The Fortunes of Philippa: A School Story

by Angela Brazil

  CHAPTER V

  THE WINSTANLEYS

  "Thus fortune's pleasant fruits by friends increased be; The bitter, sharp, and sour by friends allay'd to thee, That when thou dost rejoice, then doubled is thy joy; And eke in cause of care, the less is thy annoy."

  I spent my first holidays at Marshlands, and my joy knew no bounds. Tohave Cathy all to myself for seven long glorious weeks seemed theabsolute summit of earthly bliss. Mrs. Winstanley received me like asecond daughter, and the bluff jolly squire patted me on the head withkindly welcome.

  "We must show her something of English country life," he declared. "Canshe sit a pony? We don't grow oranges and bananas here, but thegooseberries are ripe in the kitchen-garden, and they take a good dealof beating, in my opinion."

  I thought Marshlands was the most delightful spot I had ever seen. Thelong, low gray stone house, with its mullioned windows and flaggedpassages, stood just above the little village of Everton, on the vergeof the moors, where one could catch a glint of the distant sea and thepeaks of the Cumberland mountains. Behind lay the home-farm, with thegranaries and stables and orchards, and in front was a sweetold-fashioned garden, with archways of climbing roses and borders ofclosely-clipped box.

  "I see the roof of the arbour has fallen in," said Cathy, as we wanderedround on a tour of exploration after breakfast the first morning."Edward will be dreadfully disappointed about it. He made it himselflast holidays, and I thought at the time it wasn't strong enough, for wehave such high winds here. Dick's badger has escaped. Caxton stupidlyleft the stable-door open, and, of course, it took the opportunity torun away, and is probably back in the woods by now. I don't know how weshall break the news to him."

  It seemed that the boys were expected home that afternoon, so at Cathy'ssuggestion we set to work to make a few preparations for their arrival.

  "We had better clean out all the animals, and brush their coats," shesaid. "I'm afraid the ferret has got terribly savage again. Georgebegged Caxton to be sure and handle it every day, so that it should keeptame, but he says he is afraid to touch it. Don't you try, Philippadear. Look at it now!"

  I certainly did not feel inclined to put in my hand and fondle thecreature, its sharp red eyes gleamed so viciously at me from among thestraw; and I much preferred the black Angola rabbit, with fur as soft assilk, which submitted to caresses with the utmost stolidity andimpassiveness.

  "I expect George will bring his white mice home with him," continuedCathy. "He has eight of them at school. He kept them in a box behind thewindow-curtains in his bedroom, and the other boys had twelve brown onesand a dormouse. It was a dead secret for weeks, but at last the secondmaster discovered it. He said they smelled, and he hunted all round thebedroom until he found them. At first he threatened to drown them, butafterwards he repented and said the boys might keep them in a shedoutside until the end of the term, and then they must take them home andnever bring them back to school again. George kept a newt once, too. Hehad it in his water-jug for several days, till it escaped and hecouldn't find it anywhere. It turned up in one of the other boys' beds,when the housemaid was doing the rooms, and frightened her nearly into afit, for she thought it was a serpent."

  "Does Dick have pets?" I asked.

  "Not of that kind. He generally has heaps of caterpillars andchrysalides, which are turning into moths and butterflies for hiscollection. He likes birds' eggs, too, but such a dreadful accidenthappened last holidays that he'll have to begin all over again."

  "How was that?"

  "Well, you see, they were all in a splendid big box with littledivisions, which he had made on purpose. He put the box inside the lid,and laid it on the top of the school-room book-case. Then he forgot hehad left it in that way, and thought the box was lying shut, only upsidedown. So he reached up and turned it over, and all the eggs cametumbling out, and more than half of them were smashed. It will take hima long time to get so many together again."

  "Does Edward collect?"

  "Oh, stamps and post-cards and that kind of thing. He's fond of reading,and it's dreadfully hard to get him away from a book. We have to pinchhim sometimes before he will listen. Shall we wash the dogs, and takethem down to the station to meet the boys?"

  I was willing to assist in any project, so we spent the rest of themorning in a moist and exciting struggle with a Pomeranian, afox-terrier, and two poodle pups. They looked beautiful as the result ofour efforts, and as we stood that afternoon on the station platform,holding them by their leashes, we felt they made a most impressivearray.

  "There goes the signal, and here comes the train!" said Cathy. "Keep Maxtight, Phil. We'll stay by the ticket-office, where they can see usfirst thing."

  But we had not calculated upon the joy of the dogs at seeing theirmasters again. The moment they appeared there was a wild rush, all thestrings seemed to get mixed together, and we greeted the boys in themidst of a medley of barking, whining, and yelping which resembledBedlam.

  "Oh, I say! Keep those beasts off!" drawled Edward. "They wear a fellowout."

  We dragged the dogs away, and I saw a tall boy of sixteen, much toosmart for a school-boy, who brushed the marks of the Pomeranian's pawsfrom his coat-sleeve with tender consideration. At that stage of hisexistence Edward was a dandy. He "fiddled" over his neck-tie, hiscollars were never altogether to his satisfaction, he was particularabout the cut of his coat and the fit of his boots, and affected an airof general boredom and "used-up-ness" which he fondly imagined to be theheight of manly dignity.

  "We've lost our luggage," announced Dick cheerfully (he was a jolly,merry-looking boy of fourteen). "But I've got a glorious specimen of thePoplar Hawk-moth. It was actually blown in through the carriage window,and I caught it on the back of the Babe's neck. Would you like to seeit?"

  George, otherwise "the Babe", as he was nicknamed by his brothers,appeared to be the youngest of the family. He had the eight white miceloose in one pocket, and a box containing two hermit crabs in the other,which seemed to cause him some anxiety.

  "They're such beggars for fighting," he explained. "And I don't wantthem to kill each other before I get them home to the aquarium."

  He enquired tenderly about the ferret.

  "Beastly shame they've let it get savage," he said. "But one of ourfellows is going to send me a fox cub, if the governor will only let mekeep it. Where's the mater? Hasn't she come down to the station?"

  I had never lived before among a family of school-boys, and theirrollicking ways, their slang, their endless chaff, their jokes, and thethrilling stories they told of their numerous adventures, werealtogether a new experience for me. Being a visitor, they treated me atfirst with a certain amount of ceremony, but finding that I was ready toclimb fences, play hare-and-hounds, ride, fish, or tramp miles over theheathery moors, they voted me "a jolly sort of girl", and included me inthe bosom of the family circle.

  "We thought, as you'd lived abroad, you'd perhaps go about shaking outyour skirts, and holding up a parasol, and shriek if you saw a cow,"said George, who had tested my courage by springing at me from behindcorners, letting a bat loose in my bedroom, and locking me into the darkjam-cupboard, all of which ordeals I had borne with heroism.

  "She can't be troubled with nerves if she can stand the Babe's littlediversions. It makes a fellow quite limp to look at him this hotweather. Why don't you give her a book and a deck-chair in the garden,and leave her in peace?" said Edward, his suggestions for myentertainment being based on his own ideals of enjoyment.

  With Dick I soon won golden opinions, as I took an interest in thebirds' eggs, and would consent to carry the wriggling caterpillars andslimy snails which he collected on our walks, or to fill my pockets withstones and other specimens for the museum. This museum was a largecabinet with glass doors, which filled one entire end of the school-roomat Marshlands. It held a very miscellaneous assortment of treasures, towhich both Cathy and the boys were constantly adding, sometimes withrather more zeal than discretion. I shall never f
orget how Dick put thehornet's nest there.

  "I've smoked it thoroughly with brown paper," he said, "and the grubsare as dead as door-nails, so you needn't be at all afraid of it."

  But I fear the brown paper could not have been strong enough after all.A few days afterwards we were sitting at tea in the school-room, when apeculiarly irritated buzzing noise began to resound from the region ofthe cabinet, and Edward, who was giving us an imitation of his classicalmaster's stately style on speech-day, suddenly ducked his head in a mostundignified fashion, and, seizing the bread-knife, made a frantic cutinto the air.

  "It's a hornet!" he exclaimed. "Just see the size of it! Take care,Cathy, the brute's going into your hair! Look out! If there isn'tanother of them!"

  We jumped up in a hurry; there was not only another, but more and moreand more, and, like the oysters in the ballad of the walrus and thecarpenter, they came up so thick and fast that for the moment it seemedto us as if the whole room were full of yellow stripes and buzzingwings. I am not brave where wasps are concerned, and I am afraid mystrong-mindedness went to the winds, and I shrieked like anybread-and-butter miss, at least George assured me so afterwards. Cathyhad the presence of mind to fling her dress over her head, while theboys made a valiant though fruitless effort to slay those withinimmediate reach.

  "Oh, I say!" cried Edward. "This is no joke! They're all pouring out ofthe museum. We'd better cut, or there'll be damage done!"

  And we beat an ignominious retreat, leaving our tea cooling upon thetable, and the hornets in clear possession of the school-room. Thequestion of how to get rid of them presented some difficulty, it beingan unequal match to war with wasps; but in the end a tray full ofburning sulphur was thrust through the door, and allowed to smoulderfor some hours, after which we were at length able to enter in safety,and sweep up the bodies of our victims in triumph from the floor.

  Somehow poor Dick's experiments did not always turn out very happily, inspite of the best intentions on his part. Fired by an article in a boys'magazine, he once volunteered to stuff a dead bullfinch which Cathy hadfound in the garden, and after a long operation of skinning and drying,he produced it in the school-room with great pride.

  "Doesn't it look a little fatter on one side than on the other?"suggested Cathy, doubtfully surveying the bullfinch, which was wiredupon a twig as no bird in real life had ever perched.

  "Nonsense!" said Dick, pinching his specimen to send the stuffingstraight. "It's just exactly as if it were pecking at a bud. Look at itseyes! I made them out of two black-headed pins I took from the mater'sbonnet."

  "I don't think its tail looks quite natural," said Cathy. "It seemssomehow to stick up like a wren's."

  "Well, if you're going to find fault," answered Dick indignantly, "justtry and do one yourself, that's all. It's jolly difficult, I can tellyou, and I've taken no end of trouble over it."

  "Oh, I'm not finding fault!" said Cathy hastily. "I think it's ever sonice, and you're a dear boy to do it for me. We might bend the tail downa little--so! That's better. Now it looks splendid, and we'll give it afront place in the collection."

  "All right!" said Dick, somewhat mollified. "But you girls seem to thinkthese things are as easy as eating cakes. It takes practice even to skina sparrow, as you'd soon find out if you'd ever tried your hand at it."

  The bullfinch was duly placed in the museum, where it really looked verywell. Not long after, however, we began to notice a most peculiar odourin the school-room.

  "It's the flowers!" said Cathy, sniffing at a vase, and throwing thewater out of the window. "They always get nasty if you leave them toolong."

  "It smells to me more like a dead mouse," I declared. "Perhaps one mayhave had a funeral inside the wall;" and, dropping on my knees, I creptround the room, scenting the skirting-boards like a pointer. In spite ofmy efforts I was not able to fix the spot, and as Cathy turned out apotful of sour paste which we had forgotten in the cupboard, and founda pile of stale mushrooms in the pocket of George's coat, which washanging behind the door, we came to the conclusion that it might beeither of these.

  But the odour did not improve, and by the next day it had become almostunbearable. Even the boys perceived it, and that is saying something. Weall went round the room, sniffing in every corner, and trying to findthe cause of offence, till at length Edward flung open the door of thecabinet.

  "It's your beastly bullfinch!" he declared. "Take the wretched thingaway! It's only half-cured, and smells like a tan-yard! Whew!"

  Poor Dick was rather crest-fallen, especially as Edward made it asubject of chaff for many days; and he grew so huffy about it, that forsome time we did not dare to mention either birds or the collection inhis presence. He came home one day, however, bubbling over withlaughter.

  "I've a ripping museum joke for you!" he said. "Beats your old bullfinchinto fits!"

  "What's that?" we enquired.

  "Why, I was down the village with the governor this morning, and wedropped into old Mrs. Grainger's. I was telling her a yarn or two aboutthe Babe's crocodile's egg, and so on, and she turned round to a drawer,and fished out a piece of pink coral. 'If you like things from furrin'parts,' says she, 'I'll give you this. My sailor son brought it homefrom Singapore on his last voyage. I've heard as coral is all full ofinsects, but I've boiled this piece well in a saucepan, so I reckonit'll be clean enough now!'"

  "_Boiled!_" we exclaimed.

  "Yes, boiled! To kill the insects, don't you see?"

  "Your imaginative faculties, my dear fellow, are considerable," saidEdward. "But you won't get me to swallow that!"

  "Fact, all the same!" said Dick. "You ask the governor. You're jealous,old chap, because you can't glean up humour yourself in the village. Theyokels are so taken up with staring at your last new tie, or yourimmaculate collar, that you don't get a word out of them. There was oldJacob Linkfield, now, who----"

  But at this point of the story Edward went for Dick, and chased him outof the house and down to the stack-yard. He could occasionally stir hislong legs when he considered the "cheek" of the younger ones grewbeyond bounds, and, once he was moved, they deemed it prudent to fleebefore him.

  You must not think, however, that we spent the whole of our time atMarshlands with the boys. They were frequently out with their fatherupon some shooting or fishing expedition, and Cathy and I would potterabout the garden or in the fields with "the mater", only too delightedto have the chance of getting her quite to ourselves. A sweeter or truergentlewoman than dear Mrs. Winstanley it has never been my good fortuneto meet. She took me to her kind heart at once, and gave me for thefirst time in my life that "mothering" which I had so sadly lacked. Ihave hinted that my aunt did not make too much of me; even her ownchildren did not run to her with their joys and sorrows, and I had neverbeen accustomed to think of her as in any sense a possible companion.Mrs. Winstanley, on the other hand, was the most delightful of comrades.She had not forgotten in the very least what it felt like to be young;she could sympathize in all our amusements, indeed I think she enjoyed apicnic tea in the woods, or a scramble for blackberries, fully as muchas we did ourselves; but she contrived at the same time to make usinterested in those intellectual pleasures which were the great resourceof her life. Under her guiding hand I made my first efforts atsketching; she taught me the names of the trees and the flowers, ofwhich before I was lamentably ignorant; and a walk to see a cromlech ora stone circle upon the moors was an opportunity for such delightfulstories about the early dwellers in our lands, that I became a lover of"antiquities" on the spot. I feel I can never be grateful enough to herfor giving me in my childhood that taste for natural history which hasbeen such a joy to me in my after-life. She taught us to use our eyes,and to see the beauty in each leaf and flower and every common thingaround us. At her suggestion Cathy and I each began a "NatureNote-Book", in which we recorded all the plants, birds, animals, orinsects we met with during our rambles, drawing and painting as many ofthem as we could.

  "It will form a kind of
naturalists' calendar," she said. "You must putthe dates to all your finds, and in years to come the books will provevery interesting. Never mind whether the sketches are good or bad.Persevere, and you will soon begin to improve, and the very effort tocopy a flower or a butterfly will impress its shape and colour upon yourminds in a way which nothing else could do."

  We waxed very enthusiastic over these note-books, and there was quite akeen competition between us as to which should contain the most records.As we kept them for several years, we naturally had different entriesduring the holidays we spent apart; and while I was able to sketchgorgeous sea-anemones and madrepores which I found upon the shores ofsouth-country watering-places, Cathy would exult over the coral cups orbirds'-nest fungi for which she searched the woods in winter.

  Somehow, after my friendship with the Winstanleys I realized that insome subtle way the bond between my father and myself grew andstrengthened. In the years which I had spent at my aunt's, though I hadnever ceased to love him, we had seemed in a very slight degree to havedrifted apart, but since my visit to Marshlands all the old spirit ofcomradeship returned, and I felt he was even more to me than he hadever been before. I think I must have unconsciously expressed thisfeeling in my letters, for in his, too, I began to notice a change. Hewrote back to me more fully and freely, not as to a child, but as to afriend, telling me his hopes and his difficulties, and the littledetails of his lonely days, and asking almost wistfully for a fullrecord of all my doings. His gratitude to my kind friends knew no limit,yet I think all the same he felt it hard that he should miss those yearsof my life when I was receiving my most vivid impressions, and that hemust leave to others the care he would so gladly have bestowed upon mehimself.