A Modern Tomboy: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade (sight word readers .txt) 📕

she is," said Phyllis, "although I never thought so. I thought her a pretty, sweet little creature. I think she is really fond of Irene, and Irene is sincerely devoted to her."

"Well, Phyllis, I will confide in you. A few weeks ago, when Rosamund and Irene took themselves off to The Follies to spend the afternoon, I took the opportunity of having a chat with little Miss Agnes Frost, and there and then I enlightened her with regard to certain stories which I knew for a fact to be true. I can tell you I frightened her a good bit. She is rather timid—I never knew any one more so. Her face got as white as death. Of course, I told her she was not to tell any one, but I didn't greatly care. I know for a fact she was nervous for the rest of the day, and that evening she asked poor old Frosty to let her sleep in her bed."

"But she didn't sleep with her, all the same," said Phyllis, "for I happened to see her running back to her own room quite late, after the rest of us were supposed to be in bed. And the next day she was greater friends than ever with Irene."

"What a nuisance things are!" said Lucy. "But now I am absolutely determined to punish Irene and Rosamund in the only way in which I can punish them. Rosamund is conceited enough to believe that she has made a reformation in Irene's character. I know better. I know that Irene is a perfectly horrid girl. If you could only have heard Miss Carter talk about her when she first went to the Singletons'! And we had a servant once from their house, and she told us some most ghastly tales. It is impossible to suppose for a second that Irene is a nice girl; but between Rosamund—who, I must own, is very plucky—and this mite Agnes, who is devoted to her, she is quite quiet and amenable, and she is no doubt passionately fond of that stupid, inane little Agnes. Now, I mean to get Agnes from her. You must help me, Phyllis. How are we to manage it?"

"It seems hardly worth while," said Phyllis.

"All right, Phyllis, you can please yourself. There are others who would help me—Agnes Sparkes, for instance."

"Oh! if you must have some one, I am quite as good as another," said Phyllis Flower.

"Well, you know that promise of mine that we should go to London together. My dear aunt, Mrs. Brett, is going to town, and she says that she will take me and any special friend I like as my companion, and she will show me all over the place: the Tower, the Houses of Parliament, and Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul's, and all the rest. And I mean to go to a theatre. Were you ever at a really big theatre in the whole course of your life, Phyllis?"

"Never," said Phyllis, "for you know I have lived all my life in the country."

"Well, you can't possibly imagine what it is like: the dresses and the lights, and the actors and the stage effects, as they call them, and the way the people talk—it moves you so. I went once, and I cried two handkerchiefs into wet mops, and I could have cried into a third, only I didn't happen to have it. Oh, it was lovely!"

"It seems to be rather melancholy from your description," said Phyllis.

"Oh! it is the sort of melancholy that you can enjoy," said Lucy. "At least I enjoyed it, and I am a very matter-of-fact girl. But there, we can go to a laughing theatre. Some theatres make you laugh so much that you can scarcely stop. You get almost into hysterics. Anyhow, I mean to go, because Aunt Susan has promised to take me, either to a merry or a sad play. And then you are fond of music. I dare say I could squeeze in a concert. Think of a whole week, and not a penny to come out of your pocket; for Aunt Susan has a little sum put by, and she means to give me and whichever of my school-fellows I like best a real treat. So now you understand."

"Yes, I understand," said Phyllis.

"But you must help me to effect my object. I mean to part those two girls—that ridiculous little Agnes and that hated Irene. I mean to part them thoroughly."

"But I don't see how you can do it."

"Oh, don't you? I have thought of several ways. You know what a passion Irene has for all sorts of creatures—newts and toads and frogs. Well, I can also have a similar passion for those creatures. Anyhow, I have half-a-crown in my pocket, and I mean to——But there—the others are following us. Do let us talk in whispers. We needn't do it quite yet, but we will do it in about a week's time; and then there'll be a great rumpus, and most likely Irene will be expelled. Agnes can stay or not as she likes. She is quite a timid little thing, and I only want to separate her from Irene, and I want to prove to that horrid Rosamund that she is wrong and I am right. That's all. You can help me, and we will go to London afterwards. But please yourself."

"Let me think it over," said Phyllis. "Of course, I'd just love to go to London with you. It seems too interesting for anything; but"——

"There is generally something to be put up with when great pleasure is to be obtained," said Lucy. "I never had such a chance as this before, and I can give it to any one else. There is Annie Millar, or Agnes Sparkes—either of them would jump at it; or one of the Singleton girls. As to poor Jane Denton—but she is not at the school at present; and Laura Everett has plenty of fun of her own. I offer it to you now, provided you will help me."

"I suppose I must; but will you give me a day to think over it?"

"Yes, think it over; think what it means. You will have to be my confederate in this matter. It is just a little game I mean to play, and I think I shall play it so effectually that there will be no more friendship between pretty Agnes Frost and Irene Ashleigh."

CHAPTER XXVI. IN ROSAMUND'S BOWER.

The days flew by, and apparently all was harmonious in the little school. Agnes clung more closely than ever to Irene. Irene had considerably altered. She was no longer specially wild. She was so much absorbed in watching Agnes, in seeing that no one else put in any claim with regard to this small girl, that she had no time to think of being mischievous. Besides, she had her lessons to attend to; and lessons under Miss Archer, and Mademoiselle Omont, and, still more, under the different masters who attended to the school, were of the most stimulating character. The child seemed to imbibe knowledge with a rapidity which astonished all those who watched her. She understood the meaning of a thing at a glance, and it was soon perceived that, in addition to her extraordinary and very remarkable beauty, she was also a genius, or almost that, for she had a natural talent for all sorts of things: for music, which she could already play impromptu, bringing out wild melodies on the piano to which her hearers felt they could go on listening for ever. Of course, the mistresses were supposed not to approve of this sort of playing, and tried to tie Irene down to the usual exercises and the different methods for bringing strength to the fingers. Irene did attend to these lessons, but only in a sort of half-hearted way; soon she broke again into those wild melodies which seemed to pierce the heart and get more or less to the soul of the little performer.

The Singleton girls were often now spending a day or half a day at the Merrimans' school, and Irene and all her companions would also frequently spend an afternoon at the Rectory. People had ceased to be afraid of Irene. She was now like an ordinary child. It was quite true that those who watched her narrowly still saw that wild glance in her eyes, which could be easily excited; but then, Rosamund was near to subdue if the moment came, and little Agnes's affectionate touch on her arm had always the power to comfort and soothe her.

"Aggie," she said to the little girl one day, "I don't know how I lived without you. I used to make pets of my poor leeches."

"Leeches!" said Agnes, with a shudder.

"Yes, darling. You know that dreadful story that was told you. Well, of course it was true—quite true. But then I had no friends, and so I had Fuzz and Buzz, and Thunder and Lightning, and the little Stars. Oh! it used to be great fun to watch them, and to think how I could terrify people by them."

"But," said little Agnes, "it was very cruel, wasn't it?"

"I suppose it was, Agnes. Only I wanted the magical influence of love like yours to take the cruelty out of my heart, to smooth down all the rough edges, and to make me feel like an ordinary girl. I feel like an ordinary girl now in many ways, except that I could never give you up, Agnes."

"And I couldn't give you up, Irene. I told dear Emily so the other day."

"She didn't want you to, did she?" said Irene, with sudden fierceness.

"Oh no; but she did ask me what I found in you to make you more precious than any other girl in the school, and I said"——

"What did you say? Look me in the face, Agnes."

Agnes looked up with her melting, loving eyes.

"I said that somehow or other I loved you, and I did not love the others."

"Ah! there you struck the nail on the head," said Irene. "Look here, Agnes; if anything happened to divide us I'd get worse than ever; because, you see, I am cleverer than I used to be."

"Nothing can come to divide us," said little Agnes. "What could?"

"I am only saving that if anything did I'd be worse than ever."

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"I can't help it sometimes, for I am—yes, I am—much cleverer now."

This little conversation took place in a small arbor at the Rectory; and just at this moment some one called Agnes, and Agnes, looking for permission at Irene, who nodded in reply, ran off. A moment later Miss Carter herself entered the bower, where Irene was still sitting.

"So you are not afraid of me now, Cartery dear," said Irene, speaking in the sort of tone which she supposed Maud Singleton adopted.

"No, I am not afraid of you. You are much altered. I came to say how much I admire you. In short, you are not the same girl you used to be."

"Well, it is owing to two influences," said Irene: "to Rosamund, who is so strong and brave, and took me in hand, and showed me myself, and did not express a scrap of fright, however much terror I tried to inspire her with; and it is owing also to even a stronger influence."

"And what is that?" said Miss Carter.

"Well, you see, there is that little thing—that darling—I can scarcely speak her name without trembling. I love her so much. She is like my own little child."

"Do you mean little Agnes Frost?"

"Oh yes. She is nothing to the rest of you. I do not wish her to be. She is all—all mine; and if anything happened to her, if she were taken from me, if I had to do without her, I should become worse than ever."

"But what do you mean?" said Miss Carter. "Why should little Agnes be taken from you?"

"I don't suppose anybody would dare to take her from me. Frosty wouldn't, and mother wouldn't; the school wouldn't; but there is a wicked girl who tried her very best to frighten little Agnes, only Rosamund brought her back to her senses. The darling knows that whoever else I might hurt at one time, I never could and never would hurt one hair of her head. And she loves me in return."

"Then that's all right," said Miss Carter.

Just at that moment a slight rustling was heard at the back of the little bower. Irene did not notice it, but Miss Carter did.

"I wonder if anybody is listening?" she said.

"Who cares? I don't mind if the whole world hears. There's that spy, Lucy Merriman; she is as likely as not to do mean things. But