Girls of the Forest Part 30

"Run into the house and bring out a cup of coffee. The precious man gets queerer each moment. What a present to give the child!"

Pauline raised the big book and clasped it against her neat lilac frock.

"Thank you, father," she said. "I will learn to read it. Thank you very much."

"And you don't object to its occupying its old place on my shelf?"

"No. Shall I run and put it there now?"

"Do. You are really a wise child. Sophia, as I have given Pauline her present, I presume I need not stay out any longer wasting my precious time and running the risk of sunstroke."

Miss Tredgold nodded and laughed. Adelaide appeared with the coffee. Mr.

Dale drank it off at a single draught. Pauline ran into the house with the treasure which was hers and yet not hers. For surely never during his lifetime would Mr. Dale allow that special edition of Cicero out of his study. She put it gravely and quietly into its accustomed place, kissed her father, told him she appreciated his present beyond words, and then went back to her sisters and aunt, who were waiting for her.

What a day it was! What a wonderful, magnificent day! The weather was perfect; the air was sweet; the garden was full of perfume. And then the presents. Every imaginable thing that a little girl could want was poured at the feet of the birthday queen. The story-books she had longed for; the little writing-desk she had always coveted but never possessed; the workbox with its reels of colored silks, its matchless pair of scissors, its silver thimble, its odds and ends of every sort and description; the tennis-bat; the hockey-club; the new saddle that would exactly fit Peas-blossom: all these things and many more were given to Pauline. But besides the richer and more handsome presents, there were the sort of pretty things that only love could devise--that charming little pin-cus.h.i.+on for her dressing-table; that pen-wiper; that bag for her brush and comb; that case for her night-dress. Some of the gifts were clumsy, but all were prompted by love. Love had begun them, and gone on with them, and finished them, and Pauline laughed and had brighter eyes and more flushed cheeks each moment as the day progressed.

After breakfast Miss Tredgold took her nieces for a drive. The little party were all packed into the wagonette, and then they went off. They drove for miles and miles under the trees of the Forest. Miss Tredgold told more interesting and fascinating stories of her own life than she had ever told before. The girls listened to her with the most absorbed attention. As a rule Miss Tredgold's stories carried a moral with them; but the birthday stories had no moral. Pauline waited for one. She waited with a sort of trembling dread. She expected it to intrude its sober face at each moment, but it did not put in an appearance anywhere. It stayed out of sight in the most delightful and graceful manner. Soon the girls, Pauline amongst them, forgot to look out for the moral. Then Verena began telling anecdotes of the past, and Pauline joined her; and the children laughed, and nearly cried with delight. That drive was the happiest they had ever enjoyed.

But it was somewhat late in the afternoon when the birthday treat came to its culmination. They were having tea on the lawn, a most fascinating tea, with a frosted cake in the middle of the table, on which Pauline's name was inscribed in golden letters, and round which were lighted fourteen little wax candles, denoting that she had now come to that mature age. The candles were protected by tiny gla.s.s shades, so that the soft summer air could not blow them about, and all the girls thought they had never seen such a wonderful sight. Mr. Dale was abducted from his study--there was really no other word to describe the way in which he was carried off bodily--and requested to light the candles. He did so looking very confused, and as though he did not in the least comprehend what he was doing. Nevertheless he was there, and he was obliged to seat himself in the centre of the group; and then garlands and garlands of flowers suddenly made their appearance, and Pauline was conducted to her throne, and a crown of tiny roses was placed on her dark head, and wreaths of flowers were laid at her feet.

"Now you are queen, Pauline," said Miss Tredgold. "Your father and I and your sisters are bound to obey you from now until ten o'clock to-night.

This is your reign. It is short, but full of possibilities. What are we to do for you, fair queen? In what way do you wish to employ us?"

"May I wish for anything?" asked Pauline eagerly.

She had a flas.h.i.+ng thought as she uttered the words--a quick, terrible, agonized thought. Oh, if only she might claim her birthright! If only she might put into use her grand privilege and ask for the one thing she really wanted--a free, absolute pardon! If she might confess her sin without confessing it, and get her aunt and father to say that, whatever she had done in the past, she was forgiven now! Just for an instant her black eyes looked almost wild; then they fixed themselves on Miss Tredgold, who was looking at her attentively. She glanced beyond her, and met the great black eyes of Penelope. Penelope seemed to be reading Pauline. Pauline felt a sudden revulsion of feeling.

"That would never do," she said to herself.

"Why don't you speak?" said Verena in her gentle voice.

"I was considering what to ask," replied Pauline.

"It isn't to ask, it is to command," said Miss Tredgold. "What sort of a queen would you make, Pauline, if you really had a kingdom? This is your kingdom. It lasts for a few hours; still, for the present it is your own.

Your sway is absolute."

"Then let us have hide-and-seek in the garden," she said.

She laughed. The spell was broken. Penelope's eyes lost their watchful glance. The girls were all agreeable. Mr. Dale rose to his feet.

"I have had my tea," he said, "and the queen has received her crown. I am truly thankful that birthdays don't last longer than a day. I presume there is no reason why I may not return to my study."

"No, father, you mustn't stir," said Pauline. "You are my subject, and I command you to play hide-and-seek. You and Aunt Sophy must hide together.

Now let us begin."

The games that followed were provocative of mirth. Even Mr. Dale was heard to chuckle feebly. This was when Josephine put her hand into his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief. He made a scholarly remark the next moment to Miss Tredgold, who replied:

"For goodness' sake, Henry, come down from the clouds. This is your child's birthday. It is all very well to know all that musty stuff, but there are times when it is fifty times better to be full of nonsense."

Mr. Dale groaned, and then Lucy seemed to spring out of the ground. She laughed in his face, and cried out that she had found him.

So the merry game proceeded. It had nearly come to an end when Pauline and Penelope found themselves alone.

"I waited for you at twelve o'clock," said Penelope, "but you never comed. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to, Pen. I have changed my mind. Think no more about what I said."

"I can't never forget it," replied Pen.

But then she heard a whoop from a distant enemy, and darted to another part of the garden.

The game of hide-and-seek was followed by another, and then another and yet another, and the cries of mirth and laughter sounded all over the place.

Even Betty forgot the tragic end of the Duke of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, who was killed by a brigand in Italy while defending his fair d.u.c.h.ess.

Betty had been weeping scalding tears over the tragedy when the sound of mirth called her forth. John accompanied her, and the other servants looked on in the distance.

"There never was such a rowdy family," said Betty.

"Rowdy do you call it?" cried John.

"Yes; and the very rowdiest is Miss Tredgold. For mercy's sake look at the way she runs! She's as fleet as a hare."

"She have very neat ankles," said John. "I call her a neat figure of a woman."

"Don't tell me," said Betty. "Much you know what a neat figure of a woman means. Miss Tredgold's a haristocrat. Now, if you'll believe me, she's the moral image of the d.u.c.h.ess."

"What d.u.c.h.ess?" cried John.

"The d.u.c.h.ess of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton--her that's just made a widow, and is crying her eyes out over the murdered remains of the poor dook."

"Sometimes," said John, "I think that you have gone off your head, Betty.

But I can't stay to listen to any more of these nonsenses. I have my garden to look after."

The final delight before the curtain of that birthday was dropped down for ever found its vent in music--music in which Mr. Dale took a part, and in which Miss Tredgold excelled herself. It was the music that awoke Pauline's slumbering conscience. It was during that music that her heart truly began to understand itself.

"I am wicked--a coward and a liar," she thought. "But, all the same, I am going on, for I must. Aunt Sophy loves me, and I love her, and I wouldn't have her love turned to hate for all the world. She must never find out what I did in the past, and the only way to keep it from her is to go on as I am going on."

CHAPTER XVII.

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.