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

is fearfully sad; but how could you know? And you could not be blamed—you could not really be blamed," said Lucy with great earnestness.

"Perhaps not," said Aunt Susan, recovering herself on the spot. "And I do not mean to be morbid about it; only, at the time, my conscience troubled me, and your poor aunty had a very bad time. It was soon afterwards that my dear father wrote to me, and I shall always keep his letter. Since then I have never been jealous of any one, and I would advise you to lay my story to heart, Lucy, and to do your utmost to keep down the seeds of jealousy, for they make a man or woman miserable, and they do no good in the world."

Lucy did not know why Aunt Susan's talk affected her so much. She still kept her hand on the old lady's arm, and they walked slowly up to the house. As they were approaching it she said suddenly, "Now that I have seen you, I mean to do my very best. I know it is remarkably brave of mother to have started the school and to have the girls here, and I know I ought to help her, and not to be cross because her ideas are not my ideas. And I will try, and I will remember your story and what you have said, for you always suit me, and you always understand me, Aunt Susan. But may I ask you one thing, one great favor?"

"What is that, my dear?" asked her aunt.

"If I find matters quite intolerable, may I come to you for a week to the Rectory at Dartford—just for one week? Will you invite me?"

"You have a hearty welcome, child. You know what it is like: soup-kitchens, mothers' meeting, coal-tickets, reading aloud to the children, rushing about from this place to the other trying to help those who cannot help themselves. It will do you good, Lucy, and of course you shall come."

CHAPTER III. A GYPSY TEA.

Lessons were not to begin until the following morning, and the six boarders were feeling in consequence a trifle disconsolate. They did not know what to do with themselves. They had explored the place the day before. They had visited the kitchen-garden and the flower-garden, and the paddocks and the shrubberies and the lawns, and they had wandered down towards the river. There seemed to be nothing special to do. The tennis-lawn was not properly mowed for tennis, and anyhow the net was not out, and there seemed to be no croquet-ground anywhere. In consequence, there was nothing whatever to do but to pace up and down under the shadow of the trees a little way from the house.

Rosamund Cunliffe walked with Phyllis Flower, Jane Denton with Agnes Sparkes, and Laura Everett with her special friend and factotum, Annie Millar. They were all good-natured, kind-hearted girls, ready to make the best of things; but as they walked now, pacing up and down, Rosamund suddenly stopped, faced round, and addressed the rest of her companions.

"Well, girls," she said, "I must say that I think we are placed in a rather disagreeable position at Sunnyside."

"What do you mean?" asked Laura, opening her wide blue eyes to their fullest extent.

"Why, can't you judge for yourself? That little Lucy Merriman is determined to be disagreeable to us. We cannot get her to make herself the least pleasant; whatever we do she interprets in the wrong manner, and how we are to keep the peace I don't know. I am sure I don't want to dislike her or be disagreeable to her; but she is at home, and we are strangers. She is exceedingly ill-bred, there is no doubt of that. Why should we put up with it? Ought we not at once to declare our independence, and to let her know that as we pay—or, rather, our parents pay for us—a very good sum for our education, she is bound at least not to make herself obnoxious?"

"Oh, I don't think she is obnoxious," said Agnes Sparkes. "She is just a little bit jealous. I used to be jealous of a girl once. It is a horrid sensation."

"Oh, my dear!" said Rosamund slowly, stamping her foot in her endeavor to speak with emphasis, "it is absolutely ridiculous for any one to give way to those morbid feelings in these days. If her mother wished us to come here to be educated, I suppose she had her good reasons for it, and that Lucy should be such a goose is really past enduring."

"I quite agree with what you say," replied Laura in her quiet voice, "and my only remedy is this: don't take the least notice of her."

"But that is not so easy when she pokes her disagreeable little face in at every turn."

"And her still more disagreeable little words," said Phyllis Flower.

"Now, Phyllis, don't you make mischief," said Annie Millar. "You know perfectly well that you are cleverer than the whole lot of us put together, whether you like to acknowledge it or not."

"I am not a bit clever, and I always say so," was Phyllis's response. "I have got far less than most people: no looks, no stature, no abilities. No one need ever come to me for anything, for I have nothing to give, having got nothing for myself."

"You have one gift, dear," said Rosamund, looking at her kindly; "you are an excellent listener, and you can make as pertinent a remark as any one in the school. I maintain that I consider you clever, and you will prove my words before many terms are over."

"But the point now," said Laura, "is Lucy. We begin lessons to-morrow. I should say that Miss Archer is an exceedingly nice woman—in fact, she is vastly superior to most—and the French governess is very good, too. They are both busy arranging our work for us; and of course we shall have masters innumerable, and several mistresses also, and we shall go to Dartford twice a week for lessons, so we shall be just as busy as bees. I think the only plan is to let Lucy alone."

It was while this conversation was going on, and the girls were standing together in a group, that Mrs. Brett, accompanied by no less a person than Lucy herself, appeared in view. Lucy shrank from the six girls who stood together under one of the big elm-trees, and she was about to loosen her hold of Mrs. Brett's arm, but that good lady drew her forward.

"Now come, Lucy; don't be silly. Now is your chance. I want to be introduced to those nice girls. Exceedingly nice they look, and pleasant companions they will be for you. Come and do your duty, my love."

"Oh, if only mother had such dignified manners!" thought the girl. She found herself yielding to Mrs. Brett's commands, and in a minute was standing amongst the other girls, introducing one after another to the wife of the rector of Dartford.

"My dears, I am heartily glad to see you," said Aunt Susan in her cheerful voice. "I am Aunt Susan, or Aunty Susy, to all the world, and any one who comes to Dartford finds his or her way to my cosy little bower sooner or later. Lucy is a special friend of mine.—Aren't you, Lucy?"

"You are my aunt, remember," said Lucy in a choking voice.

"She is her aunt, remember," said Phyllis Flower in a sort of mocking tone.

The other girls tittered. Mrs. Brett's calm voice continued: "I am a very plain old woman; I have no youth to boast of, and no looks to boast of; but I think I have got a somewhat capacious heart, and it is amply willing to take you all in if you wish to come. Now, let me see. This is Wednesday. I think you will come to Dartford on Saturday for lessons. Will you all come and have tea with me? You shall meet my husband, who is a very jolly sort of man, and we can show you some of our curiosities, which we have collected from time to time in our scanty travels. We are precious poor, so you mustn't expect anything but a very plain tea—bread and butter and jam; but you will have enough, and that is something, and you will see the inside of a plain working-man's house."

"Oh, Aunt Susy! Not a working-man!" said Lucy.

"Yes, a working-man, my dear," persisted Aunt Susy. "He is a minister of the Gospel, and he works hard for his Lord; and he is very proud of his Master, and very proud of the service among his Master's work-men.—So, girls, you can come if you like, or stay away if you like. We can all be very jolly together. Do you accept my invitation?"

"Indeed, we shall be delighted," said Agnes Sparkes eagerly. "What do you say, Jane?" she continued, turning to Jane Denton.

Jane Denton signified her approval with sparkling eyes, and the other girls followed suit.

"Well, that is settled," said Mrs. Brett. "You may call me Aunt Susy, those of you who like."

Lucy looked at her aunt almost as though she hated her at that moment. Mrs. Brett did not pretend to see the glance.

"Now," she said, "what are you going to do this afternoon? Why should not we all go and have tea down by the river? Why shouldn't we? Your mother wouldn't object, would she?"

"Oh, no; mother never objects to anything," said Lucy, with a little sigh.

"But you do, don't you, Lucy?" said Rosamund in a low voice.

"I dislike innovations," said Lucy.

Their eyes met. Rosamund's flashed angrily. Lucy felt that all the jealousy which she had promised Aunt Susan to bury for ever in a low grave was rising up stronger than before. Aunt Susan was in reality watching her niece, and was quite determined to have her way.

"Won't some one go into the house," she said, addressing the girls in a mass, "and ask Mrs. Merriman if you may yourselves carry down the cups and saucers and teapot, and jam and bread and butter, and whatever is required for a gipsy tea? I have just one hour before I must trot back to catch my train, and during that hour I can help you to get it. There is a lovely bank just above the river, where we can make our gipsy fire and enjoy ourselves."

Where was the ennui now? Agnes Sparkes rushed off to fulfil Mrs. Brett's bidding. Lucy, ashamed, she knew not why, followed her more slowly. In a few minutes, owing to Mrs. Brett's breezy talk, there were seven girls, all apparently happy, very busily preparing tea. The fire soon crackled and blazed; the kettle quickly did its part by singing merrily and boiling sturdily. Tea was made in the old brown teapot which was always kept for such occasions. How good it tasted in the open air! how different from any made indoors! No longer was Sunnyside a dull place, for Mrs. Brett kept all the girls laughing with the funny stories she told and the extraordinary sort of free-and-easy manner in which she did everything. And yet she was so good-natured, so full of fun and bonhomie!

With regard to Rosamund, Mrs. Brett saw at once that she would be Lucy's worst enemy, and she determined in her own mind to take the girl in tow.

"I will just knock some of her pride out of her, to begin with," thought the good lady.

Accordingly, when tea was over, and every scrap of bread and butter had been consumed, she selected Rosamund as the person to wash up the tea-things.

"Why me?" said Rosamund, opening her pretty brown eyes in some astonishment.

"Because you are the tallest, and you look the strongest," said Aunt Susan. "Now, be quick about it.—Lucy, did you bring out the towel?"

"I did," said Lucy; "and the little wooden bowl, and here is hot water. And do you want me to help, Aunt Susy?"

"Help, child? Of course you shall help. Rosamund shall wash and you shall dry. Now then, be as quick as ever you can."

The two girls were thus brought face to face with each other. Mrs. Brett looked at her watch, said that she had quite another ten minutes to spare, and suggested a walk down a favorite path, where they could gather some delicate maidenhair which she happened to know grew there.

How they walked and talked! Even Rosamund, left behind washing the tea-things while Lucy dried them, felt her ill-humor vanish.

"Isn't she charming?" she said.

"Yes," said Lucy; but then she added, "I don't want you to like her. That would be the last straw."

"And why shouldn't I like her?" asked Rosamund.

"Because she belongs to me."

Rosamund was quite silent for a minute. "While Mrs. Brett was here," she said slowly,