The next day Harry discomfited the schoolroom by bursting in with the news that "Louisa and Fanny Anderson were bearing down on the front door." Ethel and Flora were obliged to appear in the drawing-room, where they were greeted by two girls, rather older than themselves. A whole shower of inquiries for Dr. May, for Margaret, and for the dear little baby, were first poured out; then came hopes that Norman was well, as they had not seen him at church yesterday.
"Thank you, he was kept at home by a bad headache, but it is better to-day."
"We came to congratulate you on his success--we could not help it-- it must have been such a pleasure to you."
"That it was!" exclaimed Ethel, pleased at participation in her rejoicing. "We were so surprised."
Flora gave a glance of warning, but Ethel's short-sighted eyes were beyond the range of correspondence, and Miss Anderson continued. "It must have been a delightful surprise. We could hardly believe it when Harvey came in and told us. Every one thought Forder was sure, but they all were put out by the questions of general information-- those were all Mr. Everard's doing."
"Mr. Everard was very much struck with Norman's knowledge and scholarship too," said Flora.
"So every one says. It was all Mr. Everard's doing. Miss Harrison told mamma, but, for my part, I am very glad for the sake of Stoneborough; I like a town boy to be at the head."
"Norman was sorry for Forder and Cheviot," began Ethel. Flora tried to stop her, but Louisa Anderson caught at what she said, and looked eagerly for more. "He felt," said she, only thinking of exalting her generous brother, "as if it was hardly right, when they are so much his seniors, that he could scarcely enjoy it."
"Ah! that is just what people say," replied Louisa. "But it must be very gratifying to you, and it makes him certain of the Randal scholarship too, I suppose. It is a great thing for him! He must have worked very hard."
"Yes, that he has," said Flora; "he is so fond of study, and that goes halfway."
"So is dear Harvey. How earnest he is over his books! Mamma sometimes says, 'Now Harvey, dear, you'll be quite stupified, you'll be ill; I really shall get Dr. May to forbid you.' I suppose Norman is very busy too; it is quite the fashion for boys not to be idle now."
"Poor Norman can't help it," said Ethel piteously. "Papa will not hear of his doing any Latin or Greek these whole holidays."
"He thinks he will come to it better again for entire rest," said Flora, launching another look at her sister, which again fell short.
A great deal of polite inquiry whether they were uneasy about him followed, mixed with a little boasting of dear Harvey's diligence.
"By-the-bye, Ethel, it is you that are the great patroness of the wild Cocksmoor children--are not you?"
Ethel coloured, and mumbled, and Flora answered for her, "Richard and Ethel have been there once or twice. You know our under nursery-maid is a Cocksmoor girl."
"Well, mamma said she could not think how Miss May could take one from thence. The whole place is full of thieves, and do you know, Bessie Boulder has lost her gold pencil-case."
"Has she?" said Flora.
"And she had it on Sunday when she was teaching her class."
"Oh!" cried Ethel vehemently; "surely she does not suspect any of those poor children!"
"I only know such a thing never happened at school before," said Fanny, "and I shall never take anything valuable there again."
"But is she sure she lost it at school?"
"Oh, yes, quite certain. She will not accuse any one, but it is not comfortable. And how those children do behave at church!"
"Poor things! they have been sadly neglected," said Flora.
"They are quite spoiling the rest, and they are such figures! Why don't you, at least, make them cut their hair? You know it is the rule of the school."
"I know, but half the girls in the first class wear it long."
"Oh, yes, but those are the superior people, that one would not be strict with, and they dress it so nicely too. Now these are like little savages."
"Richard thinks it might drive them away to insist at first," said Ethel; "we will try to bring it about in time."
"Well, Mrs. Ledwich is nearly resolved to insist, so you had better be warned, Ethel. She cannot suffer such untidiness and rags to spoil the appearance of the school, and, I assure you, it is quite unpleasant to the teachers."
"I wish they would give them all to me!" said Ethel. "But I do hope Mrs. Ledwich will have patience with them, for they are only to be gained gently."
The visitors took their leave, and the two sisters began exclaiming-- Ethel at their dislike of her proteges, and Flora at what they had said of Norman. "And you, Ethel, how could you go and tell them we were surprised, and Norman thought it was hard on the other boys? They'll have it all over the town that he got it unjustly, and knows it, as they say already it was partiality of Mr. Everard's."
"Oh, no, no, they never can be so bad!" cried Ethel; "they must have understood better that it was his noble humility and generosity."
"They understand anything noble! No, indeed! They think every one like their own beautiful brother! I knew what they came for all the time; they wanted to know whether Norman was able to work these holidays, and you told them the very thing they wanted to hear. How they will rejoice with that Harvey, and make sure of the Randall!"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Ethel; "Norman must get that!"
"I don't think he will," said Flora, "losing all this time, while they are working. It cannot be helped, of course, but it is a great pity."
"I almost wish he had not been put up at all, if it is to end in this way," said Ethel. "It is very provoking, and to have them triumphing as they will! There's no bearing it!"
"Norman, certainly, is not at all well, poor fellow," said Flora, "and I suppose he wants rest, but I wish papa would let him do what he can. It would be much better for him than moping about as he is always doing now; and the disappointment of losing his place will be grievous, though now he fancies he does not care for it."
"I wonder when he will ever care for anything again. All I read and tell him only seems to tease him, though he tries to thank me."
"There is a strange apathy about him," said Flora, "but I believe it is chiefly for want of exertion. I should like to rouse him if papa would let me; I know I could, by telling him how these Andersons are reckoning on his getting down. If he does, I shall be ready to run away, that I may never meet any one here again."
Ethel was very unhappy till she was able to pour all this trouble out to Margaret, and worked herself almost into crying about Norman's being passed by "that Harvey," and his sisters exulting, and papa being vexed, and Norman losing time and not caring.
"There you are wrong," said Margaret, "Norman did care very much, and it was not till he had seen clearly that it was a matter of duty to do as papa thought right, and not agitate his mind about his chances of keeping up, that he could bear to give up his work;" and she told Ethel a little of what had passed.
Ethel was much struck. "But oh, Margaret, it is very hard, just to have him put up for the sake of being put down, and pleasing the Andersons!"
"Dear Ethel, why should you mind so much about the Andersons? May they not care about their brother as we do for ours?"
"Such a brother to care about!" said Ethel.
"But I suppose they may like him the best," said Margaret, smiling.
"I suppose they do," said Ethel grudgingly; "but still I cannot bear to see Norman doing nothing, and I know Harvey Anderson will beat him."
"Surely you had rather he did nothing than made himself ill!"
"To be sure, but I wish it wasn't so."
"Yes; but, Ethel, whose doing is his getting into this state?"
Ethel looked grave. "It was wrong of me," said she, "but then papa is not sure that Greek would hurt him."
"Not sure, but he thinks it not wise to run the risk. But, Ethel, dear, why are you so bent on his being dux at all costs?"
"It
would be horrid if he was not."
"Don't you remember you used to say that outward praise or honour was not to be cared for as long as one did one's duty, and that it might be a temptation?"
"Yes, I know I did," said Ethel, faltering, "but that was for oneself."
"It is harder, I think, to feel so about those we care for," said Margaret; "but after all, this is just what will show whether our pride in Norman is the right true loving pride, or whether it is only the family vanity of triumphing over the Andersons."
Ethel hung her head. "There's some of that," she said, "but it is not all. No--I don't want to triumph over them, nobody would do that."
"Not outwardly perhaps, but in their hearts."
"I can't tell," said Ethel, "but it is the being triumphed over that I cannot bear."
"Perhaps this is all a lesson in humility for us," said Margaret "It is teaching us, 'Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.'"
Ethel was silent for some little space, then suddenly exclaimed, "And you think he will really be put down?"
Margaret seemed to have been talking with little effect, but she kept her patience, and answered, "I cannot guess, Ethel, but I'll tell you one thing--I think there's much more chance if he comes to his work fresh and vigorous after a rest, than if he went on dulling himself with it all this time."
With which Ethel was so far appeased that she promised to think as little as she could of the Andersons, and a walk with Richard to Cocksmoor turned the current of her thoughts. They had caught some more Sunday-school children by the help of Margaret's broth, but it was uphill work; the servants did not like such guests in the kitchen, and they were still less welcome at school.
"What do you think I heard, Ethel?" said Flora, the next Sunday, as they joined each other in the walk from school to church; "I heard Miss Graves say to Miss Boulder, 'I declare I must remonstrate. I undertook to instruct a national, not a ragged school;' and then Miss Boulder shook out her fine watered silk and said, "It positively is improper to place ladies in contact with such squalid objects.'"
"Ladies!" cried Ethel. "A stationer's daughter and a banker's clerk's! Why do they come to teach at school at all?"
"Because our example makes it genteel," said Flora.
"I hope you did something more in hopes of making it genteel."
"I caught one of your ragged regiment with her frock gaping behind, and pinned it up. Such rags as there were under it! Oh, Ethel!"
"Which was it?"
"That merry Irish-looking child. I don't know her name."
"Oh! it is a real charming Irish name, Una M'Carthy. I am so glad you did it, Flora. I hope they were ashamed."
"I doubt whether it will do good. We are sure of our station and can do anything--they are struggling to be ladies."
"But we ought not to talk of them any more, Flora; here we are almost at the churchyard."
The Tuesday of this week was appointed for the visit of the London surgeon, Sir Matthew Fleet, and the expectation caused Dr. May to talk much to Margaret of old times, and the days of is courtship, when it had been his favourite project that his friend and fellow- student should marry Flora Mackenzie, and there had been a promising degree of liking, but "Mat" had been obliged to be prudent, and had ended by never marrying at all. This the doctor, as well as his daughters, believed was for the sake of Aunt Flora, and thus the girls were a good deal excited about his coming, almost as much on his own account, as because they considered him as the arbiter of Margaret's fate. He only came in time for a seven o'clock dinner, and Margaret did not see him that night, but heard enough from her sisters, when they came up to tell the history of their guest, and of the first set dinner when Flora had acted as lady of the house. The dinner it appeared had gone off very well. Flora had managed admirably, and the only mishap was some awkward carving of Ethel's which had caused the dish to be changed with Norman. As to the guest, Flora said he was very good-looking and agreeable. Ethel abruptly pronounced, "I am very glad Aunt Flora married Uncle Arnott instead."
"I can't think why," said Flora. "I never saw a person of pleasanter manners."
"Did they talk of old times?" said Margaret.
"No," said Ethel; "that was the thing."
"You would not have them talk of those matters in the middle of dinner," said Flora.
"No," again said Ethel; "but papa has a way--don't you know, Margaret, how one can tell in a moment if it is company talk."
"What was the conversation about?" said Margaret.
"They talked over some of their fellow-students," said Flora.
"Yes," said Ethel; "and then when papa told him that beautiful history of Dr. Spencer going to take care of those poor emigrants in the fever, what do you think he said? 'Yes, Spencer was always doing extravagant things.' Fancy that to papa, who can hardly speak of it without having to wipe his spectacles, and who so longs to hear of Dr. Spencer."
"And what did he say?"
"Nothing; so Flora and Sir Matthew got to pictures and all that sort of thing, and it was all company talk after that."
"Most entertaining in its kind," said Flora: "but--oh, Norman!" as he entered--"why, they are not out of the dining-room yet!"
"No; they are talking of some new invention, and most likely will not come for an hour."
"Are you going to bed?"
"Papa followed me out of the dining-room to tell me to do so after tea."
"Then sit down there, and I'll go and make some, and let it come up with Margaret's. Come, Ethel. Good-night, Norman. Is your head aching to-night?"
"Not much, now I have got out of the dining-room."
"It would have been wiser not to have gone in," said Flora, leaving the room.
"It was not the dinner, but the man," said Norman. "It is incomprehensible to me how my father could take to him. I'd as soon have Harvey Anderson for a friend!"
"You are like me," said Ethel, "in being glad he is not our uncle."
"He presume to think of falling in love with Aunt Flora!" cried Norman indignantly.
"Why, what is the matter with him?" asked Margaret. "I can't find much ground for Ethel's dislike, and Flora is pleased."
"She did not hear the worst, nor you either, Ethel," said Norman. "I could not stand the cold hard way he spoke of hospital patients. I am sure he thinks poor people nothing but a study, and rich ones nothing but a profit. And his half sneers! But what I hated most was his way of avoiding discussions. When he saw he had said what would not go down with papa, he did not honestly stand up to the point, and argue it out, but seemed to have no mind of his own, and to be only talking to please papa--but not knowing how to do it. He understand my father indeed!"
Norman's indignation had quite revived him, and Margaret was much entertained with the conflicting opinions. The next was Richard's, when he came in late to wish her good-night, after he had been attending on Sir Matthew's examination of his father's arm. He did nothing but admire the surgeon's delicacy of touch and understanding of the case, his view agreeing much better with Dr. May's own than that with Mr. Ward's. Dr. May had never been entirely satisfied with the present mode of treatment, and Richard was much struck by hearing him say, in answer to Sir Matthew, that he knew his recovery might have been more speedy and less painful if he had been able to attend to it at first, or to afford time for being longer laid up. A change of treatment was now to be made, likely soon to relieve the pain, to be less tedious and troublesome, and to bring about a complete cure in three or four months at latest. In hearing such tidings, there could be little thought of the person who brought them, and Margaret did not, till the last moment, learn that Richard thought Sir Matthew very clever and sensible, and certain to understand her case. Her last visitor was her father: "Asleep, Margaret? I thought I had better go to Norman first in case he should be awake."
"Was he?"
"Yes, but his pulse is better to-night. He was lying awake to hear what Fleet thought of me. I
suppose Richard told you?"
"Yes, dear papa; what a comfort it is!"
"Those fellows in London do keep up to the mark! But I would not be there for something. I never saw a man so altered. However, if he can only do for you as well--but it is of no use talking about it. I may trust you to keep yourself calm, my dear?"
"I am trying--indeed I am, dear papa. If you could help being anxious for me--though I know it is worse for you, for I only have to lie still, and you have to settle for me. But I have been thinking how well off I am, able to enjoy so much, and be employed all day long. It is nothing to compare with that poor girl you told me of, and you need not be unhappy for me. I have some verses to say over to myself to-night:
O Lord my God, do Thou Thy holy will, I will lie still, I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm And break the charm That lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast In perfect rest.
Is not that comfortable?"
"My child--my dear child--I will say no more, lest I should break your sweet peace with my impatience. I will strive for the same temper, my Margaret. Bless you, dearest, good-night."
After a night spent in waking intervals of such thoughts, Margaret found the ordinary morning, and the talk she could not escape, somewhat oppressive. Her brothers and sisters disturbed her by their open expressions of hope and anxiety; she dreaded to have the balance of tranquillity overset; and then blamed herself for selfishness in not being as ready to attend to them as usual. Ethel and Norman came up after breakfast, their aversion by no means decreased by further acquaintance. Ethel was highly indignant at the tone in which he had exclaimed, "What, May, have you one as young as this?" on discovering the existence of the baby; and when Norman observed that was not so atrocious either, she proceeded, "You did not hear the contemptuous, compassionate tone when he asked papa what he meant to do with all these boys."
The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations Page 17
