Beechcroft at Rockstone

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'I am very sorry,' said Gillian, feeling convicted of having
neglected her little sister in the stress of her own work and of the
preparation for that of her pupil, who was treading on her heels;
'but indeed, Val, if you had told me it was important, I should have
listened.'

'Ah I but when one is half-frightened, and you are always in a
hurry,' sighed the child. And, indeed, I did do my best over my own
work before ever I looked; only those two are so lazy and stupid,
they would have ever so much more help than Maura or I ever wanted;
and at last I was so worried and hurried with my French and all the
rest, that I did scramble a whole lot down, and that was the way it
was found out. And I am glad now it is over, whatever happens.'

'Yes, that is right,' said Gillian, 'and I am glad you told no
stories; but I wonder Emma Norton did not see what was going on.'

'Oh, she is frightfully busy about her own.'

'And Kitty Varley?'

'Kitty is only going up for French and German. Miss Leverett is so
angry. What do you think she will do to me, Gill? Expel me?'

'I don't know---I can't guess. I don't know High School ways.'

It would be so dreadful for papa and mamma and the boys to know,'
sobbed Valetta. 'And Mysie! oh, if Mysie was but here!'

'Mysie would have been a better sister to her,' said Gillian's
conscience, and her voice said, 'You would never have done it if
Mysie had been here.'

'And Mysie would be nice,' said the poor child, who longed after her
companion sister as much for comfort as for conscience. 'Is Aunt
Jane very very angry?' she went on; 'do you think I shall be
punished?'

'I can't tell. If it were I, I should think you were punished enough
by having disgraced the name of Merrifield by such a dishonourable
action.'

'I---I didn't know it was dishonourable.'

'Well,' said Gillian, perhaps a little tired of the scene, or mayhap
dreading another push into her own quarters, 'I have been saying what
I could for you, and I should think they would feel that no one but
our father and mother had a real right to punish you, but I can't
tell what the School may do. Now, hush, it is of no use to talk any
more. Good-night; I hope I shall find you asleep when I come to
bed.'

Valetta would have detained her, but off she went, with a
consciousness that she had been poor comfort to her little sister,
and had not helped her to the right kind of repentance. But then
that highest ground---the strict rule of perfect conscientious
uprightness---was just what she shrank from bringing home to herself,
in spite of those privileges of seniority by which she had impressed
poor Valetta.

The worst thing further that was said that night, when she had
reported as much of Valetta's confidence as she thought might soften
displeasure, was Aunt Ada's observation: 'Maura! That's the White
child, is it not? No doubt it was the Greek blood.'

'The English girls were much worse,' hastily said Gillian, with a
flush of alarm, as she thought of her own friends being suspected.

'Yes; but it began with the little Greek,' said Aunt Ada. 'What a
pity, for she is such an engaging child! I would take the child away
from the High School, except that it would have the appearance of her
being dismissed.

'We must consider of that,' said Aunt Jane. 'There will hardly be
time to hear from Lilias before the next term begins. Indeed, it
will not be so very long to wait before the happy return, I hope.'

'Only two months,' said Gillian; 'but it would be happier but for
this.'

'No,' said Aunt Jane. 'If we made poor little Val write her
confession, and I do the same for not having looked after her better,
it will be off our minds, and need not cloud the meeting.'

'The disgrace!' sighed Gillian; 'the public disgrace!'

'My dear, I don't want to make you think lightly of such a thing. It
was very wrong in a child brought up as you have all been, with a
sense of honour and uprightness; but where there has been no such
training, the attempt to copy is common enough, for it is not to be
looked on as an extraordinary and indelible disgrace. Do you
remember Primrose saying she had broken mamma's heart when she had
knocked down a china vase? You need not be in that state of mind
over what was a childish fault, made worse by those bullying girls.
It is of no use to exaggerate. The sin is the thing---not the outward
shame.'

'And Valetta told at once when asked,' added Aunt Ada.

'That makes a great difference.'

'In fact, she was relieved to have it out,' said Miss Mohun. 'It is
not at all as if she were in the habit of doing things underhand.'

Everything struck on Gillian like a covert reproach. It was pain and
shame to her that a Merrifield should have lowered herself to the
common herd so as to need these excuses of her aunts, and then in the
midst of that indignation came that throb of self-conviction which
she was always confuting with the recollection of her letter to her
mother.

She was glad to bid good-night and rest her head.

The aunts ended by agreeing that it was needful to withdraw Valetta
from the competition. It would seem like punishment to her, but it
would remove her from the strain that certainly was not good for her.
Indeed, they had serious thoughts of taking her from the school
altogether, but the holidays would not long be ended before her
parents' return.

'I am sorry we ever let her try for the prize,' said Ada.

'Yes,' said Aunt Jane, 'I suppose it was weakness; but having opposed
the acceptance of the system of prizes by competition at first, I
thought it would look sullen if I refused to let Valetta try.
Stimulus is all very well, but competition leads to emulation, wrath,
strife, and a good deal besides.'

'Valetta wished it too, and she knew so much Latin to begin with that
I thought she would easily get it, and certainly she ought not to get
into difficulties.'

'After the silken rein and easy amble of Silverfold, the spur and the
race have come severely.'

'It is, I suppose, the same with Gillian, though there it is not
competition. Do you expect her to succeed?'

'No. She has plenty of intelligence, and a certain sort of
diligence, but does not work to a point. She wants a real hand over
her! She will fail, and it will be very good for her.'

'I should say the work was overmuch for her, and had led her to
neglect Valetta.'

'Work becomes overmuch when people don't know how to set about it,
and resent being told--- No, not in words, but by looks and shoulders.
Besides, I am not sure that it is her proper work that oppresses her.
I think she has some other undertaking in hand, probably for
Christmas, or for her mother's return; but as secrecy is the very
soul of such things, I shut my eyes.'

'Somehow, Jane, I think you have become so much afraid of giving way
to curiosity that you sometimes shut your eyes rather too much.'

'Well, perhaps in one's old age one suffers from the reaction of
one's bad qualities. I will think about it, Ada. I certainly never
before realised how very different school supervision of young folks
is from looking after them all round. Moreover, Gillian has been
much more attentive to poor Lily Giles of late, in spite of her
avocations.'

Valetta was not at first heartbroken on hearing that she was not to
go in for the language examination. It was such a relief from the
oppression of the task, and she had so long given up hopes of having
the prize to show to her mother, that she was scarcely grieved,
though Aunt Jane was very grave while walking down to school with her
in the morning to see Miss Leverett, and explain the withdrawal.

That lady came to her private room as soon as she had opened the
school. From one point of view, she said, she agreed with Miss Mohun
that it would be better that her niece should not go up for the
examination.

'But,' she said, 'it may be considered as a stigma upon her, since
none of the others are to give up.'

'Indeed! I had almost thought it a matter of course.'

'On the contrary, two of the mothers seem to think nothing at all of
the matter. Mrs. Black---'

'The Surveyor's wife, isn't she?'

'Yes, she writes a note saying that all children copy, if they can,
and she wonders that I should be so severe upon such a frequent
occurrence, which reflects more discredit on the governesses than the
scholars.'

'Polite that! And Mrs. Purvis? At least, she is a lady!'

'She is more polite, but evidently has no desire to be troubled. She
hopes that if her daughter has committed a breach of school
discipline, I will act as I think best.'

'No feeling of the real evil in either! How about Maura White?'

'That is very different. It is her sister who writes, and so nicely
that I must show it to you.'

'MY DEAR MADAM---I am exceedingly grieved that Maura should have acted
in a dishonourable manner, though she was not fully aware how wrongly
she was behaving. We have been talking to her, and we think she is
so truly sorry as not to be likely to fall into the same temptation
again. As far as we can make out, she has generally taken pains with
her tasks, and only obtained assistance in unusually difficult
passages, so that we think that she is really not ill-prepared. If
it is thought right that all the pupils concerned should abstain from
the competition, we would of course readily acquiesce in the justice
of the sentence; but to miss it this year might make so serious a
difference to her prospects, that I hope it will not be thought a
necessary act of discipline, though we know that we have no right to
plead for any exemption for her. With many thanks for the
consideration you have shown for her, I remain, faithfully yours,

K. WHITE.'

'A very different tone indeed, and it quite agrees with Valetta's
account,' said Miss Mohun.

'Yes, the other two girls were by far the most guilty.'

'And morally, perhaps, Maura the least; but I retain my view that,
irrespective of the others, Valetta's parents had rather she missed
this examination, considering all things.'

Valetta came home much more grieved when she had found she was the
only one left out, and declared it was unjust.

No,' said Gillian, 'for you began it all. None of the others would
have got into the scrape but for you.'

'It was all your fault for not minding me!'

'As if I made you do sly things.'

'You made me. You were so cross if I only asked a question,' and Val
prepared to cry.

'I thought people had to do their own work and not other folks'!
Don't be so foolish.'

'Oh dear! oh dear! how unkind you are! I wish---I wish Mysie was
here; every one is grown cross! Oh, if mamma would but come home!'

'Now, Val, don't be such a baby! Stop that!'

And Valetta went into one of her old agonies of crying and sobbing,
which brought Aunt Jane in to see what was the matter. She instantly
stopped the scolding with which Gillian was trying to check the
outburst, and which only added to its violence.

'It is the only thing to stop those fits,' said Gillian. 'She can if
she will! It is all temper.'

'Leave her to me!' commanded Aunt Jane. 'Go!'

Gillian went away, muttering that it was not the way mamma or Nurse
Halfpenny treated Val, and quite amazed that Aunt Jane, of all
people, should have the naughty child on her lap and in her arms,
soothing her tenderly.

The cries died away, and the long heaving sobs began to subside, and
at last a broken voice said, on Aunt Jane's shoulder, 'It's---a---
little bit---like mamma.'

For Aunt Jane's voice had a ring in it like mamma's, and this little
bit of tenderness was inexpressibly comforting.

'My poor dear child,' she said, 'mamma will soon come home, and then
you will be all right.'

'I shouldn't have done it if mamma had been there!'

'No, and now you are sorry.'

'Will mamma be very angry?'

'She will be grieved that you could not hold out when you were
tempted; but I am sure she will forgive you if you write it all to
her. And, Val, you know you can have God's forgiveness at once if
you tell Him.'

'Yes,' said Valetta gravely; then, 'I did not before, because I
thought every one made so much of it, and were so cross. And Georgie
and Nellie don't care at all.'

'Nor Maura?'

'Oh, Maura does, because of Kalliope.'

'How do you mean?'

Valetta sat up on her aunt's lap, and told.

'Maura told me! She said Kally and Alec both were at her, but her
mamma was vexed with them, and said she would not have her scolded at
home as well as at school about nothing; and she told Theodore to go
and buy her a tart to make up to her, but Theodore wouldn't, for he
said he was ashamed of her. So she sent the maid. But when Maura
had gone to bed and to sleep, she woke up, and there was Kally crying
over her prayers, and whispering half aloud, "Is she going too? My
poor child! Oh, save her! Give her the Spirit of truth--"'

'Poor Kalliope! She is a good sister.'

'Yes; Maura says Kally is awfully afraid of their telling stories
because of Richard---the eldest, you know. He does it dreadfully. I
remember nurse used to tell us not to fib like Dick White. Maura
said he used to tell his father stories about being late and getting
money, and their mother never let him be punished. He was her pet.
And Maura remembers being carried in to see poor Captain White just
before he died, when she was getting better, but could not stand, and
he said, "Truth before all, children. Be true to God and man."
Captain White did care so much, but Mrs. White doesn't. Isn't that
very odd, for she isn't a Roman Catholic?' ended Valetta, obviously
believing that falsehood was inherent in Romanists, and pouring out
all this as soon as her tears were assuaged, as if, having heard it,
she must tell.

'Mrs. White is half a Greek, you know,' said Aunt Jane, 'and the
Greeks are said not to think enough about truth.'

'Epaminondas did,' said Valetta, who had picked up a good deal from
the home atmosphere, 'but Ulysses didn't.'

'No; and the Greeks have been enslaved and oppressed for a great many
years, and that is apt to make people get cowardly and false. But
that is not our concern, Val, and I think with such a recollection of
her good father, and such a sister to help her, Maura will not fall
into the fault again. And, my dear, I quite see that neither you nor
she entirely realised that what you did was deception, though you
never spoke a word of untruth.'

'No, we did not,' said Valetta.

'And so, my dear child, I do forgive you, quite and entirely, as we
used to say, though I have settled with Miss Leverett that you had
better not go up for the examination, since you cannot be properly up
to it. And you must write the whole history to your mother. Yes; I
know it will be very sad work, but it will be much better to have it
out and done with, instead of having it on your mind when she comes
home.'

'Shall you tell her!'

'Yes, certainly,' said the aunt, well knowing that this would clench
the matter. 'But I shall tell her how sorry you are, and that I
really think you did not quite understand what you were about at
first. And I shall write to Miss White, and try to comfort her about
her sister.'

'You won't say I told!'

'Oh no; but I shall have quite reason enough for writing in telling
her that I am sorry my little niece led her sister into crooked
paths.'

Gillian knew that this letter was written and sent, and it did not
make her more eager for a meeting with Kalliope. So that she was not
sorry that the weather was a valid hindrance, though a few weeks ago
she would have disregarded such considerations. Besides, there was
her own examination, which for two days was like a fever, and kept
her at her little table, thinking of nothing but those questions, and
dreaming and waking over them at night.

It was over; and she was counselled on all sides to think no more
about it till she should hear of success or failure. But this was
easier said than done, and she was left in her tired state with a
general sense of being on a wrong tack, and of going on amiss,
whether due to her aunt's want of assimilation to herself, or to her
mother's absence, she did not know, and with the further sense that
she had not been the motherly sister she had figured to herself, but
that both the children should show a greater trust and reliance on
Aunt Jane than on herself grieved her, not exactly with jealousy, but
with sense of failure and dissatisfaction with herself. She had a
universal distaste to her surroundings, and something very like dread
of the Whites, and she rejoiced in the prospect of quitting Rockstone
for the present.

She felt bound to run down to the office to wish Kalliope good-bye.
There she found an accumulation of exercises and translations waiting
for her.

'Oh, what a quantity! It shows how long it is since I have been
here.'

'And indeed,' began Kalliope, 'since your aunt has been so very kind
about poor little Maura---'

'Oh, please don't talk to me! There's such a lot to do, and I have
no time. Wait till I have done.'

And she nervously began reading out the Greek exercise, so as
effectually to stop Kalliope's mouth. Moreover, either her own
uneasy mind, or the difficulty of the Greek, brought her into a
dilemma. She saw that Alexis's phrase was wrong, but she did not
clearly perceive what the sentence ought to be, and she perplexed
herself over it till he came in, whether to her satisfaction or not
she could not have told, for she had not wanted to see him on the one
hand, though, on the other, it silenced Kalliope.

She tried to clear her perceptions by explanations to him, but he did
not seem to give his mind to the grammar half as much as to the
cessation of the lessons and her absence.

'You must do the best you can,' she said, 'and I shall find you gone
quite beyond me.'

'I shall never do that, Miss Merrifield.'

'Nonsense!' she said, laughing uncomfortably 'a pretty clergyman you
would be if you could not pass a girl. There! good-bye. Make a list
of your puzzles and I will do my best with them when I come back.'

'Thank you,' and he wrung her hand with an earnestness that gave her
a sense of uneasiness.

CHAPTER XI. LADY MERRIFIELD'S CHRISTMAS LETTER-BAG

(PRIMROSE.)

'MY DEAR MAMMA---I wish you a merry Christmas, and papa and sisters
and Claude too. I only hooped once to-day, and Nurse says I may go
out when it gets fine. Fly is better. She sent me her dolls' house
in a big box in a cart, and Mysie sent a new frock of her own making
for Liliana, and Uncle William gave me a lovely doll, with waxen arms
and legs, that shuts her eyes and squeals, and says Mamma; but I do
not want anything but my own dear mamma, and all the rest. I am
mamma's own little PRIMROSE.'

(FERGUS.)

'COALHAM.
'MY DEAR MAMMA---I wish you and papa, and all, a happy Crismas, and I
send a plan of the great coal mine for a card. It is much jollier
here than at Rockquay, for it is all black with cinders, and there
are little fires all night, and there are lots of oars and oxhide and
fossils and ferns and real curiozitys, and nobody minds noises nor
muddy boots, and they aren't at one to wash your hands, for they
can't be clean ever; and there was a real row in the street last
night just outside. We are to go down a mine some day when Cousin
David has time. I mean to be a great jeologist and get lots of
specimens, and please bring me home all the minerals in Ceylon.
Harry gave me a hammer.---I am, your affectionate son,
FERGUS MERRIFIELD.'

(VALETTA.)

'MY DEAREST MAMMA---I hope you will like my card. Aunt Ada did none
of it, only showed me how, and Aunt Jane says I may tell you I am
really trying to be good. I am helping her gild fir-cones for a
Christmas-tree for the quire, and they will sing carols. Macrae
brought some for us the day before yesterday, and a famous lot of
holly and ivy and mistletoe and flowers, and three turkeys and some
hams and pheasants and partridges. Aunt Jane sent the biggest turkey
and ham in a basket covered up with holly to Mrs. White, and another
to Mrs. Hablot, and they are doing the church with the holly and ivy.
We are to eat the other the day after to-morrow, and Mr. Grant and
Miss Burne, who teaches the youngest form, are coming. It was only
cold beef to-day, to let Mrs. Mount go to church; but we had mince
pies, and I am going to Kitty's Christmas party to-morrow, and we
shall dance---so Aunt Ada has given me a new white frock and a lovely
Roman sash of her own. Poor old Mrs. Vincent is dead, and Fergus's
great black rabbit, and poor little Mary Brown with dip---(blot). I
can't spell it, and nobody is here to tell me how, but the thing in
people's throats, and poor Anne has got it, and Dr. Ellis says it was
a mercy we were all away from home, for we should have had it too,
and that would have been ever so much worse than the whooping-cough.

'I have lots of cards, but my presents are waiting for my birthday,
when Maura is to come to tea. It is much nicer than I thought the
holidays would be. Maura White has got the prize for French and
Latin. It is a lovely Shakespeare. I wish I had been good, for I
think I should have got it. Only she does want more help than I do---
so perhaps it is lucky I did not. No, I don't mean lucky either.---
Your affectionate little daughter, VAL.'

(WILFRED.)

'DEAR MOTHER---Fergus is such a little ape that he will send you that
disgusting coal mine on his card, as if you would care for it. I
know you will like mine much better---that old buffer skating into a
hole in the ice. I don't mind being here, for though Harry and Davy
get up frightfully early to go to church, they don't want us down
till they come back, and we can have fun all day, except when Harry
screws me down to my holiday task, which is a disgusting one, about
the Wars of the Roses. Harry does look so rum now that he is got up
for a parson that we did not know him when he met us at the station.
There was an awful row outside here last night between two sets of
Waits. David went out and parted them, and I thought he would have
got a black eye. All the choir had supper here, for there was a
service in the middle of the night; but they did not want us at it,
and on Tuesday we are to have a Christmas ship, and a magic-lantern,
and Rollo and Mr. Bowater are coming to help---he is the clergyman at
the next place---and no end of fun, and the biggest dog you ever saw.
Fergus has got one of his crazes worse than ever about old stones,
and is always in the coal hole, poking after ferns and things.
Wishing you a merry Christmas.---Your affectionate son,
'WILFRED MERRIFIELD.'

(MYSIE.)

'ROTHERWOOD, Christmas Day.

'MY OWN DEAREST MAMMA---A very happy Christmas to you, and papa and
Claude and my sisters, and here are the cards, which Miss Elbury
helped me about so kindly that I think they are better than usual: I
mean that she advised me, for no one touched them but myself. You
will like your text, I hope, I chose it because it is so nice to
think we are all one, though we are in so many different places. I
did one with the same for poor Dolores in New Zealand. Uncle William
was here yesterday, and he said dear little Primrose is almost quite
well. Fly is much better to-day; her eyes look quite bright, and she
is to sit up a little while in the afternoon, but I may not talk to
her for fear of making her cough; but she slept all night without one
whoop, and will soon be well now. Cousin Rotherwood was so glad that
he was quite funny this morning, and he gave me the loveliest
writing-case you ever saw, with a good lock and gold key, and gold
tops to everything, and my three M's engraved on them all. I have so
many presents and cards that I will write out a list when I have
finished my letter. I shall have plenty of time, for everybody is
gone to church except Cousin Florence, who went early.

'I am to dine at the late dinner, which will be early, because of the
church singers, and Cousin Rotherwood says he and I will do
snapdragon, if I will promise not to whoop.

'4.30.---I had to stop again because of the doctor. He says he does
not want to have any more to do with me, and that I may go out the
first fine day, and that Fly is much better. And only think! He
says Rockquay is the very place for Fly, and as soon as we are not
catching, we are all to go there. Cousin Rotherwood told me so for a
great secret, but he said I might tell you, and that he would ask
Aunt Alethea to let Primrose come too. It does warm one up to think
of it, and it is much easier to feel thankful and glad about all the
rest of the right sort of Christmas happiness, now I am so near
having Gill and Val again.---Your very loving child,
M. M. MERRIFIELD.'

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