CHAPTER NINE.
PHILIPPA'S VISIT.
"There is no doubt," said Mrs Trevor, "that the air of Fieldside suitsdear Philippa; it seems to sooth her nerves."
"I think it does," answered Miss Mervyn.
"And there is no doubt," continued Mrs Trevor, "that the child needschange. She is unusually uncertain in her temper, and Dr Smith advisedthe sea-side at once. But it would be much easier to send her to mysister's."
"And she would have her cousins to play with," suggested Miss Mervyn.
"I do so wish Katharine had not such odd notions," continued Mrs Trevordiscontentedly; "it quite makes me hesitate to let Philippa go theremuch. Those children are allowed to mix with all sorts of people."
"They are nice little children," Miss Mervyn ventured to say.
"Nice enough at _present_," said Mrs Trevor, "but who knows how theywill grow up? If I were their father--However, you think it would be agood plan to ask my sister to have Philippa for a few days?"
"I certainly do," said Miss Mervyn, with earnest conviction.
Every one at Haughton Park thought so too, for Philippa had been sotroublesome lately, that she had made the whole household uncomfortableas well as herself. "The dear child must be ill," Mrs Trevor said, andsent for Dr Smith.
"The old story, my dear madam," he said; "sensitive nerves. I shouldadvise sending your daughter to the sea-side with some young companions.It is important that the system should be braced, and the mind gentlyamused."
On consideration, Mrs Trevor did not see how she could manage to supplyPhilippa with sea-air as well as young companions, but it occurred toher that the air of Fieldside might do as well, and to this Miss Mervynhad heartily agreed. So a letter was at once written to Miss Chester,and the subject gently broken to Philippa, who, greatly to every one'ssurprise and relief, made no difficulty whatever.
"I shall take the kitten with me," she said, rather defiantly, andnothing would have pleased Mrs Trevor better, for Philippa's kitten hadbecome a plague and a worry to every one from morning till night. Therewere endless complaints about it. It was a thief, it had a bad temper,it scratched the satin chairs in the drawing-room, it climbed up thecurtains, it was always in the way. It had broken a whole trayful ofwine-glasses. Scarcely a day passed without some fresh piece ofmischief. Perhaps the poor kitten could hardly be blamed for all this,for it would have been difficult for a wiser thing than a kitten tounderstand how to behave under such circumstances. Philippa would petand spoil it one day, and scold it the next, so that it never quite knewwhen it was doing right or wrong. There was no doubt, however, thatsince its arrival there was less peace and quietness than ever atHaughton Park.
Meanwhile at Fieldside the idea of Philippa's visit was received withsomething like dismay. She had never stayed more than one day before,and there was a good deal of doubt in the children's minds as to whethershe would make herself agreeable. Dennis in particular felt thisstrongly.
"Will Philippa stay two days or three days, Aunt Katharine?" he askedwhen he heard the news. "When Aunt Trevor says two or three days, doesshe count the one she comes and the one she goes, because that onlyleaves one clear day?"
"Oh, I daresay if you're happy together," answered Miss Chester, "hermother will like her to stay longer than that."
It was breakfast time, and she was reading a pile of letters which hadjust arrived, so that she did not pay much attention to the children.Dennis turned to Maisie and said softly: "I think one clear day's quitelong enough; don't you?"
Maisie took some thoughtful spoonfuls of porridge before she answered.
"I'm not quite sure. Sometimes the longer she stays the nicer shegets."
"But, anyhow," objected Dennis, "I don't like her while she's _getting_nice, so I think it's best for her to go away soon."
Maisie was not quite so sure of this as her brother, though she too feltgrave doubts about Philippa's behaviour. If she were in a nice mood,her visit might be pleasant, for there were plenty of things to show herat Fieldside, and plenty to do, if she would only be interested in them,and not have her "grown-up" manner.
"I wonder what she'll say to Darkie," she said, as she sat thinking ofthis after breakfast.
"She'll say Blanche is much prettier," answered Dennis; "she always saysher things are nicer than ours."
"She hasn't seen him beg yet," said Maisie.
It was not long before Philippa had this opportunity, for when she wassitting at tea with her cousins that evening, she happened to look downat her side, and there was Darkie begging. He was the oddest littleblack figure possible, bolt upright, his bushy tail spread out at theback like a fan, and his paws neatly drooped in front.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, laughing; "how lovely! What a clever cat!"
"He always does it," said Dennis, with quiet pride. "We taught him."
"I told you he begged," added Maisie. "Why don't you teach Blanche?"
"I don't believe she could learn," said Philippa. "She's quite anuisance at meal times. She stands up and claws and mews until she isfed. She doesn't give any peace."
Maisie looked shocked.
"That's not at all well-behaved," she said. "You oughtn't to let her dothat."
"I can't help it," answered Philippa. "I often box her ears, but it'sno good. She's a greedy cat, I think. Not so nice as this one, andafter all, black is a better colour than white, and Darkie has a bushytail."
Dennis looked triumphant, but Maisie was sorry to think that the whitekitten was not turning out well; and though she had never liked it asmuch as the others, she felt it was not entirely its own fault.Philippa evidently did not know how to manage cats. She was now on thepoint of giving Darkie a large corner of buttered toast, when Dennisinterfered.
"You mustn't do that, please," he said firmly. "Darkie's _never_ fed atmeals. He has his tea afterwards in his own dish."
"Well!" said Philippa, looking very much surprised, "I _do_ call thatcruel. You don't mean to say you let him sit up like that for nothing!Blanche wouldn't bear that. If we don't give her what she wants atonce, she cries so loud that we're obliged to."
"She's learned that of you, I suppose, hasn't she?" said Dennis.
He spoke without any intention of offending his cousin, and did not meanto be rude; but Philippa drew herself up, and flushed a pale pink allover her face.
"You're a rude boy," she said. Then after a pause, she gave a littlenod at him, and added, "Mother says you've just the air of a littleHodge the ploughboy. So there!"
But this arrow did not hit the mark, though Philippa had aimed it asstraight as she could. Dennis did not mind being called a ploughboy abit. He had seen lots of them, and considered theirs an agreeable andinteresting occupation; so he only shrugged his shoulders, and left herto recover her temper as she could.
It never answered to be cross at Fieldside, and Philippa had found thisout before. There was nothing gained by it. Maisie only lookedsurprised and sorry, Dennis took no notice at all, and Aunt Katharinewas much too busy to spend any time in settling disputes. This beingthe case, it was surprising to see how soon Philippa got over herpassionate fits, and was ready to behave as though nothing had happened.
It was so now, for though she was rather sulky with Dennis all theevening, she got up in quite a good temper the next morning, and did notseem to remember that he had been rude. The three children started offfor a walk together soon after breakfast, for Aunt Katharine wanted amessage taken to the Manor Farm. On the way, Dennis and Maisie had muchto tell about Mr and Mrs Solace, their house, and all their animals; andPhilippa listened with interest, though she thought it all rather "odd."This word was indeed constantly on her lips, for her cousins seemed tolive in such a very different way from anything she was used to at home.When they passed through the village, nodding and smiling to nearlyevery one they met, and making little friendly remarks to the people attheir cottage doors, she could not help thinking of her stiff walk inthe park with Miss Merv
yn, which always lasted a certain time if it wasfine, and from which she often came back feeling very cross. If thewalk at Fieldside were "odd," it was certainly amusing, and she began towish there were a village at Haughton.
Presently the village ended, and now there was a long narrow lane to gothrough before the Manor Farm was reached.
"What a nice stick you've got," said Philippa to Dennis.
"It _is_ a jolly stick, isn't it?" he said, holding it out for her tosee more closely.
It had all manner of quaint knots on the stem, and the large knob at thetop was carved into a very excellent likeness of the little rough dogPeter. Philippa looked at it with admiration.
"I should like one like that," she said. "Where could I buy one?"
"You couldn't buy one at all," said Dennis proudly; "it was made for me.Tuvvy made it."
"Who's Tuvvy?" inquired Philippa.
"A friend of mine," said Dennis; "he's Mr Solace's wheelwright."
"Oh yes, I remember," said Philippa; "Maisie told me about him. Whatodd friends you have!"
She looked curiously at Dennis as he marched along flourishing hisstick. It must be rather nice, she began to think, to do things forpeople, and for them to be so grateful, and carve sticks on purpose foryou.
Still, it was "odd," and there was a good deal in it that she did notunderstand.
Arrived at the farm, however, her thoughts were soon distracted; firstby the appearance of the turkey-cock, and the agreeable discovery thatshe was not afraid of him.
"What a baby you are, Maisie!" she exclaimed.
"She isn't always," said Dennis; "there are lots of things worse thanthe turkey-cock that she doesn't mind a bit. Things _you'd_ be afraidof, perhaps.--There is Mrs Solace at the door."
Mrs Solace beamed at the children in her usual kindly way; and, as washer custom, would not think of their leaving the house without eatingsomething after their walk. At home Philippa would have despised breadand honey and new milk, but here somehow it tasted very good, and shewas too hungry to stop to call it odd.
"The little lady wants some of your roses, Miss Maisie," said MrsSolace, looking at the children as they sat side by side; "she's aswhite as a sloe-blossom."
"My complexion's naturally delicate, thank you," said Philippa, ratheroffended; "I never get sunburnt like Maisie."
"Oh, well, maybe you've outgrown your strength a bit, my dear," said thefarmer's wife, smiling comfortably.--"And now, Master Dennis, I mustn'tforget that Andrew's got a couple of young jackdaws for you: would youlike to take them back now, or let 'em bide here a little?"
There was some consultation between Dennis and his sister, before it wasfinally settled that the jackdaws should not be taken then and there toFieldside, but should first have a home prepared for them.
"And I know just where to build it," he said, as the three childrenstarted on their return after saying good-bye to Mrs Solace. "Just inthat corner, you know, between the fowl-house and the cow-shed."
"Do you know how to build it?" asked Philippa.
"Well, perhaps not just quite exactly," said Dennis with candour; "butTuvvy will tell me and help with the difficult parts. He passes throughour field every night, you know."
"And shall you work at it just like a carpenter?" asked Philippa withsurprise.
"As like as I can," said Dennis modestly; "you see, I do know a littlecarpentering because I've watched Tuvvy so much."
"You're a _very_ odd boy," said Philippa. Every day that she passed atFieldside she became more and more certain that her cousins did strangethings, and liked strange things; but, at the same time, there wassomething pleasant about the life they led, and she did not feel crossnearly as often as she did at home. She even began to share theirinterest in the affairs of the village.
"I wish there were people at Haughton I could go and see like this," shesaid one day.
"But there isn't any village at Haughton," said Dennis. "There's onlythe Upwell Road outside the gates."
"There are lots of poor people in Upwell, though," said Philippa.
"That's quite different," said Dennis; "Upwell's a town. I don'tsuppose Aunt Katharine would let Maisie and me go about alone there aswe do here."
For the rest of Philippa's visit she and Maisie were left a good deal toeach other's society, for Dennis was now entirely occupied with thebuilding of the jackdaws' house under Tuvvy's advice and direction. Oneafternoon the two little girls were sitting together in the play-room,threading beads on horsehair to make a collar for Darkie.
"What made Dennis want to help Tuvvy?" asked Philippa suddenly. "Was itafter he had carved that stick for him?"
"Why, no; of course not," said Maisie. "Tuvvy did that because he wasso much obliged to Dennis."
"Well, then," repeated Philippa, "why _did_ Dennis take all that troublefor him?"
"He liked him," said Maisie; "and when you like people, you want toplease them, I suppose."
"I don't think I do," said Philippa slowly; "I want them to please me."
"But that isn't fair," said Maisie. "You ought to please them if theyplease you; even Darkie knows that. Aunt Katharine says," she added,"that you ought to try to help people and be kind to them, whetherthey're kind to you or not."
Philippa shrugged her shoulders and seemed to have had enough of thatsubject, but although she was silent she thought it over in her mind.Maisie, meanwhile, was occupied with a very usual matter--the greykitten's fate. She was never tired of wondering where it was, who hadfound it, or whether it was alive at all, and as she had no news of it,the subject was likely to last a long time.
"We shall never be able to see now which of the three is the greatestcomfort," she said aloud, "because I don't suppose we shall ever see thegrey kitten again."
"Darkie's the best," said Philippa; "he's so clever, and so handsometoo."
"Don't you like Blanche?" asked Maisie, dropping her work and lookingearnestly at her cousin.
"Sometimes," said Philippa airily, "but she isn't a comfort. MissMervyn says she's a plague, and mother would send her away directly ifshe wasn't mine. If she was as nice and well-behaved as Darkie, weshould all love her."
"But," said Maisie, "Darkie is naughty by nature. He really is. We'vehad a great deal of trouble to make him obedient and good. He was amuch worse little kitten than Blanche ever was."
"Well," said Philippa, "I'm quite sure no one could have had moreadvantages than Blanche. She's had everything she wants, and beenallowed to do just as she likes."
"Then," said Maisie solemnly, "I expect you've spoilt her, and that'swhy she's so troublesome and naughty."
"Perhaps I have and perhaps I haven't," said Philippa recklessly; "I'mtired of threading beads. Let's go out and see how Dennis is gettingon."
On the whole, in spite of some sulky moods and one or two fits oftemper, Philippa's visit passed off extremely well, and Maisie was quitesorry when the time came to say good-bye. She and Dennis watched thecarriage drive away, and waved their hands to her as long as it was insight.
"She's been quite nice nearly all the while," said Maisie; "I wish shehad stopped longer."
She spoke sincerely, for just now Dennis was so absorbed in hisjackdaws' house that she felt she should miss Philippa and be ratherdull.
"Can't I help you?" she asked, as she followed him to the corner wherethe jackdaws' house was being put up. It was not much to look at yet,but there were some upright posts, and a roll of wire netting, and somethin lathes of wood and a good deal of sawdust about, so that it had abusiness air.
"Well, you see," said Dennis, "girls always hurt their fingers withtools, but perhaps you shall try to-morrow. It's too late now. Doesn'tit seem a waste, when you're doing something you like, to go to bed andsleep all night?"
"But if you didn't," said Maisie, "you couldn't go on with it, becauseit's all dark."
"I don't know that," said Dennis; "Tuvvy says it's light all night partof the summer.--There's the tea-bell; we must go in.
"
"I shouldn't like to be out in the night," said Maisie, with a littleshiver, as the children ran towards the house, "when everything's inbed, and it's all so quiet and still."
"Everything isn't in bed," said Dennis. "There's owls, and glow-worms,and bats, and--"
"But they're none of them very _nice_ things to be with," said Maisiehesitatingly; "and then there are bad people out at night, who get intohouses and steal things, as they did at Upwell, don't you remember?"
"Oh, you mean thieves," said Dennis; "but as far as they go, it's betterto be out of doors than in the house. The policemen are out all nightas well as the thieves, so it wouldn't matter a bit."
"Well, you won't forget," said Maisie, quitting the subject of thieves,which was an unpleasant one to her, "that to-morrow morning I'm to helpyou with the jackdaws' house."
Dennis did not forget, and the following day Maisie was supplied with ahammer, and began her work with great zeal, but alas! two minutes hadnot passed before the heavy hammer came crashing down on her chubbyfingers instead of on the nail she was holding. It was a dreadfulmoment, not only because of the pain, which was severe, but because shefelt that it stamped her inferiority as a girl for ever. She lookedpiteously up at Dennis with her fingers in her mouth, and her eyes fullof tears.
"There!" he began tauntingly, but seeing Maisie's round face quiver withpain, he stopped, threw down his tools, and knelt beside her on thegrass.
"Does it hurt much?" he said. "Come in to Aunt Katharine."
Maisie suffered him to lead her into the house without saying a word,for she wanted all her strength to keep from sobbing. The poor fingerswere bathed and bound up, and after she had been kissed and comforted,Aunt Katharine said that on the whole she thought Maisie had better notuse hammer and nails again. Maisie thought so too just then, butpresently, when the pain went off, she began to feel sorry that she wasnot to help with the jackdaws' house any more. Certainly, as AuntKatharine pointed out, she could watch Dennis at his work and giveadvice; but as he never by any chance took any one's advice but Tuvvy's,that would not be very amusing.
"You can hand me the nails, you know," said Dennis, as she sat with asorrowful face on Aunt Katharine's knee, "and after the jackdaws are in,you can always help to feed them." And with this she was obliged toconsole herself.
Black, White and Gray: A Story of Three Homes Page 9
