Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (learn to read activity book .txt) 📕

When Miss Peppy came down to breakfast next morning she found that she was the first of the household to make her appearance. This, however, was the natural consequence of her commendable desire to be always in good time—a desire which resulted in her being at least a quarter of an hour too soon for everything, except on those occasions, of course, when she over-slept, or was detained by unavoidable circumstances.

On the present occasion Miss Peppy, having had a remarkably good night’s rest, felt placid, and looked serene. She passed the spare quarter of an hour in perambulating the room, looking at the books and pictures, smoothing her cuffs, arranging her cap, and paying marked attention to a beautiful little dog which was Bella’s own particular pet, and the colonel’s particular abhorrence, because of its tendency to bark suddenly, sharply, and continuously at every visitor who entered the house.

Rosebud, (for thus was it misnamed), seemed to be, however, in no mood to receive attentions that morning. It was evidently ill at ease, without apparently knowing why.

“Did it growl, then?” said Miss Peppy in a reproachful tone, as she stooped to pat the head of the spoiled creature. “Ah, it mustn’t growl, for that is naughty, you know, darling Rosebud. Eh! doing it again? Oh! bad little snarley-warley, growly-wowly. Doesn’t it know that the poet says ‘dogs delight to bark and bite?’ and that—that—he means that they shouldn’t delight to do such naughtinesses, although, after all, why they shouldn’t when it’s natural to them I don’t know; and, besides, how does he know that they delight to do it? I never saw them look delighted in my life; on the contrary, they’re very fierce, are they not, Rosebud? especially the big ones that sometimes try to worry you. How they can ever want to worry such a pitty-itty, dear, naughty growly-wowly, snarley-warley as you, is quite beyond my comprehension; but then, you see, we live in a world of puzzles, you and I, Rosebud, and so it’s of no use being puzzled, because that does no good, and only worries one. Don’t it, deary sweety petty? Well, you can’t answer of course, though I know that you understand every word I say.”

Miss Peppy suddenly shrieked, for the “sweety petty” bit her with sufficient force to show that he was not in a mood to be played with, and would do it harder next time.

Just then the colonel entered, and Rosebud at once received him with a tornado of maddening yelps, so that for at least five minutes it had the entire monopoly of the conversation, and Miss Peppy was obliged to say good-morning in dumb show. At the same time, the colonel frowned fiercely at Rosebud, and said something which Miss Peppy could not hear because of the noise, but which, from the abrupt motion of the lips, she suspected must be something very wicked indeed.

When the darling creature at last consented to hold its tongue, the colonel said—

“Are you aware, Miss Stuart, that your nephew has been out all night?”

“No, colonel, I was not aware of it,” said Miss Peppy with a slight elevation of her eyebrows; “I wonder at it, for although he often goes out all night to ride wild horses into the sea, and save drowned people, and things of that sort, he never goes out without telling Niven, and saying whether or not he’s likely to be back soon. Besides, he always has the door-key in his pocket, when he doesn’t forget it, which is pretty often. Perhaps he had your door-key in his pocket, but after all, even if he had, that wouldn’t alter the fact that he’s been out all night. But maybe he’s in bed—did you look?”

“Yes, I looked, and he has evidently not lain on the bed at all last night.”

“Under it?” suggested Miss Peppy.

The colonel smiled slightly, and said that it had not occurred to him to look under the bed.

At that moment the door burst open, and Bella’s maid, rushing in, flung herself on her knees at the colonel’s feet, and, clasping her hands, cried in piteous tones—

“Oh! sir, please, mercy please.”

“Are you mad, girl?” said the colonel, with a look of mingled displeasure and anxiety.

“Oh, sir, no sir, but,”—(sob),—“she’s gone.”

“Who’s gone, girl; speak!”

“Miss Bella, sir; oh sir, run away, sir, with Mr Stuart!”

Colonel Crusty turned pale, and Miss Peppy fell flat down on the rug in a dead faint, crushing Rosebud almost to death in her fall.

Instantly the entire house was in confusion. Every one rushed into every room, up and down every stair, looked into every closet and cupboard, and under every bed, as well as into every hole and crevice that was not large enough to conceal a rabbit, much less a young lady, but without avail. There could be no doubt whatever on the subject: Bella and Kenneth were both gone—utterly and absolutely.

Miss Peppy alone did not participate in the wild search.

That worthy lady lay in a state of insensibility for about five minutes, then she suddenly recovered and arose to a sitting posture, in which position she remained for a few minutes more, and became aware of the fact that her cap was inside the fender, and that her hair was dishevelled. Wondering what could have caused such an unwonted state of things, she gazed pensively round the room, and suddenly remembered all about it!

Up she leaped at once, pulled on her cap with the back to the front, and rushed up to her own room. On her way, and once or twice afterwards she met various members of the household, but they were much too wild and reckless to pay any regard to her. She was therefore left unmolested in her farther proceedings.

Having tied on her bonnet very much awry, and put on her shawl exceedingly askew, Miss Peppy went out into the street, and going straight up to the first man she saw, asked the way to the railway station.

Being directed, she ran thither with a degree of speed that any school-girl might have envied. A train was on the point of starting.

“Ticket to Wreckumoft,” she almost screamed into the face of the ticket-clerk.

“Which class?” demanded the clerk, with the amiable slowness of a man whose interests are not at stake.

“First!” exclaimed Miss Peppy, laying down her purse and telling the calm-spirited clerk to help himself.

He did so, returned the purse, and Miss Peppy rushed to the train and leaped into the first open door. It happened to be that of a third class, which was full of navvies and mechanics.

“You seems to be in a ’urry, ma’am,” said one of the former, making way for her, and wiping the seat beside him with the sleeve of his coat.

Miss Peppy could only exclaim, “Ho, yes!” and cover her face with her handkerchief, in which position she remained immovable until the train arrived at Wreckumoft, despite the kindly efforts at consolation made by the navvy, who arranged her shawl and offered her a glass of gin from his own private bottle; and, finally, seeing that all his efforts were fruitless, wound up by patting her on the shoulder, and advising her to cheer up, for “wotever it was that ailed her, there was sure to be better luck next time.”

Arrived at Wreckumoft, Miss Peppy hastened to her brother’s residence. On the way she had to pass Bingley Hall, and, feeling that it would be an unutterable relief to her feelings to tell