Beechcroft at Rockstone

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At last she saw Aunt Jane's trim little figure come out on the sands
and make as straight for the children as she could, amid greetings
and consultations, so with an exclamation, she jumped up and went
over the shingle to meet them, finding an endeavour going on to make
them tolerably respectable for the walk home, by shaking off the
sand, and advising Val to give up her intention of dragging home a
broad brown ribbon of weed with a frilled edge, all polished and
shiny with wet. She was not likely to regard it as such a curiosity
after a few days' experience of Rockquay, as her new friends told
her.

Kitty Varley went to the High School, which greatly modified
Valetta's disgust to it, for the little girls had already vowed to be
the greatest chums in the world, and would have gone home with arms
entwined, if Aunt Jane had not declared that such things could not be
done in the street, and Clem Varley, with still more effect,
threatened that if they were such a pair of ninnies, he should squirt
at them with the dirtiest water he could find.

Valetta had declared that she infinitely preferred Kitty to Fly, and
Kitty was so flattered at being adopted by the second cousin of a
Lady Phyllis, and the daughter of a knight, that she exalted Val
above all the Popsys and Mopsys of her present acquaintance, and at
parting bestowed on her a chocolate cream, which tasted about equally
of salt water and hot hand---at least if one did not feel it a
testimonial of ardent friendship.

Fergus and Clement had, on the contrary, been so much inclined to
punch and buffet one another, that Miss Mohun had to make them walk
before her to keep the peace, and was by no means sorry when the gate
of 'The Tamarisks' was reached, and the Varleys could be disposed of.

However, the battery must have been amicable, for Fergus was crazy to
go in and see Clement's little pump, which he declared 'would do it'-
--an enigmatical phrase supposed to refer to the great peg-top-
perpetual-motion invention. He was dragged away with difficulty on
the plea of its being too late by Aunt Jane, who could not quite turn
two unexpected children in on Mrs. Varley, and had to effect a cruel
severance of Val and Kitty in the midst of their kisses.

'Sudden friendships,' said Gillian, from the superiority of her age.

'I do not think you are given that way,' said Aunt Jane.

'Does the large family suffice for all of you? People are so
different,' added Aunt Ada.

'Yes,' said Gillian. 'We have never been in the way of caring for
any outsider. I don't reckon Bessie Merrifield so---nor Fly Devereux,
nor Dolores, because they are cousins.'

'Cousins may be everything or nothing,' asserted Miss Mohun. 'You
have been about so much that you have hardly had time to form
intimacies. But had you no friends in the officers' families?'

'People always retired before their children grew up to be
companionable, said Gillian. 'There was nobody except the Whites.
And that wasn't exactly friendship.'

'Who were they?' said Aunt Jane, who always liked to know all about
everybody.

'He rose from the ranks,' said Gillian. 'He was very much respected,
and nobody would have known that he was not a gentleman to begin
with. But his wife was half a Greek. Papa said she had been very
pretty; but, oh! she had grown so awfully fat. We used to call her
the Queen of the White Ants. Then Kally---her name was really
Kalliope---was very nice, and mamma got them to send her to a good
day-school at Dublin, and Alethea and Phyllis used to have her in to
try to make a lady of her. There used to be a great deal of fun
about their Muse, I remember; Claude thought her very pretty, and
always stood up for her, and Alethea was very fond of her. But soon
after we went to Belfast, Mr. White was made to retire with the rank
of captain. I think papa tried to get something for him to do; but I
am not sure whether he succeeded, and I don't know any more about
them.'

'Not exactly friendship, certainly,' said Aunt Jane, smiling. 'After
all, Gillian, in your short life, you have had wider experiences than
have befallen your old aunts!'

'Wider, perhaps, not deeper, Jane,' suggested Miss Adeline.

And Gillian thought---though she felt it would be too sentimental to
say---that in her life, persons and scenes outside her own family had
seemed to 'come like shadows and so depart'; and there was a general
sense of depression at the partings, the anxiety, and the being
unsettled again when she was just beginning to have a home.

CHAPTER III. PERPETUAL MOTION

If Fergus had not yet discovered the secret of perpetual motion,
Gillian felt as if Aunt Jane had done so, and moreover that the
greater proportion of parish matters were one vast machine, of which
she was the moving power.

As she was a small spare woman, able to do with a very moderate
amount of sleep, her day lasted from 6 A.M. to some unnamed time
after midnight; and as she was also very methodical, she got through
an appalling amount of business, and with such regularity that those
who knew her habits could tell with tolerable certainty, within
reasonable limits, where she would be found and what she would be
doing at any hour of the seven days of the week. Everything she
influenced seemed to recur as regularly as the motions of the great
ruthless-looking engines that Gillian had seen at work at Belfast;
the only loose cog being apparently her sister Adeline, who quietly
took her own way, seldom came downstairs before eleven o'clock, went
out and came in, made visits or received them, wrote letters, read
and worked at her own sweet will. Only two undertakings seemed to
belong to her---a mission working party, and an Italian class of young
ladies; and even the presidency of these often lapsed upon her
sister, when she had had one of those 'bad nights' of asthma, which
were equally sleepless to both sisters. She was principally useful
by her exquisite needlework, both in church embroidery and for sales;
and likewise as the recipient of all the messages left for Miss
Mohun, which she never forgot, besides that, having a clear sensible
head, she was useful in consultation.

She was thoroughly interested in all her sister's doings, and always
spoke of herself as the invalid, precluded from all service except
that of being a pivot for Jane, the stationary leg of the compasses,
as she sometimes called herself. This repose, together with her
prettiness and sweetness of manner, was very attractive; especially
to Gillian, who had begun to feel herself in the grip of the great
engine which bore her along without power of independent volition,
and with very little time for 'Hilda's Experiences'.

At home she had gone on harmoniously in full acquiescence with
household arrangements; but before the end of the week the very same
sensations came over her which had impelled her and Jasper into
rebellion and disgrace, during the brief reign of a very strict daily
governess, long ago at Dublin. Her reason and sense approved of all
that was set before her, and much of it was pleasant and amusing; but
this was the more provoking by depriving her of the chance of
resistance or the solace of complaint. Moreover, with all her time
at Aunt Jane's disposal, how was she to do her great thing?
Valetta's crewel battle cushion had been reduced to a delicious
design of the battle of the frogs and mice, drawn by Aunt Ada, and
which she delighted in calling at full length 'the Batrachyomachia,'
sparing none of the syllables which she was to work below. And it
was to be worked at regularly for half an hour before bed-time.
Trust Aunt Jane for seeing that any one under her dominion did what
had been undertaken! Only thus the spontaneity seemed to have
departed, and the work became a task. Fergus meanwhile had set his
affections on a big Japanese top he had seen in a window, and was
eagerly awaiting his weekly threepence, to be able to complete the
purchase, though no one but Valetta was supposed to understand what
it had to do with his 'great thing.'

It was quite pleasant to Gillian to have a legitimate cause of
opposition when Miss Mohun made known that she intended Gillian to
take a class at the afternoon Sunday-school, while the two children
went to Mrs. Hablot's drawing-room class at St. Andrew's Vicarage,
all meeting afterwards at church.

'Did mamma wish it?' asked Gillian.

'There was no time to mention it, but I knew she would.'

'I don't think so,' said Gillian. 'We don't teach on Sundays, unless
some regular person fails. Mamma likes to have us all at home to do
our Sunday work with her.'

'Alas, I am not mamma! Nor could I give you the time.'

'I have brought the books to go on with Val and Ferg. I always do
some of their work with them, and I am sure mamma would not wish them
to be turned over to a stranger.'

'The fact is, that young ladies have got beyond Sunday-schools!'

'No, no, Jane,' said her sister; 'Gillian is quite willing to help
you; but it is very nice in her to wish to take charge of the
children.'

'They would be much better with Mrs. Hablot than dawdling about here
and amusing themselves in the new Sunday fashion. Mind, I am not
going to have them racketing about the house and garden, disturbing
you, and worrying the maids.'

'Aunt Jane!' cried Gillian indignantly, 'you don't think that is the
way mamma brought us up to spend Sunday?'

'We shall see,' said Aunt Jane; then more kindly, 'My dear, you are
right to use your best judgment, and you are welcome to do so, as
long as the children are orderly and learn what they ought.'

It was more of a concession than Gillian expected, though she little
knew the effort it cost, since Miss Mohun had been at much pains to
set Mrs. Hablot's class on foot, and felt it a slight and a bad
example that her niece and nephew should be defaulters. The motive
might have worked on Gillian, but it was a lower one, therefore
mentioned.

She had seen Mrs. Hablot at the Italian class, and thought her a mere
girl, and an absolute subject of Aunt Jane's stumbling pitifully,
moreover, in a speech of Adelchi's; therefore evidently not at all
likely to teach Sunday subjects half so well as herself!

Nor was there anything amiss on that first Sunday. The lessons were
as well and quietly gone through as if with mamma, and there was a
pleasant little walk on the esplanade before the children's service
at St. Andrew's; after which there was a delightful introduction to
some of the old books mamma had told them of.

They were all rather subdued by the strangeness and newness of their
surroundings, as well as by anxiety. If the younger ones were less
anxious about their parents than was their sister, each had a plunge
to make on the morrow into a very new world, and the Varleys'
information had not been altogether reassuring. Valetta had learnt
how many marks might be lost by whispering or bad spelling, and how
ferociously cross Fraulein Adler looked at a mistake in a German
verb; while Fergus had heard a dreadful account of the ordeals to
which Burfield and Stebbing made new boys submit, and which would be
all the worse for him, because he had a 'rum' Christian name, and his
father was a swell.

Gillian had some experience through her elder brothers, and suspected
Master Varley of being guilty of heightening the horrors; so she
assured Fergus that most boys had the same sort of Christian names,
but were afraid to confess them to one another, and so called each
other Bill and Jack. She advised him to call himself by his surname,
not to mention his father's title if he could help it, and, above
all, not to seem to mind anything.

Her own spirits were much exhilarated the next morning by a note from
Harry, the recipient of all telegrams, with tidings that the doctors
were quite satisfied with Sir Jasper, and that Lady Merrifield had
reached Brindisi.

There was great excitement at sight of a wet morning, for it appeared
that an omnibus came round on such occasions to pick up the scholars;
and Valetta thought this so delightful that she danced about
exclaiming, 'What fun!' and only wishing for Mysie to share it. She
would have rushed down to the gate umbrellaless if Aunt Jane had not
caught and conducted her, while Gillian followed with Fergus. Aunt
Jane looked down the vista of young faces---five girls and three boys-
--nodding to them, and saying to the senior, a tall damsel of fifteen,

'Here are my children, Emma. You will take care of them, please.
You are keeping order here, I suppose?'

There was a smile and bow in answer as the door closed, and the
omnibus jerked away its ponderous length.

'I'm sorry to see that Stebbing there,' observed the aunt, as she
went back; 'but Emma Norton ought to be able to keep him in order.
It is well you have no lessons out of the house to-day, Gillian.'

'Are you going out then?'

'Oh yes!' said Miss Mohun, running upstairs, and presently coming
back with a school-bag and a crackling waterproof cloak, but pausing
as she saw Gillian at the window, nursing the Sofy, and gazing at the
gray cloud over the gray sea. 'You are not at a loss for something
to do,' she said, 'you said you meant to write to your mother.'

'Oh yes!' said Gillian, suddenly fretted, and with a sense of being
hunted, 'I have plenty to do.'

'I see,' said Miss Mohun, turning over the books that lay on the
little table that had been appropriated to her niece, in a way that,
unreasonably or not, unspeakably worried the girl, 'Brachet's French
Grammar---that's right. Colenso's Algebra---I don't think they use
that at the High School. Julius Caesar---you should read that up in
Merivale.'

'I did,' said Gillian, in a voice that very nearly said, 'Do let them
alone.'

'Well, you have materials for a very useful, sensible morning's work,
and when Ada comes down, very likely she will like to be read to.'

Off went the aunt, leaving the niece stirred into an absolute desire,
instead of spending the sensible morning, to take up 'Near
Neighbours', and throw herself into an easy-chair; and when she had
conscientiously resisted that temptation, her pen would hover over
'Hilda's Experiences', even when she had actually written 'Dearest
Mamma.' She found she was in no frame to write such a letter as
would be a comfort to her mother, so she gave that up, and made her
sole assertion of liberty the working out of a tough double equation
in Colenso, which actually came right, and put her in such good
humour that she was no longer afraid of drumming the poor piano to
death and Aunt Ada upstairs to distraction, but ventured on learning
one of the Lieder ohne Worte; and when her Aunt Ada came down and
complimented her on the sounds that had ascended, she was complacent
enough to write a very cheerful letter, whilst her aunt was busied
with her own. She described the Sunday-school question that had
arisen, and felt sure that her father would pronounce his Gill to be
a sensible young woman. Afterwards Miss Adeline betook herself to a
beautiful lily of church embroidery, observing, as Gillian sat down
to read to her Alphonse Karr's Voyage autour de mon Jardin, that it
was a real pleasure to listen to such prettily-pronounced French.
Kunz lay at her feet, the Sofy nestled in Gillian's lap, and there
was a general sense of being rubbed down the right way.

By and by there loomed through the rain two dripping shiny forms
under umbrellas strongly inclined to fly away from them---Miss Mohun
and Mr. Grant, the junior curate, whom she had brought home to
luncheon. Both were full of the irregularities of the two churches
of Bellevue and St. Kenelm's on the recent harvest-thanksgiving
Sunday. It was hard to tell which was most reprobated, what St.
Kenelm's did or what Bellevue did not do. If the one blew trumpets
in procession, the other collected the offertory in a warming-pan.
Gillian had already begun to find that these misdoings supplied much
conversation at Beechcroft Cottage, and began to get half weary, half
curious to judge for herself of all these enormities; nor did she
feel more interested in the discussion of who had missed church or
school, and who needed tickets for meat, or to be stirred up to pay
for their coal club.

At last she heard, 'Well, I think you might read to her, Gillian!
Oh! were not you listening? A very nice girl near here, a pupil
teacher, who has developed a hip complaint, poor child. She will
enjoy having visits from you, a young thing like herself.'

Gillian did not like it at all, but she knew that it would be wrong
to refuse, and answered, 'Very well,' with no alacrity---hoping that
it was not an immediate matter, and that something might happen to
prevent it. But at that moment the sun came out, the rain had
ceased, and there were glistening drops all over the garden; the
weather quarter was clear, and after half an hours rest after dinner
Aunt Jane jumped up, decreeing that it was time to go out, and that
she would introduce Gillian to Lilian Giles before going on to the
rest of her district.

She gathered a few delicate flowers in the little conservatory, and
put them in a basket with a peach from the dessert, then took down a
couple of books from the shelf. Gillian could not but acquiesce,
though she was surprised to find that the one given to her was a
translation of Undine.

'The child is not badly off,' explained Miss Mohun. 'Her father is a
superior workman. She does not exactly want comforts, but she is
sadly depressed and disappointed at not being able to go on with her
work, and the great need is to keep her from fretting over her
troubles, and interested in something.'

Gillian began to think of one of the graceful hectic invalids of whom
she had read, and to grow more interested as she followed Aunt Jane
past the old church with the stout square steeple, constructed to
hold, on a small side turret window, a light for the benefit of ships
at sea. Then the street descended towards the marble works. There
was a great quarry, all red and raw with recent blasting, and above,
below, and around, rows of new little stuccoed, slated houses, for
the work-people, and a large range of workshops and offices fronting
the sea. This was Miss Mohun's district, and at a better-looking
house she stopped and used the knocker.

That was no distinction; all had doors with knockers and sash
windows, but this was a little larger, and the tiny strip of garden
was well kept, while a beautiful myrtle and pelargonium peeped over
the muslin blind; and it was a very nice-looking woman who opened the
door, though she might have been the better for a cap. Aunt Jane
shook hands with her, rather to Gillian's surprise, and heard that
Lily was much the same.

'It is her spirits are so bad, you see, Miss Mohun,' she added, as
she ushered them into a somewhat stuffy little parlour, carpeted and
bedecked with all manner of knick-knacks, photographs, and framed
certificates of various societies of temperance and providence on the
gaily-papered walls. The girl lay on a couch near the fire, a sallow
creature, with a big overhanging brow, made heavier by a dark fringe,
and an expression that Gillian not unjustly decided was fretful,
though she smiled, and lighted up a little when she saw Miss Mohun.

There was a good deal said about her bad nights, and her appetite,
and how the doctor wanted her to take as much as she could, and how
everything went against her---even lardy cake and roly-poly pudding
with bacon in it!

Miss Mohun put the flowers on the little table near the girl, who
smiled a little, and thanked her in a languid dreary manner. Finding
that she had freshly been visited by the rector, Miss Mohun would not
stop for any serious reading, but would leave Miss Merrifield to read
a story to her.

'And you ought to get on together,' she said, smiling. 'You are just
about the same age, and your names rhyme--Gillian and Lilian. And
Gillians mother is a Lily too.'

This the young lady lid not like, for she was already feeling it a
sort of presumption in the girl to bear a name so nearly resembling
her mother's. She had seen a little cottage poverty, and had had a
class of little maidservants; but this level of life which is in no
want, keeps a best parlour, and does not say ma'am, was quite new to
her, and she did not fancy it. When the girls were left together,
while Mrs. Giles returned to her ironing, Gillian was the shyer of
the two, and began rather awkwardly and reluctantly---

'Miss Mohun thought you would like to hear this. It is a sort of
German fairy tale.'

Lilian said, 'Yes, Miss Merrifield' in a short dry tone, completing
Gillian's distaste, and she began to read, not quite at her best, and
was heartily glad when at the end of half an hour Mrs. Giles was
heard in parley with another visitor, so that she had an excuse for
going away without attempting conversation. She was overtaken by the
children on their way home from their schools, where they had dined.
They rushed upon her, together with the two Varleys, who wanted to
take them home to tea; and Gillian giving her ready consent, Fergus
dashed home to fetch his beloved humming-top, which was to be
introduced to Clement Varley's pump, and in a few minutes they were
off, hardly vouchsafing an answer to such comparatively trifling
inquiries as how they were placed at their schools.

Gillian found, however, that neither of her aunts was pleased at her
having consented to the children's going out without reference to
their authority. How did she suppose they were to come home?

'I did not think, can't they be fetched?' said Gillian, startled.

'It is not far,' said Adeline, pitying her. 'One of the maids---'

'My dear Ada!' exclaimed Aunt Jane. 'You know that Fanny cannot go
out at night with her throat, and I never will send out those young
girls on any account.'

'Can't I go?' said Gillian desperately.

'Are not you a young girl? I must go myself.'

And go she did at a quarter to eight, and brought home the children,
looking much injured. Gillian went upstairs with them, and there was
an outburst.

'It was horrid to be fetched home so soon, just as there was a chance
of something nice; when all the tiresome big ones had gone to dress,
and we could have had some real fun,' said Valetta.

'Real fun! Real sense!' said Fergus.

'But what had you been about all this time?'

'Why, their sisters and a man that was there _would_ come and drink
tea in the nursery, where nobody wanted them, and make us play their
play.

'Wasn't that nice? You are always crying out for Harry and me to
come and play with you.'

'Oh, it wasn't like that,' said Val, 'you play with us, and they only
pretended, and played with each other. It wasn't nice.'

'Clem said it was---forking,' said Fergus.

'No, spooning,' said Val. 'The dish ran after the spoon, you know.'

'Well, but you haven't told me about the schools,' said Gillian, in
elder sisterly propriety, thinking the subject had better be
abandoned.

'Jolly, jolly, scrumptious!' cried Fergus.

'Oh! Fergus, mamma doesn't like slang words. Jasper doesn't say
them.'

'Not at home, but men say what they like at school, and the 'bus was
scrumptious and splendiferous!'

'I'm sure it wasn't,' said Valetta; 'I can't bear being boxed up with
horrid rude boys.'

'Because you are only a girl!'

'Now, Gill, they shot with---'

'Val, if you tell---'

'Telling Gill isn't telling. Is it, Gill?'

She assented.

'They did, Gill. They shot at us with pea-shooters,' sighed the
girl.

'Oh! it was jolly, jolly, jolly!' cried the boy. 'Stebbing hit the
girl who made the sour face on her cheeks, and they all squealed, and
the cad looked in and tried to jaw us.'

'But that dreadful boy shot right into his mouth,' said Val, while
Fergus went into an ecstasy of laughter. 'Wasn't it a shame, Gill?'

'Indeed it was' said Gillian. 'Such ungentlemanly boys ought not to
be allowed in the omnibus.'

'Girls shouldn't be allowed in the 'bus, they are so stupid,' said
Fergus. 'That one---as cross as old Halfpenny---who was she, Val?'

'Emma Norton! Up in the highest form!'

'Well, she is a prig, and a tell-tale-tit besides; only Stebbing said
if she did, her junior would catch it.'

'What a dreadful bully he must be!' exclaimed Gillian.

I'll tell you what,' said Fergus, in a tone of profound admiration,
'no one can hold a candle to him at batting! He snowballed all the
Kennel choir into fits, and he can brosier old Tilly's stall, and go
on just the same.'

'What a greedy boy!' exclaimed Val.

'Disgusting,' added Gillian.

'You're girls,' responded Fergus, lengthening the syllable with
infinite contempt; but Valetta had spirit enough to reply, 'Much
better be a girl than rude and greedy.'

'Exactly,' said Gillian; 'it is only little silly boys who think such
things fine. Claude doesn't, nor Harry, nor Japs.'

'You know nothing about it,' said Fergus.

'Well, but you've never told me about school---how you are placed, and
whom you are under.'

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