Sweet Content

by Mrs. Molesworth

not havebelieved that boys could be so nice, for I had always had rather ahorror of them. I said so to Evey; she seemed pleased at my liking herbrothers, but amused, too, at my ideas about boys.

  "You must see us when we are all together," she said. "Fancy, besidesMary, two more boys! Though Addie is scarcely like a boy, he's thedelicate one, you know. But he is _so_ brave. I think it's almost morebrave of _him_ to be brave than if he were strong and big, don't you?"

  "Yes," I said. "It's what is called moral courage, isn't it?"

  "It's that, and the other too," Evey replied. "Or perhaps he's able tomake himself brave the other way by having moral courage. I supposeit's that; anyway I do _love_ Addie. Oh, Connie, you wouldn't thinkthat way about boys if you had brothers."

  "Not if they were like yours," I said; "but I have seen some brothersthat weren't at all nice to their sisters."

  "Then I'm sure it was the sisters' fault; anyway, a good deal theirfault," Evey returned promptly. "I'm just the opposite of you, for, doyou know, I have often longed to be a boy, and so has Mary. If we hadall been boys, it would have been easier for father and mother. Ialmost think they'd have gone to the Colonies."

  "How _horrible_," I said. "I am sure you should be glad you and Maryaren't boys, just to have stopped that."

  But Yvonne was not to be convinced.

  "No," she said. "I think it would be delightful--all going together,you know; and perhaps we may, some day, after all. It would be muchbetter than staying in England, and the boys by themselves all over theworld, and father and mother looking anxious; and you know," she added,"even Mary and I _mightn't_ be able to stay at home. We, might have towork somehow, too."

  "Do you mean to be governesses?" I asked, in a very appalled tone ofvoice. But Evey's reply appalled me still more.

  "Perhaps, or, if not governesses, teachers of some kind, if we were goodat teaching. But there are lots of other things for girls now. Fatheroften talks about them. We might have some sort of business. Somethinglike a big upholsterer's, perhaps. That would be nice, for the boysmight be in it too. And Joss could design things, he _is_ so clever;and Lancey could keep the books. Lancey's very good at figures. Itwould be almost as nice as going to the Colonies."

  I stared at her.

  "Evey," I said, "you are joking."

  But a glance at her face showed me she was quite in earnest.

  "No, indeed," she said. "If people are poor they must work. Indeed,rich people often work hard too, though in a different way. What'sthere to be ashamed of?"

  "But a _shop_," I said, with extreme disgust--"That's not for ladies andgentlemen."

  "I don't see why, if they're poor and could get on that way. Of course,if the boys and we two were all together in it, you may be sure Mary andI would be given the nicest part of the work," she said, smiling. "Andif we could earn enough to make father and mother _quite_ comfortablewhen they get old, really not to have any bother at all and not to needto think about money, why, what _would_ we care what we did? We'd be--"here Evey stopped to find a sufficiently strong expression--"we'd be_chimney-sweeps_."

  This was rather a relief to my feelings. "She knows they couldn't bechimney-sweeps," I thought to myself, "so very likely she's joking abouta shop too."

  And I was still more satisfied when, a moment or two after, Yvonneadded: "Of course, it's all castles in the air. I daresay," and shesighed, "we shall never be able to do anything much, any of us--not evenfor father and mother. _They_ say the best thing we can all do for themis each to be good in his or her own way. But one can't help sometimeswishing to do something big--oh, what heaps of nice things one could dofor people if one were rich! We often plan them together--for fatherand mother first, you know."

  "Yes, I suppose it would be nice to be rich," I replied; "but I've neverthought much about it,"--"Still, I don't think going to the Colonies orkeeping a shop would be `something big,'" I was on the point of saying,when Evey interrupted me.

  "No," she said earnestly; "it's not being rich, it's the things onewould do. There's all the difference;" and perhaps it was as well I hadnot finished my sentence.

  This conversation was not the part of the afternoon I enjoyed the most,nor did it take very long. I have told it because it helps to showYvonne Whyte's way of looking at things, and the difference between herand me. I enjoyed much more talking about Evey's room, and how it wasto be dressed up in pink and white, and also the making plans formeeting often, and discussing the lawn-tennis ground at the Yew Treeswith Lancey. It was not a very good one and had been neglected, butCaptain Whyte and Lancey had great ideas about it, and Captain Whytethanked me very nicely, though he smiled a little, when I said ratherpompously that I was sure they could have our garden-roller and theunder-gardener to help, when the time came for attending to it.

  Just before it was time to go, Lady Honor called us all in to sing ahymn. It was to please Mr Bickersteth, who was too feeble to go tochurch again. It was a long time since he had heard his young friends'voices, he said, looking at Yvonne and her brother, and their hymnshould be his vespers to-day. And when I heard them I was not surprisedat his wanting them to sing. Their voices were _so_ nice, and, to mysurprise, Evey played the accompaniment on Mr Bickersteth's chamberorgan quite beautifully.

  I was very fond of music, so I really enjoyed it, and for once forgotthat I was not the centre of it all.

  "_How_ nice!" I exclaimed heartily, when it was over. And Lady Honorsmiled at me when I said this, in her very kindest way; for no one whodoes not know Lady Honor pretty well can fancy how kind her smiles_sometimes_ are. "How have you learnt to play the organ so beautifully?It takes a lot of time, doesn't it?" I said to Evey.

  "Yes," said Lady Honor, replying for her. "But I have always found inmy life, my dear Connie, that it is the people who have the most to dowho do the most. Think that over--you'll find it's not an Irish bull,though it sounds like one."

  I was not so pleased at this speech.

  "She is thinking that I don't do much, I can see," I began fancying.But Evey broke in upon my disagreeable thoughts.

  "I don't think it's any credit to me that I can play the organ a little,truly," she said. "I've had such good lessons every year in London,where we never really have anything to do except things like that. Andat Southsea I was always allowed to practise on the church organ. Wehave a harmonium of our own," she went on to me. "It's very nice, butof course not as nice as this dear organ," and she touched the keyslovingly. Mr Bickersteth's organ was a very nice one indeed.

  And, a few minutes after that, we went home. The Whytes, all six ofthem, escorted me all the way, as Lady Honor's is not far from ourhouse, and I showed them the short cut across the fields to the YewTrees through a turnstile close to us. It was very kind of them all thesame, for they had to hurry a good deal after that to get home in timeto send the servants to church.

  I found mamma by herself in the study. We don't use the drawing-room onSunday.

  "Well, darling?" she said. I knew that meant a tender inquiry as to howI had enjoyed myself, but a rather contradictory mood had come over me.

  "It was very nice," I said. "But, they're not a bit like what I thoughtthey would be, mamma. You know--when we heard they were so poor--"

  "But they _are_ poor," she replied, "and I'm sure they are not--theywould not set themselves up in any disagreeable way. They seem sowell-bred."

  "Ye-es," I said. "They're--oh I think they are just everything theyshould be, whether they're poor or not. They're _much_ cleverer thanme, mamma. They've learnt so many things I haven't, and seen so muchmore--they go to London _every_ year--and--"

  My depressed, discontented tone must have hurt and troubled mamma, forshe answered indignantly:

  "It is very wrong and unkind of them--of that girl," she said, "to boastand show off to you, darling. You are too sensitive. I am quite surethey are not cleverer than my Connie, and as for looks--You shall notsee any more of them, dear. It wo
uld be quite new indeed for my SweetContent to be made discontented. I am disappointed in Evey Whyte. Iwas sure she was so nice."

  There was a hot, red spot on each of poor mamma's cheeks; this state ofthings was not at all what I had bargained for. I had only wanted towork off my own dissatisfaction, which was partly jealousy, but partlytoo, I hope, a less unworthy feeling, by grumbling