, the children were marched, and sang at intervals, the band taking its turn, playing popular airs.
Miss Lambent and Miss Beatrice had noticed the new schoolmistress with a couple of chilly bows, and then devoted themselves to the assistance of “dear Miss Burge;” while the giver of the feast was busy in conference with Mr Chute about certain sports that were afterwards to take place.
“I don’t see the Canninges carriage yet Beatrice,” said Miss Lambent, in a whisper to her sister, as the ladies were strolling about the grounds and admiring the flower-beds, the conservatory, and grape-houses in turn.
“Do you think they will come?” whispered Beatrice, who looked rather flushed; but certainly the day was hot.
“She said they would. Dear me, how strange of Henry!”
The vicar had gone into the paddock, and, after raising his hat politely, was standing talking to Hazel at intervals between saying a few words to the boys and girls – words, by the way, which they did not wish to hear, for every eye was turned as if by a magnet towards the great tent, and the man and maidservants and assistants constantly going to and fro.
“Here they are at last,” exclaimed Miss Lambent. “I told you so. Now, Beatrice, what do you say?”
“Nothing,” replied her sister quietly.
“Then