A Little Mother to the Others by L. T. Meade (best contemporary novels .TXT) 📕

you, Ann; you can see 'em while they is eating."

"Please, Diana, don't go!" called out Ann; but Diana did not hear her. Putting wings to her sturdy little feet, she sped across the lawn, ran helter-skelter into the house, and up to the room where she had slept.

The room was empty, the windows were wide open, the little bed was neatly made; there was not a sign of the precious box to be discovered anywhere.

"Where is that howid old nurse?" called Diana aloud. "She must know where my pets is. Oh, they must be desp'te hungry, poor darlin's. I say, nurse, where is 'oo? Nurse, come 'long, you howid old thing!"

Simpson, who happened to be in the day-nursery not far away, heard Diana's imperious little cry. The under-nurse was also standing in the room.

"Mrs. Simpson," she said, "I hear one of the strange little ladies calling out for you."[95]

"Well, and so do I hear her," answered Mrs. Simpson, with a toss of her head; "but she must learn to speak respectful before I take any notice. I fully expect it's that pert little Miss Diana. They say she is called after one of the heathen gods; no wonder she is so fiery and—"

But at that moment the fierce little face, the jet-black head and sparkling eyes were seen peeping round the nursery door.

"There you is, old Simpson; that's wight," said Diana, dancing up to her. "Now, p'ease, tell me where you put my box."

"What box, miss? I'll thank you, Miss Diana, not to call me old Simpson. My name is Mrs. Simpson."

"I only call you what you is," said Diana. "You is old, your hair is gway; you is awfu' old, I 'spect. Now, where is my box? Where did you put it, old—I mean, Mrs. Simpson?"

"What box, miss?" said Simpson, beginning to temporize, for she really was afraid of the burst of wrath which Diana might give way to when she learned the truth.

"You is a stupid," said Diana. "It's the box what holds my pwecious beetles and spiders. I want to feed 'em. I'm just going to catch flies for my spiders. I know how to catch 'em quite well; and my dear little bettles, too, must be fed on bits of sugar. Where did you put the box? The woom I s'ept in is kite tidy. Where is the box? Speak, can't you?"

"Well, then, Miss Diana, I must just tell you the simple truth. We can't have no messing with horrid vermin in this house. I would not stay here for an hour if I thought those odious beetles and spiders were anywhere about."[96]

"Well, then, you can go," said Diana; "nobody wants you to stay; you is of no cons'kence. I want my darlin' pets, my little home things that comed from the lovely garden; my spiders and my dear beetles. Where did you put 'em?"

"The fact is, Miss Diana, you want a right good talking to," said Simpson. "Well, then, this is the truth. I have put 'em away."

"Away! Where?"

"They are gone, miss; you'll never find 'em again."

"Gone!" cried Diana, her face turning pale. "Gone! Did Iris let you take 'em away?"

"Your sister knew nothing about it, miss. I took the box last night and threw it into the dust-hole. I hope the vermin inside are dead by now—horrid, odious, disgusting things!"

"Vermin!" cried Diana. Her great eyes leaped, a ray of pure fire seemed to dart from them. She looked for a moment as if she meant to strike Simpson, but then, thinking better of it, she turned and rushed like a little fury from the room. Downstairs, with her heart choking, her breath coming fast, her whole little body palpitating with the most frantic passion, she ran.

The first person she happened to meet was her uncle, Mr. Dolman. He was coming sleepily in from the garden, for the day was getting intensely hot. He meant to go to his study to begin to write his sermon for next Sunday. He did not feel at all inclined to write his sermon, but as it had to be got through somehow, he thought he would devote an hour, or perhaps an hour and a half, to its composition this morning. When he saw Diana, however, rushing madly through the hall, with her eyes shining, her face[97] white, and her whole little body quivering with excitement, he could not help exclaiming under his breath at her remarkable beauty.

"What a handsome little spitfire!" he said aloud.

"Spitfire, indeed!" said Diana; "it's you all who is spitfires; it's not me. I want to say something to you, big man."

"Very well, small girl," answered Mr. Dolman. "I am willing to listen to you. What is the matter?"

This was really much more diverting than sitting down to his sermon.

"I want you to have that howid old woman upstairs put in pwison. I want you to get the perlice, and have her hands tied, and have her took away to pwison. She has done a murder—she has killed my—" But here little Diana's voice suddenly failed; high as her spirit was, it could not carry her any further. A sense of absolute loneliness came over her, and her passion ended in a burst of frantic weeping.

And now all might have been well, for Mr. Dolman was a kind-hearted man, and the little child, in her black dress, would have appealed to him, and he would have taken her in his arms and comforted her after a fashion, and matters might never have been so sore and hard again for little Diana, if at that moment Mrs. Dolman had not appeared. She was walking hastily across the hall with her district-visiting hat on. Mrs. Dolman's district-visiting hat was made in the shape of a very large mushroom. It was simply adorned with a band of brown ribbon, and was not either a becoming or fashionable headgear.

Diana, who had a strong sense of the ludicrous, stopped her tears where her aunt appeared.[98]

"What a poky old thing you is!" she said.

These words enraged Mrs. Dolman.

"William," she remarked, "what are you doing with that child? Why, you have taken her in your arms; put her down this minute. Diana, you are a very naughty little girl."

"So is you a very naughty old woman," retorted Diana. "I's not going away from this nice old man. I don't like you. I'm going to stay with you, old man, so don't put me down out of your arms. You will send for the perlice, won't you, and you'll have that howid puson upstairs put in pwison. Go 'way, aunt. I never did like you, and I never will, and you is awfu' poky in that bonnet. But I'll go with you, old man." Here she flung her fat arms round her uncle's neck and gave him a hug.

"You are not pwetty like faver," she said, "you are kite an ugly old man, but all the same I like you;" and she kissed him, a slobbering, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Jane," said Mr. Dolman, "this poor little girl is in great trouble. I cannot in the least make out why, but perhaps you had better let her come with me into the library for a few minutes."

"I'll allow nothing of the kind," answered Mrs. Dolman. "Diana Delaney is an extremely naughty little child, and I am quite determined that her spirit shall be broken. It was all very well for you to go on with your tantrums at the Manor, miss, but now you are under my control, and you shall do exactly what I wish. Come, Diana, none of this. What, you'll kick me, will you? Then I shall have you whipped."

"What's whipped?" questioned Diana.

Mrs. Dolman stooped down and lifted her into her[99] arms. She was a stout and largely-made child, and the little woman found her somewhat difficult to carry. She would not let her down, however, but conducted her across the cool hall and into a room at the further end of the passage. This room was nearly empty, matting covered the floor and a round table stood in the center, while two or three high-backed chairs, with hard seats, were placed at intervals round the walls. It was a decidedly dreary room, and rendered all the more so because the morning sun was pouring in through the dusty panes.

This room was well known to all the little Dolmans, for it was called the punishment chamber. In this room they had all of them shed bitter tears in their time, and some of the spirit which had been given to them at their birth was subdued and broken here, and here they learned to fear mamma, although not to respect her. They were all accustomed to this chamber, but little Diana Delaney had never in the whole course of her spirited six years heard of anything in the least resembling this odious and ugly apartment.

"Here you stay until you beg my pardon," said Mrs. Dolman, "and if I hear you daring to call me names again, or your uncle names, or doing anything but just behaving like a proper little Christian child, I shall have you whipped. I believe in not sparing the rod, and so the child is not spoiled. What, you'll defy me, miss!"

"I hate you," screamed Diana, "and I want you to go to pwison too, as well as that awfu' old Simpson upstairs. She has gone and murdered all my animals—she said they was vermin. Oh, I hate you, aunt!"

"Hate me or not, you'll stay where you are until[100] dinner-time," said Mrs. Dolman, and she left the room, locking the door after her.

Diana flew to it and kicked it furiously, but although she kicked and screamed and shouted herself hoarse, no one heard her, and no one came to the rescue. At last, worn out with her frantic grief, she threw herself down in the middle of the floor and, babylike, forgot her sorrows in profound slumber.

The rest of the children were having a fairly happy morning, and Iris, who was trying to make the best of things, did not miss her little sister until the preparation gong for dinner sounded. The moment its sonorous notes were heard pealing over the Rectory garden, little Ann got up soberly, and Lucy and Mary also rose to their feet.

"That is the first gong, Iris," said Ann; "we must go in to clean our hands and have our hair brushed. Mamma would be very angry if we were not all in the dining room when the second gong sounds. There is only five minutes between the two gongs, so we had better go and get ready at once."

Iris was quite ready to accompany her cousins into the house. Now, for the first time, however, she missed Diana.

"Where is Di?" she said. "Apollo, have you seen her?"

Apollo was coming up the lawn; Iris ran down to meet him.

"Oh, there's Orion with Philip and Conrad," said Iris, "but where can Di be? I thought she was with you, Apollo."

"I have not seen her for the greater part of the morning," replied Apollo. "Have you, Orion?"

"Not I," answered Orion, giving himself a little[101] shake. "I say, Phil," he continued, "is it true that you can take me fishing with you this afternoon?"

"Yes; but pray don't talk so loud. I'll take you, if you won't split about it."

"What's 'split'?" questioned Orion.

"Hush, you little beggar!" Philip drew Orion to one side and began to whisper in his ear. Orion's face got very red.

"Oh!" he said. "Well, I won't tell. What are you talking about, Iris?"

"I want to find Diana," said Iris.

"I have not seen her," said Orion. "I wish you would not bother me, Iris. I am talking to Philip. Phil and I has got some secrets. Very well, Phil; we'll walk on in front, if you like."

"Yes, come along," said Philip; "you can come too, Conrad. Now, Orion, if you are not going to be a silly goose and a tell-tale, I'll—" Here he dropped his voice to a whisper, and Orion bent an attentive ear.

Iris, in some bewilderment, turned to her girl cousins.

"I must find Diana," she said.

"She may be in the house," said Ann. "Perhaps she has gone to the nurseries—perhaps she is with Simpson."

The whole party entered the house, which was very cool and pleasant in contrast to the hot outside world. They met Mr. Dolman striding across the hall.

"You had better be quick, children," he called out. "Mamma won't be pleased unless you are all waiting and ready to sit down to table when the second gong sounds."[102]

"Oh, please, Uncle William!" said Iris, "do you happen