Aunt Mary Part 10

'It will be frightfully hot walking this morning, I know,' said Mabel.

'I wish our visit to the cottage could be put off until the evening; go and ask Aunt Mary if it may, Clara,' she added.

'No, I couldn't do that,' replied her cousin. 'Aunt never tells us to do anything that is unreasonable, and I know that she wishes very much that the children should have the pudding for their dinner, and that the poor sick man should have the new-laid eggs. Come, Mabel dear, be quick,' she added; 'we shall be under the shade of the trees great part of the way.'

'And who is to carry the basket and this parcel?' inquired Mabel, giving a rather contemptuous look at the rolled-up work.

'You may carry whichever you like,' said Clara; 'it does not matter to me which I take. Indeed, I shouldn't mind if I had to carry both, neither of them are heavy.'

'Perhaps not,' said the proud girl, 'but it is so servant-like to be carrying parcels and baskets; I wonder Aunt Mary likes you to do it.'

'Oh, Mabel!' cried her cousin, 'I can't help laughing at you. Why, you should see what bundles aunt and I do carry sometimes. I suppose you would be quite shocked.'

'I shouldn't wish to be seen with you,' replied the silly girl. 'I don't think, either, that it is any laughing matter.' And Clara, knowing that it was a waste of time to argue the case any further, took up the obnoxious bundle, and ran downstairs; while Mabel followed, to find on the hall-table her share of the disagreeable, in the closely-packed basket.

It really was a very hot walk that the cousins had before them, in spite of the occasional shade of the tall trees, and they were not at all sorry when they reached the small cottage of James Simmons, and were invited to sit and rest on the chairs, which the good wife dusted and put ready for them.

The cottage was very poorly supplied with furniture--one table, and four chairs, and a stool, on which stood the was.h.i.+ng-tub, out of which Mrs.

Simmons was wringing some clothes from very hot water, when her visitors entered. If, however, there was but little furniture, there was no lack of children, and three of them were rolling about the floor, while a girl, it might be of the age of seven, was making an attempt to wash some stockings. Her small fingers did not seem to be equal to the task of rubbing and wringing, yet she was evidently proud of her occupation--a great deal more so than her brother appeared of his, in trying to take care of the youngest child, a chubby infant of six months old, who would persist in rolling off his knee, and making towards the fireplace, there to become a regular Cinderella.

This scene, I need hardly say, was anything but delightful to the new visitor, though she did not refuse to seat herself on the offered chair; while poor Mrs. Simmons, with many apologies for being found in such a rough state, wiped her hot face with her ap.r.o.n, and took the little one up from the floor, to the great relief of her brother Johnny, who appeared particularly interested in the contents of the basket, which Clara was proceeding to set upon the table.

'Let me take the baby, Mrs. Simmons, while you put the eggs into a basin; I am afraid of their rolling off the table,' said Clara, as she held out her arms to take the very pretty, but certainly not very clean little one.

'Oh, miss! she is not in a fit state for you to nurse,' replied the woman; 'I am quite ashamed that you should have found us all so dirty, but indeed I cannot help it. What with my husband being ill so long, and the was.h.i.+ng, which must be done, I don't know sometimes which way to turn.'

'My aunt wants much to know how your husband is,' said Clara; 'she would have come with us this morning, but she had an engagement.'

'The doctor thinks, miss, that my husband may get well, though he says it may be many weeks yet before he will be able to walk. He has had a weary time of it, and if it had not been for Miss Livesay's kindness, and that of our good vicar and his wife, I think he could not have lived; for he required more nourishment than I could obtain for him, if I worked ever so hard.'

'I know how glad my aunt will be to hear this good news,' said Clara; 'and she has sent one of the night-s.h.i.+rts that we have made; I dare say she will bring the other herself. And now let me try on the pinafore for baby; I want to see whether it will fit.' Baby, however, stoutly resisted this trial, using arms and legs with marvellous dexterity, and almost twisting herself out of mother's arms; so the contest was given up for fear of creating a noise, which would have disturbed the invalid: while Clara's second suggestion, that baby should have some pudding, appeared to give entire satisfaction, and produced perfect calm, under which state of things the visitors rose to go, Mabel not having exchanged a word either with mother or children the whole time, and standing on the threshold of the door, waiting for her cousin, who was shaking hands with Mrs. Simmons, and bestowing a parting kiss on the red round cheeks of the now smiling baby.

The young people walked on a short distance in silence; each had their own peculiar thoughts of the other. Mabel was the first to break calm.

Then she said: 'How you could kiss that dirty little thing and offer to nurse it, I can't conceive, Clara; it quite sickens me to think of it,'

said Mabel, with something like a shudder. 'I wonder Aunt Mary sends us to such places; it is work for Bridget to do, and not for us,' she continued. 'I don't think my mamma would approve of my going.'

'Oh, you are mistaken there, I know,' said Clara; 'for I have often heard aunt tell of the poor people your mamma and she used to visit, before Aunt Ada married--yes, and for a long time after she was married, until she was poorly, and then of course she was obliged to give up; but I'm quite sure she will be glad to hear of your doing the same. Now we must make haste, for fear we should be too late for dinner.'

CHAPTER XV.

A CATASTROPHE.

It was not a very pleasant trio that sat at the table the morning after the visit to the cottage. If Mabel had disliked the coa.r.s.e work on which she had been employed the day before, her repugnance to the examination to which she was subjected by Aunt Mary, in order to test the capabilities of her niece, and to find out what lessons would be most appropriate for her, showed itself so plainly in fits of sullenness, or tears of vexation, that even Miss Livesay herself could not help feeling-dispirited; while Clara, though she tried to think only of her lessons, felt very much disposed to shed tears on her aunt's account.

More than once, indeed, a subdued expression of rage escaped from the irritated Mabel; but it was so instantly and authoritatively checked by her aunt, that Mabel was made to feel that it would be useless for her to contend: so she sat and pored over her book in sullen silence.

This lasted until near dinner-time, so that the results of this morning's work, so far as Mabel was concerned, had been anything but satisfactory when the books were put away; and it was with very painful feelings that Miss Livesay contemplated not only the drudgery she would be subjected to, in having to go through _early lessons_ with this refractory niece of hers (who was far, very far behind both Clara and the Maitlands in her learning), but the conflict she was likely to encounter with pride and obstinacy, evils she never before had to contend with.

Aunt Mary, however, was not one to give way to despondency, and at the dinner-table she had resumed all her usual cheerfulness; nor did she make the least difference in her manners to her nieces, but chatted with them both, as if nothing had occurred to disturb her serenity.

The mornings at Oak Villa were always devoted to lessons; in the afternoon there were two hours spent in work and reading; then the day's duties were finished, if we except the looking over the lessons for the following day, which Clara never omitted doing. And on this day she had a scheme in her head, both for doing Mabel good, and saving her dear aunt trouble.

In short, she determined, if possible, to induce her cousin to exert herself in learning extra lessons, in order to overtake the young Maitlands and herself.

She thought, perhaps, that the very pride in the young girl's composition would aid her in this task, and in this she was not mistaken. Mabel this afternoon was permitted to do some of the work she had brought from home; and what with this indulgence, and the clever and amusing book her aunt had been reading to them, she had quite recovered her spirits, and was as lively and cheerful as possible.

'Isn't it time to feed the fowls, Clara?' inquired Mabel, when work and books were laid aside.

'Yes, dear, it is,' replied her cousin; 'but I should be obliged if you would feed them for me to-day, as Aunt Mary wants me to write a letter to dear mamma before post-time.'

'Oh, I shall be glad to do so, very glad!' said Mabel, who had her own motives for the alacrity she displayed.

'Must I ask Bridget for the corn?' she inquired.

'I dare say you will find it set ready on the kitchen table; Bridget never forgets,' said Clara, as she arranged her desk and writing materials.

Mabel ran off in great glee, and was soon busily engaged in her very agreeable task; yet in spite of her endeavours, she found that it was impossible to give satisfaction to all her feathered friends. Some were too greedy, and would insist upon having more than their share, while others were not courageous enough to stand up for their rights, and so were easily repulsed, and came very badly off in the general scramble, notwithstanding Mabel's spirited attempts to make an equitable distribution. At last she got tired of trying to teach manners to the c.o.c.k and hens, so she went to look after the pets, as she called the chickens. These, as we have before stated, had with their mother a separate establishment, and so they were permitted to peck their grains in peace, being in no danger of losing their share; though even among these tiny things there were contentions for a single grain, which perhaps three or four would strive after. As Mabel stood watching and admiring the little downy creatures, the desire came strongly over her, as it had done before, to take one up in her hand.

'What harm could I do the little creature by just holding it in my hand for a minute?' said Mabel. 'And as to the old hen pecking at me, I don't care for that; and I dare say,' she added, 'Clara only told me this to frighten me.'

As Mabel made this very unjust remark concerning her cousin, she opened the small door in the wire-work, and put her hand in to seize one of the chicks; but she was saluted with such a terribly hard peck from Dame Netty, that, had she not been very determined in the matter, she would have let the little chick go. Unfortunately for the little creature, her captor was very determined, and in spite of the hard peck, and the struggles of the bird, she took it out, and was in the act of shutting to the door, when the soft trembling thing slipped out of her hand, and fluttered away to its own destruction.

Yes, there on the wall, slyly watching all that had been going on, and with as great a desire after the chicken as Mabel herself had, though for a vastly different purpose, sat the fine sleek cat, to whom my young readers have before been introduced, and quick as lightning she pounced down upon the poor chick, and carried it off.

This was a terrible catastrophe, and Mabel stood for a moment in bitter dismay; she did not know what to do--how should she? The cat had disappeared, and by this time the poor chicken was killed, and perhaps eaten. Should she tell Clara? no, that would never do, for it would be sure to come to Aunt Mary's ears. It was not the first sc.r.a.pe that Mabel had got into, and we are sorry to add got out of by dissimulation; and now, after a little further consideration, she came to the unwise conclusion that it would be better to say nothing about the matter.

After all, it was only one chick out of twelve; it perhaps would not be missed. And though she was sorry that the poor little thing had been killed, she solaced herself with the idea that there would soon be a fresh brood to attract her cousin's attention.

Comforting herself with this idea, she walked into the dining-room, where she found the tea ready, and was soon joined by her aunt and cousin, who had finished their correspondence, and were now at liberty to take their evening walk as soon as the pleasant meal was ended.

CHAPTER XVI.

A VISIT TO THE VICARAGE.

During tea-time, Aunt Mary proposed a walk to the vicarage, as she wanted to ask Mr. Newlove's opinion of the state of poor Simmons, as well as to inquire after the welfare of some of her pensioners, whom she had not yet had time to visit since her return home. The proposal pleased Clara, with whom the gentle Newlove was an especial favourite; though Mabel had conceived a dislike that she could give no reason for, to this quiet, sensible, and affectionate girl.

It was with very different feelings that the cousins went upstairs to dress. Mabel, we must suppose, thought that as she was going to a clergyman's house, she should have to listen to a sermon; or if not that, to sit still, and say nothing, while the seniors talked about sick folks, and old men and women, till she should be quite wearied out; and this was certainly no pleasant prospect for a lively young lady. But Mabel said nothing of all this; as usual, her conversation turned on what she should wear.

'Are you not going to change your dress, Clara?' said her cousin; 'you are surely not going to the vicarage in that dowdy-looking frock? Why, it is only fit to wear in the mornings, or to go visiting to dirty cottages, such as we went to yesterday.'

'Now don't let us talk about dress,' said Clara; 'my frock is what Aunt Mary bought for me, and if she thinks it good enough for me to wear, I'm sure I do too. Besides, Mabel, you are very much mistaken if you think that Mr. or Mrs. Newlove would notice your dress, unless, indeed, it were a very smart one, such as I know they wouldn't like.'

'Then I shan't care for _their_ likes, but I shall just put on what _I like_ myself,' said the graceless girl, as she took from her drawer a very pretty printed muslin, and proceeded to array herself in it, finis.h.i.+ng off by donning a little black hat with a white feather in it.