Chapter 17 Girls of the Forest by L. T. Meade
A WILD FROLIC
The first part of the birthday was absolutely over, but the second part the terrifying, awful part was at hand. Aunt Sophy had kissed Pauline and had blessed her by a look. Her father had also put his trembling hand on her shoulder.
“When you want to read that lovely volume of Cicero,” he said, “come to me and I will teach you. I will spare a few minutes of my valuable time to give you instruction.”
Verena had also kissed her heartily, and she and the rest of her sisters had gone to bed. They were all tired. Verena came for a minute into Pauline’s little room.
“I am too sleepy even to brush my hair in your room to-night, Paulie,” she said. “I am too sleepy to talk about our long happy day. What a pile of presents you have got! Don’t you think you have had a perfect birthday? I only wish mine was near at hand.”
“It will come in good time,” said Pauline; “and even birthdays ”
She broke off abruptly.
“What do you mean by ’even birthdays’?” asked Verena. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say that even birthdays had drawbacks. I know that I am dead-tired.”
“You look it, darling. Do turn into bed and go to sleep.”
Verena kissed her sister and left the room.
Pauline stood by the attic window. The window was a French one, and was wide open. The night was warm; the sky was without a cloud; stars like diamonds dotted the firmament; the sky itself looked darkly blue. Pauline felt a sudden thrill going through her. It was a thrill from the nobler part of her being. The whole day, and all that happened in the day, had wrought her up to her present state of feeling. A touch now and she would have confessed all. A touch, a look, would have done it for the child, with her many faults, was capable of noble deeds; but the touch was not there, nor the word of gentle advice given. Had her mother been alive, Pauline would have certainly gone to her and confessed what she had done. As it was, she only felt that, in order to save herself from the past, she must do something much more wicked in the future.
She waited until she was quite certain that Verena was in bed; then she gently unfastened the door of her room and stole out on to the landing. There was not a light in the house. All the tired people had gone to bed. She reached the room, at the farther end of the same wing, where Briar and Patty slept. The sleeping attics occupied two wings of the old house, the centre part of the house being without rooms in the roof. Pauline, Verena, Briar, and Patty slept in one of the wings, the rest of the girls and the nursery children in the other. Mr. Dale had the room exactly under the large attic occupied by Briar and Patty. Miss Tredgold’s room was under the nursery wing.
Pauline now very gently opened the door of the room where her two little sisters slept. They were not asleep; they were sitting up in their beds waiting for her.
“We thought you would come, Paulie,” said Briar. “We are so excited! What is it you want us to do for you, darling Paulie?”
“To save me! To save me!” said Pauline.
Her tone was dramatic; her action was more so. She fell on her knees by Briar’s bed; she clasped her arms round the little girl’s neck; she laid her head on her shoulder and burst into tears. The birthday queen was weeping. Could emotion go beyond that fact? Patty bounded out of her bed and knelt by Pauline’s other side. The two little girls clasped their arms round her. She had exercised a glamour over them all day, which now became greater than ever. Was she not their queen? Oh, yes, until midnight she was their own dear and absolutely beautiful queen. An hour was still left of her sovereignty. She had quite stolen their hearts; they loved her like anything.
“What is it, Paulie?” said Briar.
“I must tell you,” said Pauline. “I know you won’t betray me.”
“Indeed we won’t,” they both answered.
“Well, then, this is what has happened.”
She began to tell her story. She told it quickly, for the time was short. If they were to meet Nancy they must steal away almost at once. Pauline told her tale with scarcely any comment. When it was finished she looked at her sisters. The moonlight was in the room, and Pauline’s face looked ghastly, but it looked beautiful also. Her eyes were very big and dark and solemn and beseeching. Briar and Patty glanced at each other.
“Shall we?” said Briar.
“It seems the only thing to do,” said Patty.
“All the same, it is awfully wrong,” said Briar.
“Think of poor Paulie,” said Patty.
“If we are discovered ” cried Briar.
“Oh, bother!” interrupted Patty. “She’s our queen. We must obey her. We are bound to help her. Let us go. She mustn’t run into danger. You know what Nancy has said: two of us must go with her. She mustn’t go alone.”
Briar leant towards Patty, and Patty whispered in her ear; and then the two little girls began to dress.
“You are darlings,” said Pauline. “I shall never forget this to you never. I have everything else managed. I am going back to my room. When you are dressed you must shut the door of your room very quietly behind you, and then you must steal along the corridor and you will find my door just ajar. We will get out of my window by the beech-tree, and we’ll be back and safe in our beds before any one is up in the morning.”
“It certainly is thrilling,” said Briar, raising her voice in her excitement.
“Oh, don’t speak so loud!” said Pauline. “Dress very fast. I will wait for you in my room. I shall be quite ready.”
Pauline rushed back to her own room. She then put on a warm golf-cape and an old hat; and her arrangements having been completed, she bent out of the French window. In an incredibly short time Briar and Patty appeared. All three girls were now in the wildest state of excitement. Scruples were silenced for the time being. Pauline’s conscience no longer spoke. She felt that a midnight picnic, stolen, partaken of under difficulties, sinned mightily to obtain, had its own inexplicable charm. It was certainly sweet to be naughty; there was a thrill about it, and a sense of adventure, which goodness never brought. Oh, yes, it was well worth the risk and danger. Her two little sisters partook of Pauline’s feelings. They all easily reached the ground, and when they found themselves outside in the middle of the night, it was with difficulty that Briar could keep from giving a shriek of ecstasy.
“I suppose it’s because I’m so awfully naughty that I enjoy it so,” she said.
“Come along; don’t speak,” said Pauline.
She took a hand of each sister. They ran quickly over the dew-laden grass. Their feet soon got wet, for they had forgotten to put on strong shoes. But what mattered that? What did small discomforts signify when the grand total of pleasure was so enormous?
They opened the wicket-gate, and Pauline found herself immediately in the strong embrace of Nancy King.
“There you are, darling!” she cried, bestowing a resounding kiss on her cheek. “I feared that the she-dragon would waken and call you back; but you are here, and you have brought let me see. Oh, you are Patty, are you not? And Briar? You are my friends for ever now. Oh, we shall have fun! The wagonette is here, and the dogcart; there are a party of us, and a lot more coming to meet us at the rendezvous. We shall have the most glorious time you ever imagined.”
As Nancy spoke she called out to two girls who were standing in the shadow.
“Becky, this is Briar Dale in other words, Rose Dale. You are to see after her. Amy, Patty Dale is your charge. Now let us get into the wagonette, for it is the snuggest of all the carriages, and the horses are so fleet. Listen how they are pawing the ground; they’re mad to be off. Oh, here’s father! Father, three of the young Dales have come.”
“Pleased to see you, I’m sure,” said the farmer. “It’s a warm night for the time of year.”
The little girls did not answer. Even Pauline, now that she had met the rest of the party, felt curiously silent. A weight seemed to rest on her. Her wild and riotous spirits had died down. Her conscience was not troubling her, but she felt depressed, she scarcely knew why.
“I want something to poke me up,” she said to herself. “I thought I’d be quite riotous with bliss when I met Nancy. I don’t feel riotous; and, oh, how white the moonlight is making Briar look! Briar,” whispered Pauline suddenly, “are your feet very wet?”
“Very: and they’re getting so cold,” said Briar.
“What are you talking about?” said Nancy.
“The fact is,” said Pauline, “we forgot to put on our outdoor shoes, and the dew is very heavy.”
“Dear, dear! That will never do. Father, what do you think these silly little misses have done? They’ve come out in their house slippers.”
“I never!” cried the farmer. “You are silly little ladies; that I will say. I tell you what it is, Nance; we don’t want these children to catch cold. Shall we drive back to The Hollies and get them some of your shoes? You have enough, I take it, to shoe a regiment.”
Nancy laughed.
“They wouldn’t fit,” she said. “They’d be too big for any of them.”
“Well, then,” said the farmer, “they shall all three take their shoes off and wrap their feet in these warm rugs. They can put them on again, and when the dancing begins they will soon dry.”
“Are we to dance?” said Pauline, her eyes sparkling.
“You wait and see,” said Nancy.
“Yes, you wait and see,” cried the farmer. “There are all sorts of surprises. And there’s a birthday queen of this here party, ain’t there, Nancy?”
“I have heard tell that there was,” said Nancy. As she spoke she took Pauline’s hand and dragged the little girl forward to sit by her.
The drive took some time, and the farmer and his party were extremely loud and riotous and merry. As they passed under the huge oak-trees some one in a dogcart went by, and the light from a lantern fell on his face. Pauline recognized Dr. Moffat. The moment she saw him he looked round, and she fancied that he must have seen her, and that his eyebrows went up with an expression of astonishment. But he did not look again; he only continued on his way.
“I do hope he didn’t see me,” said Pauline to Nancy.
“What matter if he did? He’s thinking of his profession, and not of a little girl like you. I wonder where he is going to.”
“To Farmer Jackson,” said Farmer King. “He broke his leg a fortnight ago, and they say mortification is setting in and he can’t live. Poor Farmer Jackson! Here are we all on a rollick, so to speak, a midnight picnic in summer, and all our hearts as light as froth, and the farmer lying on the flat of his back and like to pass away before morning.”
Pauline felt uncomfortable. She turned her head away. She did not wish to think of the sober events of life at that moment.
By-and-by the long drive came to an end. The girls again put on their wet slippers, and the next moment they found themselves inside a large marquee, with a boarded floor, where a magnificent feast was prepared at the farther end. The whole centre of the marquee was got ready for dancing, and a number of young people whom Pauline had never seen before were standing about in little knots, evidently waiting for the arrival of the farmer and his family.
“There!” said Nancy. “Now, Paulie, what do you think? Here’s feasting for you at this end, and there’s dancing at the other, and if the Kings don’t do things in style I don’t know who do.”
“Ah, Miss King, and how are you?”
“Pleased to see you, I’m sure,” was Nancy’s response.
A bashful-looking young man with sandy hair and light-blue eyes now came forward. He was followed by a girl of similar type, and the two were introduced to Pauline as Mr. and Miss Minchin. The Minchins were accompanied by other neighbors, and the Dale girls found themselves in the midst of a party numbering at least fifty people.
Pauline felt suddenly shy. As a rule she was not remarkable for this quality. She had a certain pretty assurance, and never, as her sisters expressed it, lost her head; but now her principal desire was to creep into her shell, not to answer the inane remarks made by the young men of the party, and on no account to allow them to put their arms round her waist and carry her round in the dance. Her face grew first red, then pale. She realized that she was very tired, and more than ever did she wish that she had never yielded to Nancy’s enticements.
Patty and Briar, on the other hand, were enjoying themselves very much. They had done this very naughty thing on account of Pauline; they were glad they were helping her their consciences did not trouble them in the least. They leant upon Pauline more than they were themselves aware of. If trouble came, she would of course shield them. At present there was no trouble. A picnic in the middle of the night, miles away from home, was the most exciting thing they had ever imagined. It beat the joys of the birthday hollow. They were quite aware that by-and-by there would perhaps be repentance, but who could think of repentance now, with the feast and such a feast! on the board, and Fiddler Joe making such exquisite, mad, intoxicating music (it caused your feet to twitch so that they could scarcely keep still), and that floor as smooth as glass, and the summer moon entering through a chink in the big tent, and the gayly dressed people, and all the merry voices? Oh, it was an intoxicating time!
So Briar danced with the first man who asked her, and Patty did likewise. They danced with the ease and lightness and grace of children in whom the accomplishment is born. Nancy’s clumsy efforts, and the clumsy efforts of her friends, were nowhere beside them.
“That little girl,” said a rough-headed farmer, pointing to Patty as he spoke, “dances like the foam of the sea. I never saw anything like it in all my life.”
“But why doesn’t the elder Miss Dale dance?” asked Farmer King.
He had noticed that she was declining one partner after another.
“Come, Miss Paulie,” he said, going to her side: “this won’t do. May I have the pleasure of a barn-dance with you, miss? You can’t refuse me.”
Pauline did find it impossible to refuse the good man. He took her hand and led her out, and presently she, too, was being whirled round and round. But her sense of weariness increased, and the heavy pain and bewilderment at her heart grew worse. Oh, why had she come? Once the farmer, looking at her, saw tears in her eyes. In a moment he stopped dancing. He took her hand and led her to the other side of the tent.
“You dance beautifully, miss,” he said; “not quite so light as your little sister, but I am proud to be seen with you, miss, all the same. And now, if I may make so bold, what is the matter with you, Miss Pauline Dale?”
“Nothing,” answered Pauline.
“Don’t tell me,” replied the farmer. “Is it in reason that a little lady like yourself would have tears in her eyes at a moment like the present if there was nothing the matter? Is it in reason, miss?”
“Oh, I ought not to have come!” said Pauline.
The farmer’s face grew rather red. He looked full at Pauline for a moment; then he said:
“I can’t speak out now, for it’s only the beginning of the fun. There’s a great deal planned, and you are in the thick of it, but before you go back home I’ll have a word with you; so cheer up, my pretty little miss, for things that aren’t right can be put right. You trust Farmer King for that.”
Pauline did cheer up. She felt that the farmer was her friend, and she also knew that he was a friend worth having. The other girls met her once or twice, and Patty whispered:
“Oh, there never was anything like this before! I could be naughty every single night of my life to have such fun!”
The dance was followed by the feast, and the feast was A1. When it was over there was a moment of silence. Then Nancy, accompanied by Briar and Patty, Becky and Amy, and the two boys, Jack and Tom, assembled round the seat where Pauline had placed herself.
“It is your turn, Paulie,” said Nancy. “You are queen of to-night, for it is the night following your birthday. Come, queen, take your throne.”
“I am sick of thrones,” answered Pauline.
But Nancy took her hand.
“Whatever you feel, you must not show it,” she said, “for that will spoil everything. Here is your throne; step up.”
Pauline looked round her. Up to the present moment a curtain had been drawn across one end of the tent. It was now removed, and the little girl saw a deep chair covered completely with flowers and moss and ferns. A bright light was hanging just at the back of this throne. Now Pauline, as queen of the day, was led up to it, and requested to take her seat thereon. She did so, feeling queer and giddy. When she was seated the young people stood in groups at her right hand and at her left.
The farmer now appeared, carrying a table. All the guests stood in the background and looked on. The table was placed in front of Pauline. At the same instant Nancy bent forward and laid her hand across the little girl’s eyes.
“Don’t look just for a minute,” she said.
Pauline heard the ecstatic whispers of her own little sisters, and for the first time a feeling of wonder and pleasure stole over her. She forgot all that had gone before, and for the time was both happy and excited.
“Now you may look,” said Nancy.
As Pauline opened her eyes she felt something cool and soft descending on her head.
“Don’t touch it,” whispered Nancy; “it’s your crown. But come, girls and boys, we must do more than this to make our queen beautiful.”
As she spoke all the young people divided into two groups, crossed the floor, and came past Pauline as she sat on her throne; and each one, as she or he passed, threw a wreath of flowers either over the head of the little girl, or round her neck, or into her lap, until finally she found herself absolutely embedded in flowers.
“Look at yourself,” said Nancy, suddenly slipping a looking-glass in front of the birthday queen. “Tell us what you see.”
Pauline looked. The lights were so managed that she could see everything distinctly. The lights fell full upon her. She saw a pair of dark eyes, sweet, anxious, and beautiful; she saw a radiant and rosy face. Lilies of the valley, sweet-peas, and summer roses fell about her soft dark hair. Similar flowers fell about her neck. Her dress was hidden beneath its wealth of flowers; her charming face rose out of a perfect foam of flowers.
“Oh, I do look beautiful!” she said aloud, and at the naïve remark the whole party shouted with merriment. Nancy cried, “Long life to the queen!” and Joe the Fiddler burst into his merriest strains; it was with the greatest difficulty that the desire for dancing could be suppressed, for the little ceremony was not yet quite over. It was Nancy’s turn to come forward.
“Queen of the night,” she said, “we hope that you will like what we, your subjects, have done for you, and we hope that you will never forget your happy birthday. There is just one thing I have to say. When the flowers fade and they are fading already you, dear queen, will have no longer a kingdom, so we have brought you something; we have subscribed among us for something that will not fade something that you can always wear in memory of us. Look! isn’t it beautiful?”
As Nancy spoke, she took a morocco case from the table, touched a spring, and revealed to Pauline’s dazzled eyes, a necklace of thin pure gold, to which a little locket, with a diamond in the centre, was attached.
“This won’t fade,” said Nancy. “You can keep it all your life long. You can also remember that there are people in the world, perhaps born a little lower than yourself, who love you and care for you.”
“Oh, you are good!” cried Pauline. “I will never forsake you, Nancy, or think myself better than you are.”
“Didn’t I say she was a brick?” said Nancy. “Stoop your head, queen; I will clasp the necklace around your neck.”
Pauline did stoop her head, and the necklace was put in its place. The little diamond in the centre glittered as though it had a heart of fire. The flowers smelled sweet, but also heavy. Pauline was tired once again; but the music was resumed. Fiddler Joe played more enchanting music than before, and Pauline, suddenly rising from her throne, determined to dance during the remaining hours of that exciting night.
But all happy things, and all naughty things come to an end, for such is the fashion of earth; and by-and-by the farmer said that if they wished to be home before morning they must get into the wagonette and the dogcart, and their guests must take themselves away. Now it was the farmer’s turn to come up to Pauline.
“You have given us all pleasure to-night, Miss Pauline,” he said; “and it warms our hearts to feel that, whatever the circumstances, you will always be true to us, who have been true to you and yours for generations. For, miss, the history of the Dales is almost bound up with the history of the Kings. And if the Dales were gentlefolks and lords of the manor, the Kings were their humble retainers. So, miss, the Dales and Kings were always good to each other; the Kings over and over again laying down their lives for the Dales in the Civil Wars, and the Dales on their part protecting the Kings. So, after all, miss, there’s no earthly reason, because a grand aunt of yours has come to live at The Dales, why the traditions of your house should be neglected and forgotten. I am proud to feel that this will never happen, and that your family and mine will be one. We do not consider ourselves your equals, but we do consider ourselves your friends. And if I can ever help you, Miss Pauline, you have only to come to me and I will do it. That’s all I’ve got to say. I don’t want thanks. I’m proud that you and your little sisters have trusted yourselves to us to-night, and I leave the matter of whether it was right or wrong to your own consciences. But whatever happens, what you did to-night is the sort of thing that Farmer King will never forget.”