Seven Little Australians

by Ethel Sybil Turner

  CHAPTER VII

  "What Say You to Falling in Love?"

  Meg was looking ill, there was no doubt about it. Her prettypink-and-white complexion was losing its fresh look, a slightlyirritable expression had settled round a mouth that a few monthsback had seemed made for smiles only. And terribly unromanticfact, her nose was quite florid-looking at times. Now a heroinemay have the largest, deepest, and most heavily lashed eyesimaginable; she may have hair in very truth like the gold "mownfrom a harvest's middle floor"; she may have lips like cherriesand teeth like pearls, and a red nose will be so utterly fatalthat all these other charms will pass unnoticed. It cost Meg realanguish of spirit. She carefully read all the Answers to Correspondentsin the various papers Aldith lent her in search of a remedy, butnearly everyone seemed to be asking for recipes to promote thegrowth of the eyelashes or to prevent _embonpoint_. Not one shechanced on said, "A red nose in a girl is generally caused byindigestion or tight-lacing." She asked Aldith to suggest something,and that young person thought that vaseline and sulphur mixedtogether, and spread over the afflicted member, would have thedesired effect. So every night Meg fastened her bedroom doorwith a wedge of wood, keys being unknown luxuries at Misrule,and anointed her, poor little nose most carefully with thegreasy mixture, lying all night on her back to prevent itrubbing off on the pillow.

  Once Pip had forced his way into demand a few stitches for hisbraces which had split, and she had been compelled to wrap herwhole face hastily up in a towel and declare she had violentneuralgia, and he must go to Esther or one of the servants. Hadhe seen and known the cause there would have been no end to theteasing.

  Nowadays Meg spent a great deal of time in her bedroom, that shehad all to herself while Judy was away. In its privacy shetrimmed and retrimmed her hats, altered her dresses, read hernovels, and sat in front of the looking-glass with her hair down,dreaming of being quite grown up and in love. For just now bothto Aldith, and herself that state of life seemed the only onealtogether lovely and desirable. Meg used to curl herself up in abig easy-chair that had drifted to her room because its springswere broken, and dream long, beautiful, hopeless dreams of a loverwith "long black lashes and a soldierly carriage." Of course itwas highly reprehensible to have such thoughts at the tender ageof sixteen, but then the child had no mother to check that erringimagination, and she was a daughter of the South.

  Australian girls nearly always begin to think of "lovers andnonsense," as middlefolks call it, long before their English agedsisters do. While still in the short-frock period of existence,and while their hair is still free-flowing, they take the keenestinterest in boys--boys of neighbouring schools, other girls' brothers,young bank clerks, and the like. Not because they would be goodplaymates, but because they look at them in the light of possible"sweethearts." I do not say English girl children are free from this.By no means; in every school there may be found one or two this wayinclined, giggling, forward young things who want whipping andsending to play cricket or dolls again. But in this land ofyouthfulness it is the rule more frequently than the exception, andherein lies the chief defect of the very young Australian girl.She is like a peach, a beautiful, smooth, rich peach, that has cometo ripeness almost in a day, and that hastens to rub off the soft,delicate bloom that is its chief charm, just to show its bright,warm colouring more clearly. Aldith had, to her own infinitesatisfaction, brushed away her own "bloom," and was at presentbusily engaged in trying to remove Meg's, which was very softand lovely before she touched it. The novels had taken away alittle, and the "Block" a little more, but, Meg was naturallyfreshminded, and it took time to make much difference. Just now,under her friend's tutelage, she was being inducted into thedelightful mysteries of sweethearting, and for the time, it quitefilled her some what purposeless young life. But it all endedwith an adventure that years afterwards used to make her cheekstingle painfully at the thought.

  After the bi-weekly French lesson, as I have said, the two friendsused to come back together in the river-boat at five o'clock.And by this boat there always came two boys by the name of Courtney,and a third boy, Aldith's particular property, James Graham. Nowthe young people had become known to each other at picnics and thelike in the neighbourhood, but the acquaintance, instead ofripening on frequent meeting into a frank, pleasant friendship,had taken the turn of secrecy and silly playing at love. JamesGraham was in a lawyer's office, a young articled cleric ofseventeen in undue haste to be that delightful thing, a man.He carried a cane, and was very particular about his hat andnecktie and his boots, which generally were tan. And he hadthe faintest possible moustache, that he caressed with greatfrequency; and that privately Aldith thought adorable. Aldith'spert, sprightly manner pleased him, and in a very short timethey had got to the period of passing notes into each other'shands and sighing sentimentally. Not that the notes containedmuch harm, they were generally of rather a formal character.

  "My dear' Miss MacCarthy," one would run--

  "Why were you not on the boat yesterday? I looked for you tillit was no use looking longer, and then the journey was blank.How charmingly that big hat suits you, and those jonquils atyour neck. Might I beg one of the flowers? just one, please,Aldith.

  Your devoted friend, James Graham."

  And Aldith's, written on a sheet of her note-book with a pinkprogramme pencil that she always kept in her purse, might beno worse than:

  "Dear Mr. Graham,

  "What EVER can you want these flowers at my neck for? They havebeen there all day, and are dead and spoiled. I can't IMAGINE whatgood they'll be to you. Still, of course, if you REALLY care forthem you shall have them. I am so glad you like this hat. I shallalways like it NOW. Did you REALLY miss me yesterday? I had goneto have my photo taken. Marguerite thinks it very good indeed,but I am SURE it flatters me TOO much.

  Yours truly, L. Aldith Evelyn MacCarthy."

  Now Mr. James Graham had a great friend in one of the before-mentionedCourtney boys, Andrew by name. He was a handsome lad of eighteen,still a schoolboy, but possessed of fascinating manners and a pairof really beautiful eyes.

  And, since his friend and companion Jim had taken to "having fun"with "the girl MacCarthy," he objected to being left out in thecold. So he began to pay marked attentions to Meg, who blushedright up to her soft, pretty fringe every time he spoke to her,and looked painfully conscious and guilty if he said anything atall complimentary to her.

  The other boy, Alan Courtney, was very tall and broad-shouldered,and not at all good-looking. He had a strong, plain face, greyeyes deeply set, and brown hair that looked as if he was in aconstant state of rumpling it up the wrong way. He was a Universitystudent, and a great footballer, and he never diverted himself onthe long homeward journey in the way Andrew and his friend did.

  He used generally to give a half-contemptuous nod as he passedthe little group, uncovering his head for the shortest possibleperiod consistent with civility, and making his way to the farend of the boat. One time as he passed them Aldith was droopingher lashes and using her eyes with great effect, and Meg was almostpositive she heard him mutter under his breath, "Silly young fools!"He used to smoke at his end of the boat--cigars at the beginningof term and a short, black, villainous-looking pipe at the end--andMeg used secretly to think how manly he looked, and to sigh profoundly.

  For I may as well tell you now as later what this foolish littlething had done after a few months' course of Aldith and novels.She had fallen in love as nearly as it is possible for sweet sixteento do; and it was with Alan, who had no good looks nor pleasantmanners--not Andrew, who had speaking eyes, and curls that "madehis forehead like the rising sun"; not Andrew, who gave her tenderglances and conversation peppermints that said "My heart is thine,"but Alan, who took no notice whatever of her beyond an occasionalhalf-scornful bow.

  Poor little Meg! She was very miserable in these days, and yet itwas a kind of exquisite misery that she hugged to her to keep itwarm. No one guessed her secret. She would ha
ve died rather thanallow even Aldith to get a suspicion of it, and accepted Andrew'snotes and smiles as if there was nothing more she wanted. But shegrew a trifle thin and large-eyed, and used to make copious notesin her diary every night, and to write a truly appalling quantityof verses, in which "heart" and "part," "grieve" and "leave,""weep" and "keep," and "sigh" and "die," were most often theconcluding words of the lines. She endured Andrew for severalreasons. He was Alan's brother for one thing, and was alwayssaying things about "old Al," and recording his prowess on thefootball field; and Aldith might discover her secret if she gavehim the cold shoulder altogether. Besides this Andrew had thelongest eyelashes she had ever seen and she must have somebodyto say pretty things to her, even if it was not the person shewould have wished it to be.

  One day things came to a crisis.

  "No more trips on the dear old boat for a month," Aldith remarked,from her corner of the cabin.

  "This is appalling! Whatever do you mean, Miss MacCarthy?" JamesGraham said, with exaggerated despair in his voice.

  "Monsieur H---- has given the class a month's holiday. He is goingto Melbourne," Aldith returned, with a sigh.

  Meg echoed it as in duty bound, and Andrew said fiercely thathanging was too good for Monsieur H----. What did he mean bysuch inhuman conduct, he should like to know; and however were Jimand himself to maintain life in the meantime?

  "It was James who speedily thought of a way out."

  "Couldn't we go for a walk somewhere one evening--just we four?"he said insinuatingly.

  Aldith and Andrew thought the proposal a brilliant one; and thoughMeg had at first shaken her head decidedly, in the end she wasprevailed upon, and promised faithfully to go.

  They were to meet in a bush paddock adjoining the far one belongingto Misrule, to walk for about an hour, returning by half-past seven,before it grew dusk.

  "I am going to ask you for something that day, Meg," Andrew whisperedjust as they were parting. "I wonder if I shall get it."

  Meg flushed in her nervous, conscious way, and wondered to herselffor a moment whether he intended to ask for a lock of her hair, athing Graham had already obtained from Aldith.

  "What?" she said unwillingly.

  "A kiss," he whispered.

  The next minute the others had joined them, and there was no chancefor the indignant answer that trembled on her lips. She had evento shake hands, to appear as if nothing had happened, and to partapparently good friends.

  "Half-past six sharp, Marguerite. I will never forgive you if youdon't come," Aldith said, as they parted at her gate.

  "I--you--Oh, Aldith, I don't see how I can come," Meg faltered,the crimson in her cheeks again. "I've never done anything like itbefore. I'm sure it's not right."

  But the curl, in Aldith's lip made her ashamed of herself.

  "You're just twelve, Marguerite;" the young lady said calmly:"you're not a bit more than twelve. You'd better get a roll again,and a picture-book with morals. I'll ask Andrew to buy you oneand a bit of cord, too, to tie you in your high chair in thenursery."

  Such sarcasm was too much for Meg. She promised hastily andunconditionally to be on the spot at the time mentioned, and fledaway up the path to obey the summons of the wildly clangingtea-bell.

  But for the two intervening days her secret hung upon her like aburden of guilt, and she longed inexpressibly for a confidantewho would advise her what to do at this distressing issue. NotJudy: that young person was too downright, too sensible, too muchof a child and a boy--she would never dare to tell her anything ofthe sort. She could fancy the scorn in her sister's large cleareyes, the ringing laughter such a tale would evoke, the scathing,clever ridicule that would fall on her shrinking shoulders. NotEsther: her very position as stepmother precluded such an idea,and, besides that, the General's gums were gradually disclosingwee white double pearls, and his health thereby was affected,and causing her too much anxiety to allow her, to notice Meg'soppression of mind.

  By the night decided upon, the child had worked herself up into astrong state of excitement. Half-past six was the time settledupon, and, as she knew, it was broad daylight even then. Shefelt she really dare not, could not go. Suppose her father orEsther, some of her scornful young sisters or brothers, shouldbe about and see the meeting, or any of the neighbours--why, shecould never survive the shame of it! Yet go she must, or Aldithwould despise her. Besides, she had made up her mind fully to tellAndrew plainly she could not allow him to talk to her as he hadbeen doing. After that last terrible whisper, she felt itnecessary that she should let him understand clearly that she didnot approve of his conduct, and would be "his friend," butnothing more.

  But why had they not thought of deciding on an hour when it wouldbe darker? she kept saying to herself: there would be no dangerof being seen then; she could slip out of the house without anydifficulty, and run through the paddocks under cover of thekindly dusk; whereas if it was light, and she tried to creep away,at least two or three of the children would fly after her andoffer generously to "come too."

  At last, too afraid to go in the light, and unwilling for Aldithto reproach her for not going at all, she did in her excitementand desperation a thing so questionable that for long after shecould not think of it without horror.

  "Dear Mr. Courtney," she wrote, sitting down at her dressing-table,and scribbling away hurriedly in pencil:

  "It would be horrid going for the walk so early. Let us go later,when it is quite dark. It will be EVER so much nicer, for no onewill be able to see us. And let us meet at the end of the paddockswhere the bush grows thickly, it will be more private. I am writingto Aldith to tell her to go at that time, she will tell Mr. Graham.

  Yours sincerely,M. Woolcot.

  "P.S.--I must ask you, please, not to kiss me. I should be veryangry indeed if you did. I don't like kissing at all."

  She wrote the last paragraph in a nervous hurry for she had a dreadthat he might fulfil his promise, if she did not forbid him as soonas they met. Then she slipped it into an envelope and addressed itto A. Courtney, Esq., it never having even occurred to her for amoment that there was anything at all strange or unconventional ina young girl making such a point that the meeting should be in thedark.

  Next she wrote a few lines of explanation to Aldith, and told herto be sure to be in the paddock by half-past eight, and she (Meg)would slip out when the children were going to bed and unlikelyto notice.

  And then she went out into the garden to find messengers forher two notes. Little Flossie Courtney had been spending theafternoon with Nellie, and Meg called her back from the gatejust as she was going home, and, unseen by the children, entrustedthe note to her.

  "'Give it to your brother Andrew the minute he comes from school,"she whispered, popping a big chocolate at the same time intothe little girl's mouth. Bunty was next bribed, with a promise ofthe same melting delicacies, to run up to Aldith's with the otherletter, and Meg breathed freely ago feeling she had skilfullyaverted the threatening danger attendant on the eveningmeeting.

  But surely the notes were fated! Bunty delivered his safelyenough to the housemaid at the MacCarthys', and in answer tothe girl's question "s'posed there was an answer, girls always'spected one to nothing."

  Aldith was confined to her room with a sudden severe cold, andwrote a note to her friend, telling her how she was too ill to beallowed out, and had written to Mr. Graham, and Mr. Courtney,too, postponing the walk for a week.

  Now this note, in its pale pink triangular envelope, wastransferred to Bunty's pocket among his marbles and peanuts andstring. And, as might be expected, he fell in with some otherchoice spirits on the return journey, and was soon on his kneesby the roadside playing marbles.

  He lost ten, exclusive of his best agate, fought a boy who hadunlawfully possessed himself of his most cherished "conny," andreturned home with saddened spirits an hour later, only to findas he went through the gate that he had lost Aldith's daintylittle note.

  Now Meg had p
romised him eight chocolate walnuts on his return,and if this same boy had one weakness more pronounced than others,it was his extreme partiality for this kind of confectionery, andhe had not tasted one for weeks, so no wonder it almost broke hisheart to think they would be forfeited.

  "I know she'll be stingy enough to say I haven't earned them, just'cause I dropped that girl's stupid letter," he said to himself,miserably, "and I don't suppose there was anything in it but'Dearest Marguerite, let us always tell each other our secrets';I heard her say that twice, and of course she writes it, too."Then temptation came upon him swiftly, suddenly.

  By nature Bunty was the most arrant little storyteller ever born,and it was only Judy's fearless honesty and strongly expressedscorn for equivocation that had kept him moderately truthful.But Judy was miles away, and could not possibly wither him upwith her look of utter contempt. He was at the nursery door now,turning the handle with hesitating hands.

  "What a time you've been," said Meg from the table, where she wasmending a boxful of her gloves. "Well, what did she say?"

  Just at her elbow was the gay _bonbonniere_ containing the brown,cream-encrusted walnuts.

  "She said, 'All right,'" said Bunty gruffly.

  Meg counted the eight chocolates out into his little grimy hand,and resumed her mending with a relieved sigh. And Bunty, with adefiant, shamed look in his eyes, stuffed the whole of thesweets into his mouth at once, as if to preclude the possibilityof a sudden repentance.

  The other note was equally unfortunate. Little Flossie wenthome, her thoughts intent upon a certain Grannie bonnet Nellhad promised to make for her new doll.

  "Gween with pink stwings," she was saying softly to herself asshe climbed the steps to her own door.

  Alan was lying on the veranda lounge, smoking his black pipe.

  "Gween what?" he laughed--"guinea-pigs or kangaroos?"

  "Clawice Maud's bonnet," the little girl said, and entered forthwithinto a grave discussion with him as to the colour he thought moresuitable for that waxen lady's winter cloak.

  Then she turned to go in.

  "What's that sticking out of your wee pocket, Flossie girl?" hesaid, as she brushed past him. She stopped a second and felt.

  "Oh, nearly I didn't wemember, an' I pwomised I would--it's aletter for you, Alan," she said, and gave Meg's poor little epistleup into the very hands of the Philistine.