The Two Sides of the Shield. Charlotte M. Yonge
Mysie with the fear that her motherless cousin might feel the contrast, and, though against rules, she whispered—
‘She will make you like one of us.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ returned Dolores, a little contemptuously.
‘What did you mean?’ said Mysie.
‘Why, you’ve no classes, nor lectures, nor master, and only just a mere daily governess.’
Dolores did not mean this to be heard beyond her neighbour, but Mysie demanded—
‘What, do you want to be doing lessons all day long?’
‘No, but good governesses never are daily!’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Gillian, turning round on her. ‘Perhaps you don’t know that Miss Vincent has a First Class Cambridge Certificate in everything, and is daily, because she likes to live with her mother.’
‘I think,’ added Lady Merrifield, with a smile, ‘that Dolores has been in the way of seeing more clever people, and getting superior teaching of some kind, but we will do the best we can for her, and try not to let her miss many advantages.’
Dolores felt a little abashed, and decidedly angry at being put in the wrong.
The elders kindly turned away the general attention from her. There was a great deal of merry family fun going on, which was quite like a new language to her. Fergus and Primrose wanted to go out in search of blackberries. Gillian undertook to drive them in the cart, but as the donkey had once or twice refused to cross a little stream of water that traversed the road, the brothers foretold that she would ignominiously come back again.
‘Gill and water are perilous!’ observed Hal.
‘Jack’s not here,’ said Gillian; ‘besides, it is down, not up the hill, and I’m sure I don’t want to draw a pail of water.’
‘No—Sancho will do that.’
‘The gong will sound and sound, buzz and roar,’ said Wilfred. ‘No Gill! no little ones! We shall send out and find them stuck fast in the lane, Sancho with his feet spread out wide, Gill with three or four sticks lying broken on the road round her, the kids reduced to eating blackberries like the children in the wood.’
‘Don’t Fred,’ said Gillian. ‘You’ll frighten them.’
‘Little donkeys!’ said Wilfred.
‘If they were, we shouldn’t want Sancho,’ said Val.
It was not a very sublime bit of wit, but there was a great laugh at it all round the table. Val and Fergus declared they would go too, till they heard that Nurse Halfpenny said she would not let the little ones go out without her to tear their clothes to pieces.
Every one unanimously declared that would be no fun at all, and turned to mamma to beg her to forbid nurse to come out and spoil everything.
‘That’s just her view,’ said mamma, laughing; ‘she thinks you spoil everything.’
‘Oh, that’s clothes! Spoiling fun is worse.’
‘But were you really going with the old Halfpenny, Gill?’ said Mysie, turning to her.
‘Yes,’ said Gillian. ‘You know I can manage her pretty well when it is only the little ones and they wouldn’t have any pleasure otherwise.’
‘Oh come, Gill,’ intreated Fergus, ‘or nurse will make us sit in the donkey-cart all the time while Lois picks the blackberries!’
‘Mamma, do tell her not to come,’ intreated Valetta, and more of them joined in with her.
‘No, my dears, I don’t like to vex her when she thinks she is doing her duty.’
‘She wouldn’t come if you did, mamma,’ and there was a general outcry of intreaty that mamma would come with them, and defend them from Mrs. Halfpenny, as Fergus, who was rather a formal little fellow, expressed it, and mamma, after a little consideration, consented to drive the pony-carriage in that direction, and to announce to Nurse Halfpenny that she herself would take charge of the children. Whereupon there was a whoop and a war-dance of jubilee, quite overwhelming to Dolores, who could not but privately ask Mysie if Nurse Halfpenny was so very cross.
‘Awfully,’ said Mysie, and Wilfred added—
‘As savage as a bear with a sore head.’
‘Like Mrs. Crabtree?’ asked Dolores.
‘Exactly. Jasper called her so when he wanted to lash her up, till at lash she got hold of his ‘Holiday House’ and threw it into the sea, and it was in Malta and we couldn’t get another,’ said Mysie.
‘And haven’t you one?’
‘Yes, Gill and I save for it; but mamma only let us have it on condition we made a solemn promise never to tease nurse about it.’
‘And does she go at you with that dreadful thing—what’s it name—the tawse?’
‘Ah! you’ll soon know,’ said Wilfred.
‘No, no; nonsense, Fred,’ said Mysie, as Dolores’ face worked with consternation. ‘She never hits us, not if we are ever so tiresome. Papa and mamma would not let her.’
‘But why do they let her be so dreadful? Maude’s nurse used to be horrid and slap her, and when her mother found it out the woman was sent away directly.’
Nurse Halfpenny isn’t that sort,’ said Mysie. ‘Her husband was papa’s colour-sergeant, and he got a sun-stroke and died, and then she came when Gillian was just born, and so weak and tiny that she would never have lived if nurse hadn’t watched her day and night, and so Gillian’s her favourite, except the youngest, and she is ever so good, you know. I’ve heard the ladies, when we were with the dear old 111th, telling mamma how they envied her her trustworthy treasure.’
‘I’m sure they might have had her at half-price,’ said Wilfred. ‘She’s be dear at a farthing!’
At that moment Mrs. Halfpenny’s voice was heard demanding if it were really her ladyship’s pleasure to go out, fatiguing herself to the very death with all the children rampaging about her and tearing themselves to pieces, if not poisoning themselves with all sorts of nasty berries.
‘Indeed I’ll take care of them and bring them back safe to you,’ responded her ladyship, very much in the tone of one of her own children making promises. ‘Put them on their brown hollands and they can’t come to much harm.’
‘Well, if it’s your wish, ma’am, my leddy; what must be, must, but I know how it will be—you’ll come back tired out, fit to drop, and Miss Val and Miss Primrose won’t have a rag fit to be seen on them. But if it’s your will, what must be must, for you’re no better than a bairn yourself, general’s lady though you be, and G.C.B.’
‘No, nurse, you’ll be G.C.B.—Grand Commander of the Bath—when we come home,’ called out Hall, who was leaning on the banister at the bottom, and there was a general laugh, during which Dolly tardily climbed the stairs, so tardily that her aunt, meeting her, asked whether she was still tired, and if she would rather have the afternoon to arrange her room.
She said ‘yes,’ but not ‘thank you,’ and went on, relieved that Mysie did not offer to stay and help her, and yet rather offended at being left alone, while all the others went their own way. She heard them pattering and clattering, shouting and calling up and down the passages, and then came a great silence, while they could be seen going down the drive, some on foot, some in the pony-chaise or donkey-cart.
Her things had all been unpacked and put in order, and her room had a very cheerful window. It was prettily furnished with fresh pink and white dimity, and choice-looking earthenware, but to London eyes like those of Dolores it seemed very old-fashioned and what she