by Sophie May
CHAPTER XVI.
A VISIT TO THE VICARAGE.
During tea-time, Aunt Mary proposed a walk to the vicarage, as shewanted to ask Mr. Newlove's opinion of the state of poor Simmons, aswell as to inquire after the welfare of some of her pensioners, whom shehad not yet had time to visit since her return home. The proposalpleased Clara, with whom the gentle Newlove was an especial favourite;though Mabel had conceived a dislike that she could give no reason for,to this quiet, sensible, and affectionate girl.
It was with very different feelings that the cousins went upstairs todress. Mabel, we must suppose, thought that as she was going to aclergyman's house, she should have to listen to a sermon; or if notthat, to sit still, and say nothing, while the seniors talked about sickfolks, and old men and women, till she should be quite wearied out; andthis was certainly no pleasant prospect for a lively young lady. ButMabel said nothing of all this; as usual, her conversation turned onwhat she should wear.
'Are you not going to change your dress, Clara?' said her cousin; 'youare surely not going to the vicarage in that dowdy-looking frock? Why,it is only fit to wear in the mornings, or to go visiting to dirtycottages, such as we went to yesterday.'
'Now don't let us talk about dress,' said Clara; 'my frock is what AuntMary bought for me, and if she thinks it good enough for me to wear, I'msure I do too. Besides, Mabel, you are very much mistaken if you thinkthat Mr. or Mrs. Newlove would notice your dress, unless, indeed, itwere a very smart one, such as I know they wouldn't like.'
'Then I shan't care for _their_ likes, but I shall just put on what _Ilike_ myself,' said the graceless girl, as she took from her drawer avery pretty printed muslin, and proceeded to array herself in it,finishing off by donning a little black hat with a white feather in it.
'Now, suppose it should rain,' suggested Clara, 'what becomes of yourpretty frock and your white feather?'
'There is not the least likelihood of rain,' replied Mabel; 'I never sawa finer evening;' and away she ran downstairs, but taking care to avoida meeting with her aunt until they were all ready to start.
It was indeed a lovely evening for a walk. It had been very hot at onetime of the day, but there had been a thunder-shower in the afternoon,which had cooled the air, and given freshness of colouring to thesurrounding vegetation, deepening the tints on flower and shrub andtree, while,
'The ling'ring sun seem'd loth to leave Landskip so fair, to gentle eve.'
Aunt Mary, though of course she noticed the difference in the dresses ofher nieces, said nothing about it; but kept up, as she usually did, aconversation both amusing and instructive. Even Mabel forgot her fineclothes in listening to her aunt, and for the present seemed to bethrown out of self. Such a charm is there in wise teaching.
Nor when they reached the pretty, secluded vicarage, and were heartilywelcomed by its inmates, were the fears of Mabel at all likely to berealised, as instead of having to listen to a sermon, or details of oldand sick people, she and Clara were walked off by Robert and EdithNewlove, to see the rabbits, and the ringdoves, and the poultry in theirrespective habitations.
'How beautiful they are--- how very beautiful!' said Clara, speaking ofthe ringdoves; 'and so gentle too--they don't fight and squabble like myhens do over a few grains of wheat.'
'Oh, they can peck one another sometimes,' said Edith; 'but they arenot noisy about it like the fowls.'
'And my rabbits are not at all noisy either,' said Robert; 'but the buckcan be very cruel, for if we don't take care he makes nothing of eatingup one or two of the little ones.'
'Horrid creatures!' said Mabel. 'I shall never like rabbits again; it isquite shocking.'
'It would indeed be quite shocking if they knew better,' replied Robert;'but they don't, so we must try to prevent them from acting cruelly. Andafter all,' he added, 'it is not half so bad as boys and girls doingwrong when they know better; yet we should not say of them that weshould never like them again, should we, Miss Mabel?'
'No, I suppose not,' said the conscience stricken girl, as she foundherself standing before the fowls' house, which was the very model ofClara's, and indeed had been made by the same industrious hands, namelythose of poor Simmons, who was now, and had been for months, lying onthe bed of languishing.
'You see the fowls are all gone to roost,' said Edith; 'the dear littlechicks are under their mother's wing. I do wish you could have seenthem; there are ten such beauties!'
'Oh, I have got twelve,' cried Clara; 'and in a few days' time I expectwe shall have twelve more, if Dame Partlet is as fortunate as Netty. Docome and see them, Edith dear, next week. Think what a family I, orrather Aunt, will have to provide for--twenty-four!'
This was indeed not only counting the chickens before they were hatched,but not counting on misfortunes to those that were already hatched, andMabel did not feel at all comfortable at the turn the conversation hadtaken; she was not sorry, therefore, when the servant came to say thatMiss Livesay thought it time to go home.
Of course the summons was immediately obeyed, and with very kind adieus,the friends, old and young, separated; Aunt Mary observing that 'theymust walk rather quicker in returning home than they had in coming, asthere were some stormy-looking clouds hanging overhead.'
The mention of clouds and showers turned Mabel's attention to her dress,which, to say the truth, she had forgotten; and no wonder, as no one hadtaken the slightest notice of it, though the foolish girl had been atsuch trouble to make herself attractive. The mention of clouds and rainbrought back Mabel's thoughts to the delicate frock and the new hat. Sheand Clara were a little in advance of their aunt, who had stopped for amoment to place a trifle in Mr. Newlove's hand for a very poorparishioner of his, of whom they had been talking.
'Oh, do let us run!' cried Mabel, as she looked up, and noticed thegathering clouds; 'perhaps we may get home before it begins to rain, ifwe make haste.'
'But Aunt Mary can't run,' replied Clara, 'and I am sure I shall notleave her; so you will have to run by yourself, Mabel, if you do go.'
'I'm not going to have my dress spoiled,' said the excited girl, as shegathered up her pretty skirt, and commenced to walk very rapidly atfirst; but as her fears increased from feeling, as she thought, a dropof rain, the rapid walking turned into a run, not quick enough, however,to bring her to the desired haven before the threatened showerdescended, and, in spite of her exertion, seemed likely to drench her tothe skin before she could arrive at Oak Villa. There had been trees inthe way home, under which she might have found shelter if she had notbeen in such a violent hurry. Now it was too late for Mabel, thoughClara and her aunt were actually at the time standing secure beneath theleafy screen; not certainly in a very comfortable state of mind, forMiss Livesay knew that her niece could not have reached home before thedrenching shower descended, and she felt very uneasy on her account.
'I do hope that Bridget will take care that Mabel changes all herclothes,' said Aunt Mary; 'she must be wet through if she has been outin the rain. The showers are so very heavy, though they do not lastlong.'
'I think this shower is nearly over now; do you think we may venture togo, aunt?' inquired Clara, who partook of her aunt's anxiety respectingher cousin.
'Yes, dear; we have nothing on to spoil. A few drops will not do us anyharm, and I fancy we shall have another downpour if we wait longer.'
This was Aunt Mary's decided opinion, and on the strength of it, theanxious pair set forward on their way home, which place they certainlywould not have reached with dry clothing, had not careful Bridgetsuddenly made her appearance with cloaks and umbrellas.
This was rather an uncomfortable ending to a pleasant evening, but lifehas ever its ups and downs, its sunlight and its shadows, for the youngas well as for the old. So it has ever been, and so it will ever be tothe end of time.
It would have been well for Mabel Ellis if the spoiling of her dress hadbeen the worst result of her foolish pride. And yet, perhaps, I oughtnot to say that it would not have been well had the tr
ouble ended there.Adversity is a _very stern_, but a _very wise_ teacher. We may notalways see this to be so, and we may be very loth to acknowledge it,but it is a fact nevertheless. Aunt Mary's first thought, when sheentered the house, was for Mabel, whom she found by the kitchen firedrying her petticoat, the muslin dress having been taken off, and hungover a chair.
'Have you changed shoes and stockings, my dear?' was the first question,which was answered in the negative. But we will leave further detailsfor the next chapter.
