Читать книгу Three Bright Girls - Annie E. Armstrong - Страница 3

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Pop!

"There's one!" cries an excited voice.

Pop! bang!

"There's another! look, two! and both on my side," exclaims an equally eager though older voice.

"Here, Doris, you just sheer off to your own side and pick up your own, if you've got the pluck to risk burning those white fingers of yours;" and casting contemptuous glances at the hands in question, the speaker, a bright, handsome boy of about thirteen, dives down upon the rug and commences making sundry ineffectual snatches at several chestnuts which are lying smoking and gleaming amongst the cinders.

"Not so fast, good sir," cries the owner of the white hands, following her brother's example and, despite her seventeen years, prostrating herself beside him. "White or black, I bet you twopence I pick them up quicker than you. Here, Molly, hold the plate. Now, Dick, start fair, you know. Oh! there's another!" And thereupon commences a hot skirmish, in every sense, over the nuts, which by this time are besprinkling the hearth pretty freely: so hot and energetic, in fact, that the other occupants of the room wisely retire from the contest, contenting themselves with looking on, and exploding with laughter now and again at the suppressed exclamations indicative of the warm nature of the undertaking.

A breathless silence for at least two minutes, then, flushed with victory, Doris rises from the floor and is about to lay her plate on the table, when, lo! another loud pop. Whereupon Dick rushes over with great violence to the spot where his sister is standing, and knocking against her in his efforts to reach the prize first, Doris loses her balance, and clutching wildly at the back of a chair which Daisy is sitting on and tilting back comfortably, down come Daisy, chair, Doris, and nuts, all in an indiscriminate heap on the floor. Loud exclamations arise on all sides, and a pitiful howl is wrung from Daisy, who has planted her hand, in falling, on an almost red-hot chestnut. Doris does not attempt to get up, but, still sitting where she has arrived in such summary fashion, she rates Dick soundly for his ungallant behaviour, her voice subsiding into a sort of wail as she concludes with the remark, "And now I suppose I shall have to do my hair again, you wretched boy. I can't appear before every one like this. Look here!" and giving her head a shake forward, down comes the pretty erection of golden curls which half an hour ago had crowned so becomingly the small neat head.

"Bless me!" exclaims the incorrigible boy, "I quite forgot my lady is to grace the festive board downstairs to-night. But don't you tell me, Miss Doris, that you wouldn't have done your hair again anyhow! I know what a time girls take dressing, and my name is not Dick Merivale if you don't spend a good hour this evening pranking and prinking before the glass."

"Help me up, Dick, and don't talk so much," says Doris, quietly ignoring this tirade; "and now, if you have quite finished and will be kind enough to let Honor speak, I shall be glad. To my certain knowledge she has been trying to make herself heard for the last five minutes."

The noise having now subsided, a clear, gentle voice is heard from the neighbourhood of the fireplace, where Honor is kneeling beside the afflicted Daisy and examining the small burn caused by the hot chestnut.

"I was only saying, Doris, that if Lane is too busy with mother to help you I will turn lady's-maid and do your hair and dress you. Molly, do put down that poker."

"You're a dear!" exclaims impetuous Doris throwing her arms round Honor's neck. "I would ever so much rather you helped me than Lane. She's so prim and fussy. Where is Lucy, though?—mother will not want them both."

"O, I meant to tell you. Her sister is worse again, so mother let her go home to see her. Now let us have these chestnuts if we're going to. Pull your chairs up to the fire again and let us be cosy. Good gracious, what an untidy rug you've made! What would Miss Denison say if she saw it? Dick, my boy, you will have to mend your manners before she returns, or she will be looking every hour of the day in that quiet way of hers which speaks such volumes. Really I am glad she is coming back to-morrow, for I have had about enough of keeping order, or trying to, since she left."

"Why didn't she appoint me commander-in-chief?" says Doris, pouting over the skinning of a still-hot nut. "I am the eldest, though no one ever seems to think so."

"Because you are such a scatter-brained piece of goods," puts in her polite brother. "No one with a grain of sense would ever credit your being the elder by twelve, nay, thirteen months. Why, Honor looks a hundred compared to you!"

"Thanks, Dick. You are monstrously polite this afternoon," said Honor quietly. "In what consists my antiquity, pray?—has my hair turned white? or have I lost all my front teeth?"

"O, I meant nothing about your appearance," replies the boy, looking rather sheepish; "I mean as to sense and cleverness and—and all that sort of thing, you know. Of course Doris is considered the beauty of the family, with her light fluffy hair and her great blue eyes, but to my thinking old Honor is every bit as good-looking. What say you, Molly?"

"She's a dear old Honor, that's what she is," says Molly, looking up and patting her elder sister's hand affectionately. To be sure the effect of this statement is somewhat marred by the fact of the speaker's mouth being full of chestnuts. The sentiment is the same, however, and Dick, banging his hand down on the table, cries triumphantly, "There you are, you see—old again! Now what have you got to say, Miss Honor?"

"That you are a goose and that Molly is another, for if she will persist in tilting her chair like that she will follow Daisy's example and come to the ground."

Molly brings her chair on to its fore-legs with a bang, then proceeds to announce solemnly, "We don't seem to be getting a bit nearer to settling these theatricals. Here's Miss Denison coming back to-morrow expecting us to have arranged everything and to have been rehearsing our parts, and—"

"Parts!" echoes Dick; "how can you call it a part when you have nothing to do but to sit or stand still?"

"Well, it is a part all the same," cries Molly, not to be put down. "Each one is a part of the whole picture, I suppose; so if you can't allow it in one sense you can in another."

"Hum, especially when there is only one person in the picture!" mutters Dick. But here Honor's voice is heard saying, "Well, children, no disputing or we shall never settle anything. Now, who has got the list of the subjects that we made out last night?"

"Here it is," says Doris, who has had it spread out on her knees studying for some time. "Now, first of all, is it quite settled that we are only to have nursery rhymes; or do you think people will think it silly?"

"We might have one or two historical scenes, perhaps," says Honor reflectively.

"Or one or two Shakespearian or Tennysonian," suggests Dick, who has rather high-flown ideas. "Let us do the 'play scene' in Hamlet. I'll be Hamlet, and—I—suppose Doris would have to be Ophelia."

"How absurd you are, Dick!" exclaims that damsel satirically. "Where would you get all the people from? Do for goodness' sake bring the picture before your mind's eye for a moment. Why, besides Hamlet and Ophelia there are the king and queen, all their ladies and gentlemen, and then all the players. Why, we couldn't do it, not with all the boys next door even; and just think what a bother the scene would be to arrange. We should want a double stage, and all sorts of regal appendages which I am sure we could not find anywhere. You Hamlet, too!" she finishes up with scorn.

"All right! Don't excite yourself," says Dick calmly.

"I think," says Honor, "we shall be wiser to keep to the nursery rhymes, because we can take any amount of license with them, and use our own discretion about the dressing of them. But if we take a scene that everybody knows we must be careful to have everything perfectly correct; and though I should be sorry to underrate the talent of such celebrities in the art of acting as ourselves, I don't think we are up to it. Now, Doris, read your list."

"Mother Hubbard," reads Doris; "verse where she looks in the cupboard. Vic will do the dog capitally. Molly will coach her up in her part and—"

"There, you hear!" exclaims that young lady. "Doris calls them parts too, and so they are, of course!" and looking at her brother defiantly she attacks the chestnuts with renewed ardour.

"What shall we do for the cupboard?" inquires Daisy with wide-open eyes.

"We can get Mrs. Mason to let us have one of her portable safes up, and if there are a few plates and dishes left inside, with anything in the eatable way on them, Vic is sure to sit up and beg."

"Well, that one will do," says Molly, getting up and hanging over her sister's shoulder; "but read on, Doris. Look! the time is going on awfully fast; in another hour you'll have to dress."

So Doris reads the list, which gives general satisfaction. Then laying it down, she says, "If only father helps us, we shall do. He only wants a little petting and coaxing, and I am sure he will. Hark! that's the carriage now, isn't it? Run and look, Dick; is it father?"

"Yes, and it's snowing like anything. I declare he has got quite white while standing a minute to speak to Rawlings. We must give him time to get off his coat and speak to mother, and then we'll fetch him up here, and not let him go until he promises all we want."

"Hey! what's that I hear?" cries a cheery voice at the door. "Come now, that is what one might call a very moderate request, ladies and gentlemen. Why, where is Bobby? Oh, gone to tea next door; a common occurrence, eh? Now, come and kiss me, girls. Bless my heart, one at a time, one at a time; there are plenty of kisses for all. And here's mother, looking jealous, I declare!"

"I shouldn't wonder," says Mrs. Merivale, who, almost unobserved in the midst of all the tumult, has quietly entered the room behind her husband. "Enough to make anyone jealous, I should think. Honor, dear," her tone changing to one of anxiety, "I hope you haven't been letting Daisy eat many of those nasty indigestible nuts."

"O, no, mother!" replies Daisy herself promptly, "I wanted heaps more, but Honor said 'No.'"

"Yes, and with a capital N too," remarks Molly.

"I came up with your father because I want to speak to you two girls," resumes Mrs. Merivale. "Lucy has not come back yet, so I don't think she will now, that is in time to dress Doris. So I thought you would help her, Honor, for I want her to look nice. You know what dress; the new plain white silk. And, mind, not a single ornament, not one!"

"O, mother!" exclaims Doris, pouting; "not my pearl cross that father gave me on my last birthday?"

"Tut, my dear!" puts in Mr. Merivale, who has overheard this touching appeal, "let her wear it. What's the use of having things if they are never to see the light?"

"Well, as it is only pearl, I don't mind. I will send Lane to see that all is right," continues Mrs. Merivale, "and to give any finishing touches that may be wanted; and now I must go downstairs again. There are several things I want to see to before I dress. Don't be late in the drawing-room, Doris, that is all I beg. And, James, don't stay long up here. They will be trapping and inveigling you into all sorts of rash promises if you do;" and Mrs. Merivale leaves the room, putting her head in again, however, to say to Honor, "Let Jane come up and sit with the children whilst you are with Doris, and don't let them be up late. If Lucy is not back, Jane can call for Bobby; William will be too busy to-night. Please see, Honor, that Daisy and Bobby go up to nurse punctually at half-past seven. Molly and Dick, I trust to you both to go up at nine."

There is a chorus of "All right, mother!" and as the door closes they all five flock round their father; questioning, demanding, coaxing and wheedling, until, becoming confused amongst them all, he begs to be allowed to sit down and take the questions in turn.

"Have I been to the carpenter's?—Yes, I have, and he is going to look in to-morrow morning to take a look at the room. Have I been to the costumier's?—No, I haven't, for I don't know what you do want and what you don't. Moreover, I think if you can do without anything from there, all the better. I can't say I like the idea of your wearing hired costumes. Anything like swords, sceptres, helmets, or such like you may order, or I will for you; but anything in the way of gowns, I'd rather you bought the stuff for them and have them made. You will then be better able to please your own tastes. Get your mother to let you have Mrs. Needles-and-pins, or whatever her name may be, here for a day or two, and if you like to put down all that you are likely to want, I will undertake that you have the money for it. Now, I can't say more than that, can I?"

General approbation of this plan is expressed, and Mr. Merivale is about to escape, muttering something about "Mother fidgeting herself into fiddle-strings," when he is once more seized upon, and Molly, who is generally to the fore where speaking is concerned, asks in a stage-whisper, "What about the music for the dancing, father?"

"Why, bless my soul, there's plenty of time for that, surely! Now, let me see, what evening is fixed?—the 27th, isn't it? Very well, then, this is only the 13th; so you have a clear fortnight before you."

"Yes, father, I know," says persevering Molly; "but you see, dear old Dad, we want to feel that it is all settled, and nothing left on our minds, you know!"

"O, do you, now?" says Mr. Merivale, pinching his daughter's rosy cheek. "Well, I wish I could get everything in my business settled off so satisfactorily, and nothing left on my mind. Well, well, we will see; I will go and look up someone to play in a few days—don't you fuss about it, I won't forget. Now, really, children, I must go down. Let me go, there's good girls."

"And make mother promise to give us a real good supper, not sandwiches and sweets only!" they scream after him down the passage.

"Yes, yes, I'll see to it all," calls back the victimized parent, only too thankful to escape at any price, and never stopping to consider what extra responsibilities he is taking upon himself.

Having settled down quietly once more, there is an animated consultation on the important subject of the dresses, and the respective prices of chintz, velveteen, silk, lace, &c. &c., are discussed with interest.

"It is so difficult to tell what sum we really shall want," says Doris, leaning her chin on her hand and staring absently into the fire. "However, I propose that you and I, Honor, go to Miss Renny to-morrow morning and just consult her as to quantities and so on, and then we could arrange about her coming to work at the same time."

"Yes, I think that will be the best plan. Good gracious, Doris! look at the clock! What time is dinner to-night?"

"Eight," replied Doris, "and mother said I was to be in the drawing-room not a moment later than half-past seven;" and starting up, the girls dart out of the room and up the stairs like a lightning flash into Doris's room, where, on the bed, is carefully arranged the toilette she is to wear on this the occasion of her first dinner-party.

"And now come and help me with my hair, there's a good girl," cries Doris presently; "and do you think you could curl it at the back without burning me very terribly? You did horribly last time you undertook it, you know. My gracious! there's the second gong! Why, Lane will be up in a moment, and sha'n't I catch it if I am not nearly ready!"

"My dear Doris, if you would only sit down in this chair and not fuss so, we should get on much faster. Now give me the hair-pins as I want them, and keep quiet for a few minutes if you can."

HONOR ASSISTS DORIS TO DRESS FOR DINNER.

After having brushed the long silky hair through, Honor with a few skilful twirls and twists raises a becoming erection which (as Doris says) would do credit to a court hair-dresser.

"And now for the awful moment!" exclaims Honor, grasping the curling-tongs and thrusting them ferociously into the fire. "Now sit still, dear, if you can, and it shall not be my fault if you are burnt. There, I think I have really made you look lovely!" and she steps back gazing admiringly at her sister, who, with cheeks slightly flushed, and eyes almost preternaturally bright, looks in her soft white dressing-gown as pretty a picture as one would wish to see.

"Now tell me who is coming to-night, and all about it? Anyone from next door?"

"Why, there is only one of them old enough—Hugh; and he is only nineteen," says Doris with all the conscious superiority of a seventeen-and-a-half-year-old girl. "I believe he is coming, though; with his mother, of course. I wish mother would let me go in to dinner with him; it will be so dreadfully slow and dull if I have to sit through two whole mortal hours with some stupid old fogy who thinks of nothing but his dinner. Well, then, let me see if I can remember the rest. Oh, Honor, don't squeeze so; I can't bear that hook. Good gracious! how tight Madame Cecile has made the waist!"

"You'll have to bear it," says Honor, gasping, and remorselessly pulling and tugging at the refractory hooks and eyes. "I heard Madame Cecile mutter to herself the other day that she must make your waist smaller, so I suppose she means to systematically pull in an inch or so every time she makes you a new dress. Ah—there it is at last! How do you feel?"

"O dreadfully tight and wretched. Now if I have any breath left I will go on telling you who is asked for to-night. Aunt is coming for one, with the Pagets, you know. That means a party of three at once. Then the rector and Mrs. Benson. Now, let me see, with father, mother, and myself that is eight; and I am sure we are to be fourteen. O, I know—Colonel and Mrs. Danvers, Captain Hall, that's eleven: Mrs. Horton and Hugh, thirteen—now who is fourteen?"

"Why, Molly's old friend, Sir Peter Beresford," chimes in Honor. "I know he is coming, because I heard mother telling Rankin that he must be put up near the end of the table out of all the draughts. O, here comes Lane. I wonder what she will have to say to the capabilities of the new maid."

"Now, young ladies, sharp's the word. Turn yourself round, Miss Doris, and let me see if all's right;" and the woman proceeds to turn and twist her young mistress about with the scant ceremony of an old and privileged servant who, as she is fond of saying, "dressed and waited on your ma before ever you were born or thought of, my dears." Giving a pull here, and a twist there, Lane at length is pleased to announce that all is satisfactory.

At this moment Mrs. Merivale glides into the room, a floating ensemble of velvet, silk, lace, bugles, feathers, and what not; one of those costumes in which you can accuse nothing of being predominant, and as a whole is perfect.

"Mother!" gasp both the girls. "What a lovely dress, and how nicely Lane has done your hair!"

Lane sniffs gracious approval of this compliment, and turning to her mistress says, "I think Miss Doris will do, ma'am?"

Holding her double eye-glass up by its beautiful mother-of-pearl handle, the mother makes a critical survey of her daughter from head to foot, then dropping it languidly to her side she nods encouragingly. "Yes, very nice. Nothing like white silk for very young girls. Satin is too old looking. Honor, your dressing does you credit, dear; you have done her hair charmingly. Now you may as well come down at once with me, Doris. Have you everything—fan, handkerchief, gloves? Oh, I see you have those on! wise girl to get them nicely arranged before you leave your room."

"O! that was Honor's doing, not mine," says Doris promptly. "She would have me rigged out all complete, as Dick would say."

"Doris!" exclaims Mrs. Merivale as she sails out of the room followed by that young lady, "pray do not always be using those expressions which Dick seems to delight in,—troublesome boy! You are always down upon him for these Americanisms which he has picked up (at school, I suppose), but it seems to me you are ready enough to make use of them too. I do hope you will be careful to behave nicely altogether to-night, and not like a hoydenish school-girl as you do more often, I fear, especially when Miss Denison is not by."

"O don't be anxious about me, mother; I shall pull through somehow, and conduct myself with such propriety as even to satisfy Aunt Sophia. If you should see me doing anything dreadful at the dinner-table, and I am too far away for a stage-whisper, you might 'hail' like Mary Ann the scholar in Our Mutual Friend, you know, then I shall understand and pull myself together."

"You incorrigible girl," says Mrs. Merivale with something between a laugh and a sigh; "but now run back, dear, and get my fan off the dressing-table in my room. O, and look in and tell Honor that she can come down for an hour or so to-night if she likes. Tell her to wear her white nun's veiling with the moiré sash and ribbons."

Charmed with this message Doris is soon back in her own room, where she finds Honor still helping Lane to put things a little straight, in Lucy's prolonged absence, which is irritating the older maid not a little.

"Honor, my girl, you are to come down into the drawing-room to-night; mother says so. O, and you are to wear your nun's veiling, &c. Now don't say you don't want to!"

"I don't, truly," says Honor, looking from Doris to Lane and back again. "I am tired and sleepy now, and it is a bother to have to change one's dress just for an hour, when I'd far rather be in bed."

"Well, I call it downright spiteful of you, Honor. Just the evening of all others that I want you. I was looking forward to telling you all about the dinner, and we could have had a jolly time in a secluded corner with Hugh. And oh, I forgot, Regy is coming in after dinner; so we four might have some rare fun. Do come, there's a dear!" And Doris looks at Honor so beseechingly that she sacrifices her own feelings in the matter and says, "Very well, dear, I'll come. Now run away, there's mother calling you."