Monica's Choice

by George Bird Grinnell

  *CHAPTER XVI.*

  *"DO BE CAREFUL, GIRLS."*

  "Hurrah! Three cheers for mumsie!" cried Amethyst excitedly, onemorning.

  "What's up now?" enquired her brother, in a provokingly calm tone.

  "Why, we're all going for a picnic to Gullane Head, father as well, forthe whole day. Isn't it scrumptious?" And she danced about him ingreat glee.

  "Very," he agreed, "but whom do you mean by 'all'? Four people scarcelyconstitute a picnic."

  "Silly boy!" she retorted; "of course Monica and the Franklyns arecoming. Mumsie arranged it all with Mrs. Beauchamp yesterday, only shewould not say a word until this morning, in case it should not be fine.But there's no fear of rain to-day," and she glanced up at the deep bluesky, in which no speck of cloud was visible, with great satisfaction.

  "How do you propose to get there?"

  "Oh, father and you are to bicycle, and mother and we four girls aregoing in a waggonette."

  "Is Mrs. Beauchamp going to bicycle, also?" asked Marcus, gravely. Hewas terribly fond of teasing his young sister.

  "Oh, you dreadful boy! Of course not! She isn't going at all; it's toomuch of a real picnic for her to enjoy."

  "I'm sorry Roger has gone," mused Marcus, as he began putting his Kodakin order, with a view to some snap-shotting. "I wonder if Herschelwould care to come."

  He was soon striding up the quaint old street to the lodgings occupiedby the Herschels. The town was very full, and rooms were at a premium,so that the Herschels had been glad to secure even such rooms as theyhad, in a very old-fashioned house, where the front door opened into thesitting-room, and when one sat in the low bay window, one seemedabsolutely in the street.

  Marcus, whistling a merry tune, paused a moment at the door, and thenwent by it, and tapped at the window. All the visitors acted in a veryfree-and-easy fashion at Sandyshore!

  He was invited to "come in," and without more ado he walked into thesitting-room, where the remains of breakfast were still upon the table.

  With apologies for intruding so early, Marcus shook hands with asweet-looking widow lady, the depth of whose mourning betokened recentloss, and a tall slender girl, whose clear, grey eyes seemed too largefor the fragile little face surrounded with an aureole of fair hair.

  "I came to see if Herschel had any plans for to-day. If not, we arehaving a picnic at Gullane Head, about seven miles from here, and Iwondered whether he would bicycle over with father and me."

  "Do, Leslie; it will do you good," said his mother, as the youngclergyman hesitated, and demurred about leaving them for a whole day,when his time with them was getting so short. "Robina and I have plentyto amuse ourselves with."

  "Would you both join us?" asked Marcus. "Mother and the girls are goingin a waggonette."

  "Thank you very much, but I am afraid you must excuse us. Robina is notvery strong, and it suits us best to have a lazy time by the sea." Mrs.Herschel smiled lovingly at her daughter, whose fair face flushed at theallusion to her health, for it was a sore trial to Robina Herschel thatshe had always to be taken care of, and shielded from every ill wind.But she bore her cross bravely, and no word of murmuring escaped herlips, although she was denied much that goes to make a girl's lifehappy.

  "What time do you start, Drury?"

  "Oh, 10.30, I believe; but come round to the vicarage directly you areready, won't you?" and, excusing himself on the plea of having to pumpup his tyres, Marcus hurried away.

  It was a merry party that finally left the Vicarage, after variousdelays, that morning. For some time the three cyclists kept level withthe waggonette, and Marcus teased Amethyst and the girls mostunmercifully about ill-treating the poor horse by making him drag suchheavy weights as they were, etc., etc.

  "It isn't us, it's all the lunch we had to bring for you," criedAmethyst.

  "Oh, indeed! You hear, mother? Be sure not to give my small sister somuch as a crumb, because, upon her own confession, it's all been broughtfor me."

  "Oh! isn't he tiresome, mumsie?" said his sister, with a little pout.She did not care to be made a laughing-stock of, and the others were allsmiling.

  "He's only teasing you, girlie; I wouldn't mind," said Mrs. Drury.

  "Dick always goes on like that," put in Olive. "Brothers are an awfulnuisance, but they 'keep a body alive,' as our old cook says."

  "I wish I had one," said Monica wistfully, her glance following themerry young fellow who was now cycling along at a good rate, in order topick up the two clerics, who were well ahead.

  "I don't know what Mrs. Beauchamp would say to a troublesome grandson aswell as a troublesome granddaughter," said Olive mischievously. But thewords were scarcely out of her mouth before she wished she had not saidthem.

  For Monica, drawing herself up, with one of her haughty airs, saidsarcastically: "I am much obliged for your opinion of me, I am sure;especially as no one asked you for it."

  "Oh, I only said it for fun," and Olive looked repentantly at herfriend. But Monica chose to consider herself injured, and for somelittle time all the occupants of the waggonette felt a trifleuncomfortable.

  But a halt was proclaimed soon after, and all the party dismounted, inorder to go over a lighthouse which was situated about two-thirds of theway between Sandyshore and Gullane Head, and in the general interestresulting from an inspection of the wonderful mechanism, which thelighthouse keeper proudly explained to them, the little cloud blew over,and by the time their destination was reached, Olive and Monica were asgood friends as ever.

  Gullane Head, as the promontory which projected from the mainland wascalled, was an ideal place for picnics. There were several old caves,said to have been used as hiding-places for contraband goods yearsbefore; and the huge boulders which had evidently fallen at some time orother from the cavernous roofs made rough-and-ready chairs and tables,provided one was not too particular.

  It was universally decided that it would be the best plan to have lunchfirst, as they were all hungry, and then devote a long afternoon toexploring the neighbourhood. So a particularly nice spot was chosen,and amid much laughter an impromptu lunch was quickly laid upon one ofthe flattest boulders, and the party seated themselves, as best theycould, around it.

  "I'm glad we've got it all to ourselves," said Amethyst, with a deepsigh of enjoyment, as she passed a plate containing half a pork-pie toMarcus; between whom and herself a truce had been declared.

  "I can't understand it," added the vicar. "I should have thought halfSandyshore would come to such a charming spot." And he leaned over andlooked down at the dark blue sea, dashing up against the base of therocks, some sixty or seventy feet below.

  "It is rather an expensive drive, for one thing," said his wife, who wasengaged in pouring lemonade syrup into glasses, to which Elsa addedwater.

  "By the way, where is our coachee?" enquired Marcus. "Isn't he to havesomething to eat?"

  "He has driven on to the Coastguard station, to put up his horse,"replied his father. "Some relations of his live there, he says. Hewill turn up again at four."

  "Are you enjoying your holiday, Miss Beauchamp?"

  Monica started at the sound of a voice near her elbow, and looked up tosee that the young clergyman, of whom she was frightfully shy, and whomshe had done her utmost to avoid so far, had found a seat near her own,which was rather a high lump of rock where she had perched herself inorder to get a good view of the undercliff.

  "Yes, thank you, very much," she faltered; and then she pulled herselftogether, for it was an unusual thing for Monica Beauchamp to be at aloss for words.

  "Sandyshore, and indeed all the coast in this neighbourhood, is verylovely," said Leslie Herschel, his eyes sweeping the panorama thatstretched out before them.

  "I couldn't bear staying here last year," admitted Monica, "and when Iknew my grandmother was coming again, I was vexed at first; but I shouldhave been very sorry not to have come, now."

  "How is that? M
ay I ask what has made the difference?" And there waseager questioning in his voice, also in the dark eyes which metMonica's.

  "Why, I have had my special friend, Olive Franklyn, with me, this year,and that has made all the difference," was Monica's reply.

  Leslie heaved an involuntary sigh, for he had observed the young girl'sstartled attention on the previous Sunday morning, and he had hoped tohave heard that it was the presence of a new-found Heavenly Friend thathad made things different. He looked earnestly at Monica, who wasoccupied with balancing her plate, safely, upon one knee, and wonderedwhether the present was a good opportunity for speaking a word for hisMaster, or whether a better one might occur later on.

  He had just decided that there is no better time than "now," when Monicalooked up with a merry word about the difficulty she was experiencingwith her plate, and in a moment more the article in question had slippedout of her grasp, and was lying in fragments on the ground, some six orseven feet below.

  All hope of a further _tete-a-tete_ was prevented by the contretemps;and when peace reigned again, Monica was to be found seated amongst theothers, in case, next time, she should let herself fall, instead of herplate!

  "What were you talking about up there, Monica?" whispered Olive, who hadbeen extremely curious to know what the young clergyman had been saying.

  "You!" was the very unexpected reply; and that was all the informationshe could get, whereat she was all the more puzzled. She had noticedMr. Herschel glance at her, while Monica was speaking; surely she hadnever told him of their conversation after the sermon! If so, perhapshe would be trying to get a talk with her; and Olive was filled withalarm at the idea, for her conscience had been accusing her very loudly.However, she determined not to give him an opportunity of speaking toher alone, by never leaving Monica for an instant, and, by that means,she congratulated herself she prevented any more conversation betweenhim and her friend.

  But Olive need not have been quite so scheming, for after the wholeparty had explored the caves, Mr. Drury and the two young men went offon a tour of inspection, leaving Mrs. Drury and the girls to amusethemselves close home.

  Mrs. Drury's suggestion that they should all sit still for a littlewhile and enjoy the beautiful view and delicious breeze after thedarkness and dampness of the caves, was received with acclamation,Amethyst stipulating that she should tell them a story.

  Her mother, who was accustomed to a request of that nature, demurred atfirst, but finally consented, and they were delighted with her racyaccount of a journey she had taken in her girlhood's days, when aterrific snowstorm had kept all the passengers imprisoned in the train,several miles from a station, for more than twenty-four hours.

  Monica followed next, with some particulars of her early days in Burmah,culled rather from what she had been told than from what she actuallyremembered. And then Olive protested that she was tired of sittingstill, and proposed a search for some way of reaching a piece of sandwhich could be seen at a little distance along the coast.

  Amethyst and Monica were ready enough to go with her, but Elsa, who wasno climber, decided to keep Mrs. Drury company; so the trio set off ontheir voyage of discovery.

  "Do be careful, girls," pleaded Mrs. Drury, who was rather anxious, wellknowing their zeal was apt to run away with their discretion; "andunless you succeed in finding either some steps, or a proper pathleading down to the shore, you are on no account to go. I can trustyou, Amethyst?"

  "Oh, yes, mumsie! We'll promise to be awfully careful," the shrilltreble voice called back, and a few minutes later the sight of ahandkerchief waving in the breeze proclaimed the fact that a beatentrack had been found; and the two who were left behind settled down to acosy half-hour.

  Elsa, who loved Mrs. Drury only next to her own mother, squeezed upclose to her, and the vicar's wife put a protecting arm round thegirlish figure, for she had a very warm corner in her heart for quiet,gentle Elsa. Then they had what was a delightful, helpful chat to theyoung girl, who confided all her hopes and fears about Monica and Oliveto Mrs. Drury, and was encouraged to pray on, and look out foropportunity of service. The latter remark reminded Elsa of the youngclergyman's text, and Roger's decision, and, from her own difficultiesand anxious thoughts about her twin sister, she went on to speak of thefuture that now stretched out before her favourite brother.

  "I think it is so splendid of him to want to be a missionary," andElsa's face glowed with animation; "but I am afraid it will disappointfather a good deal, and poor mamma will be _very_ sad at the thought ofhis going so far away, but she will not let him know it, because shewill be so glad for him to go, really. I suppose, if all is arranged,that he would not start for a year or two, would he, Mrs. Drury?"

  "No, dear, I expect not."

  "That will give mamma a nice long time to get used to it," replied Elsacontentedly. She was singularly childish in some things, andcorrespondingly sensible about others.

  Mrs. Drury cast a shrewd glance at the bright young face, which wasturned seawards, and sighed. She realised what even the elder Franklynseither could not, or would not, dream of, that the gentle, patient,invalid mother was fading slowly, but surely, away; and she knew thatthe happenings of even a year hence would have no power to bring eithergladness or sorrow to Mrs. Franklyn, who by then would be in thepresence of the King. But the twins had no idea of it, and as Mrs.Drury sat silently looking at Elsa, who was all unconscious of theterrible sorrow in store for them all, she wondered if she were wise inleaving the girl in ignorance, for she could imagine what the shockwould be like, when the blow fell. She had talked the matter over withMrs. Franklyn, who well knew upon what a slender thread her life hung,and had urged her to let her children be prepared for the inevitable;but their mother had pleaded their youth, and said it would be timeenough later on to break the news to them, and Mrs. Drury had no choicebut to be silent, although she did not agree with her friend.

  Elsa, who had been indulging in the pleasantest daydreams, rousedherself to find her companion beginning to look anxiously in thedirection in which the girls had gone, for time was getting on, and theyought to have been returning by then.

  "It is half-past three, Elsa," she said, and there was a ring of realconcern in her voice; "it is careless of them to have been so long, forwe must soon think about preparing for home. Can you see any signs ofthem? Your eyes are younger than mine."

  But Elsa was obliged to confess that she could not, even though shemounted with some trepidation to the top of a huge boulder in order toget a more extended view.

  "We would go and look for them," went on the vicar's wife, "only it ishardly safe to leave the bicycles, and all our things. I am vexed withthem for staying away so long."

  "Shall I run along the cliff and see if I can find them?" suggestedElsa, who was not without anxiety about the missing trio herself. "Icould go very quickly, if you would not mind staying here with ourbelongings."

  "Perhaps you would be able to see them, Elsa, and then call to them toreturn at once. But don't go far, dear," said Mrs. Drury, now reallyworried about the absentees.

  "If you would go on packing up, we will all try to be back by the timeyou are ready," said Elsa, with a cheeriness she was far from feeling,as she hurried off.