Читать книгу The Silver Lining - John Roussel - Страница 4

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A Little Girl's Change of Life.

iss Rader was a tall, stiff, sour-faced lady of four-and-fifty. She kept a school for young country ladies at a place called "Fardot," in one of the parishes adjoining the Forest.

Among the pupils who were unfortunate enough to fall under her harsh rule was a certain little girl whose name was Adèle Rougeant. She was the daughter of an avaricious farmer who lived at "Les Marches," in the parish of the Forest.

This little girl's mother had now been dead three years. Adèle was then only four years of age.

"You will place our daughter at Miss Rader's school till she is seven years of age," were the instructions of Mrs. Rougeant to her husband on her death-bed.

This was not all; Mr. Rougeant was solicited by his wife to place Adèle for ten years at a boarding-school in "the town," where she would receive an education such as pertained to her rank and fortune.

Mr. Rougeant would gladly have sent his daughter to the parish school, till the age of fourteen. Afterwards, he would have had her taught to work. He would have had to pay only one penny a week at the parish school, whereas he now paid five pence. Soon, he would have to disburse from fifty to sixty pounds a year for Adèle's sake. "What extravagance," he muttered between his teeth. But he dared not go against his promises to his dying wife. Mr. Rougeant was superstitious. "If I fail to fulfil my promises to my dying wife, I shall most certainly see her ghost;" he said to himself. So he preferred to part with a portion of his income in exchange for a life unmolested by apparitions.

It was the month of August of the same year in which the events narrated in the preceding chapter occurred. The pupils of Miss Rader were all assembled to receive the prizes which they were supposed to have won.

The reward-books were handed to the pupils by an elderly lady—Mrs. Lebours. She was standing in front of the row of young girls, surrounded by half-a-dozen satellites of her own sex. Miss Rader was sitting near the group of "young ladies."

Mrs. Lebours began: "First prize for French has been won by Adèle Rougeant, but the committee of ladies have decided that as she is about to pursue her studies elsewhere, she will not receive the prize. It will be given to the one next to her, who is going to remain under Miss Rader's excellent tuition."

This little speech having been delivered by Mrs. Lebours, who meanwhile flourished the reward-book; Miss Rader approached Adèle, and tapping her unkindly on the shoulder, she whispered to her in a whistling tone, her snaky eyes expressing the kindliness of a tiger: "You see what you gain through wanting to leave my school; you lose a beautiful book."

Adèle was not unhappy. On the contrary; she experienced an elevating, martyr-like sensation. She turned towards Miss Rader.

"I have earned it?" she questioned.

"Yes, but——."

"I am satisfied," she said; then, quoting as near as she could a phrase which had attracted her attention in one of the rare books which she had cast her childish eyes upon, she added, "We do not go to school to obtain prizes, but to acquire knowledge."

Miss Rader was seated in her former place when Adèle finished. Her upper lip was slightly curled up, she was gazing upon Adèle with a look of supreme contempt.

The distribution of prizes was soon finished. The children were dismissed for the holidays and sent home. Adèle bore her little head up proudly. She had been wronged. She felt a thrill of pleasure as she entered her home at "Les Marches."

In acting as they had done, the committee of ladies had placed themselves lower than her. She felt it, and prided herself upon being ever so much better than they were. When her father came in she called out to him: "I earned a prize, but they would not give it me as I was going to leave school."

"Humph!" he said moodily, "I am afraid you over-estimate your intellectual capacities. Carry this letter to your uncle Tom at the 'Prenoms.'"

And he handed his daughter a scrap of paper.

Adèle did immediately as she was bid, not daring to speak when she heard her father's gruff tone.

The farm of the "Prenoms" was only half a mile distant from "Les Marches," and Adèle did the distance in ten minutes.

She gave the letter to her uncle. "You will have to wait for a reply," he said.

Her uncle was a man who never said more than was absolutely necessary.

"Seat yourself; here is a chair for you," said her aunt.

Adèle took the preferred chair, and her aunt began to question her.

"So you are going to a boarding school," she said; and Adèle felt that there was something sarcastic in her tone.

"Papa wants me to," she mumbled timidly.

"Oh, it is not so much Alfred's wish," significantly said Mrs. Soher (Adèle's aunt), as she turned towards her step-mother who was seated on a "jonquière," engaged in mending a pair of stockings.

Near her sat a young boy who looked a little older than Adèle. He was mischievously occupied in knotting the skein of thread which his grandmother was using.

Adèle resented what she knew to be a slight cast upon her dead mother's memory, but she did not speak. Her aunt had always been hostile to her, she knew not why.

Old Mrs. Soher raised her hoary head and remarked: "In my time, young girls like Adèle used to learn to read and write—and work."

Adèle felt very uncomfortable. She wished her uncle would make haste and write his reply; but he sat at his desk, passing his fingers through his hair; a method with which he was familiar when puzzled. Then he rose and cast a significant glance at his wife who followed him out of the room.

The old woman espied her prankish grandson. She immediately broke out into a violent fit of scolding: too animated to be serious. "Ah! but what next, you wicked little rascal. Knotting my thread; but I'm sure. I have a mind to slap your face. Just look at what you have done. Why did you do it?"

Tommy—the little boy—giggled. "I was tired of sitting here doing nothing," he answered impudently; "why don't you tell me a story."

"Well, now, be a good boy; do you know where the bad boys will go?"

"With the devil."

"Quite right; now, you will be good."

"Tell me a tale; you know, something about the old witches," said Tommy. "How do they make people ill?" he questioned pulling impatiently at his grandmother's shawl.

"They give themselves to Satan," answered the grandmother.

"How?"

"They sign their name, writing it backwards with their own blood."

Adèle shuddered; although she was a country girl, she had never heard anything of the sort before. She listened attentively.

"You told me they were given books; did you not?" questioned the lad.

"Yes they receive one or two infamous books, which they cannot destroy after they have taken them, neither can anyone else do away with these bad books. Yet, I remember quite well when there was one completely annihilated.

"It was when one of my aunt's died. She was a terrible witch; alas, the chairs; and all the cups and saucers, bowls and plates on the dresser danced when they carried her body out of the house."

Adèle laughed.

Tommy looked at her. "Oh, it's true," he said, "you can laugh if you like—ain't it grand'ma?"

Mrs. Soher went on: "When we cleaned out the house, we found one of those awful books. No one dared to open it, yet everyone knew by its funny covers, its queer print and its yellow paper, that it was one of the 'devil's own.' My sister, who, by the way, was not very superstitious took——"

"Superlicious! what's that?" questioned the boy.

"People who don't believe in all sorts," immediately explained grandmamma.

"Now where was I? ah, my sister took the book and threw it into the fire but it did not burn!"

"Oo-oo," ejaculated Tommy.

Adèle began to be credulous. It must be borne in mind that she was only seven years old.

Grand'ma proceeded: "She snatched it again from the fire and put it on the table. Now it happened that on that very day, my brother was going to seek for shell-fish at a place called La Banque au Mouton. He said that he would take the book and place it under a big stone; then, when the tide rose, it would be covered over, and, we all hoped, altogether destroyed.

"He took it as he had promised to do (we were gone home to dinner then, for we did not care to eat in the house of a witch), and placed it, so he told us, under a big stone which he could hardly lift."

"Ah, the Evil One was caught," remarked Tommy.

"He is not caught so easily as all that," said his grandmother. "When we returned to our work, do you know what we saw?"

"No!"

"We beheld the book laid upon the table."

Tommy opened his mouth wide enough as to be in danger of dislocation, then he closed it with an exclamation: "Ah-a!"

Adèle dared scarcely breathe.

"That's not all," continued Mrs. Soher, "we were determined to get rid of the book. This is what we did.

"My brother spoke to the minister about it. The clergyman declared that the book could only be stamped out of existence by a special process. He went to what had been my aunt's house, and summoned my brother and those who were there into the kitchen. Then one man thrust a bundle of furze into the oven and set it alight. Another one threw the book amongst the flames and firmly secured the door.

"'Down on your knees,' commanded the minister. Everyone obeyed. The clergyman prayed aloud, when in a few moments, piercing shrieks were heard issuing from the oven. The whole company were in a state of horripilation. The clergyman ceased praying. He simply said with quivering and pale lips: 'The book is burning.'

"The cries ceased. The door of the oven was opened. The book was reduced to ashes."

The two children were awe-stricken.

They sat as still as two mice, breathing only as much as was absolutely necessary. It was Tommy who first broke the silence.

He was more accustomed to hear these strange tales than his cousin, and, consequently, got over his fright sooner.

"How did the book shriek," questioned the boy.

The entrance of Mr. Soher and his spouse disturbed the proceedings. Adèle was very glad of it, for she was anxious to be back home before dusk.

Handing her a piece of paper, Adèle's uncle bade her be sure to give it to her father. He enjoined her not to lose it, but to hold it tightly all the way home. "Don't put it in your pocket," he added as the little girl was preparing to leave.

Adèle did as she was bid; she could not put the missive in her pocket, because—there was no pocket to the dress which she wore.

She hastened home. The story which Mrs. Soher had recited had shaken her nerves.

As she neared her father's house, she was tempted to look at the writing on the paper. There was a brief struggle within her. At last her conscience prevailed over her curiosity.

She met her father who was waiting for her on the threshold and handed him the paper. He ran his eyes over it and muttered audibly: "Let him go to the dogs, then, if he wishes to do so."

As soon as Adèle was out of the "Prenoms" the two garrulous women began to talk about their little visitor. As was their wont, they (especially the younger Mrs. Soher) cast upon Adèle all the slander and scandal which they were capable of. Their epigrams were as devoid of wit as they were coarse.

Mr. Soher, who sat near, did not join in the conversation. He professed to be a very religious man, but he rarely occupied himself about his household duties. His wife was just saying: "When one thinks that if that little brat of a girl had not been born, we should inherit all my brother's property," when the man rose from his chair. "I am going to the prayer-meeting," he said abruptly, and his puritanical form as suddenly left the room.

"Now, it is time for you to go to bed," said Mrs. Soher to her son, when her husband was gone.

"I don't want to go yet," replied Tommy.

"But you must go, and you will go now; I'll not listen to your nonsense; come, do your hear."

"Ah! let me stay a little longer, ma."

"No, not one moment; come along."

"Only one minute," pleaded the spoilt child.

"Bah! what do you want to stay for?" said his mother, re-seating herself.

The minute passed away, so did many other minutes, but Tom did not stir.

After again trying in vain the power of her pleadings and commands, the weak-minded mother took her son by the sleeve of his coat. "Come," she said, "to bed with you."

Tommy began to cry.

She dragged him out of the room and up the stairs. He screamed and kicked, but was finally placed in his cot. Mrs. Soher had hardly stepped into the kitchen, when her son was heard crying.

"I am frightened," he bawled; "the fire—the witches—the book."

"Bah!" said his mother, "he'll go to sleep soon." And so he did.