Odd Part 17

'That child is an original character,' she observed. 'Do you know who they are, Nesta?'

'Yes, Mr. Crump was telling me the other day; their father is the Member for Stonycroft, and their mother that Mrs. Stuart who is so busy in philanthropical objects in town. She was one of the Miss Champneys, the clever Miss Champneys, as we used to call them. I think the children must inherit the talents of their parents, for though they are regular little pickles for mischief, they are all original in their way. Betty thinks the most, I should say, the others seem to live in dreamland half their time. I came across the other girl and boy in an old willow tree the other day. I spoke to them, but was hushed up at once by the boy, who put his fair curly head out of the branches, and said, "You're not to speak to us just now; we're hiding from the Queen of the Brook! she comes das.h.i.+ng down in foam, she's so angry with us; and if she splashes us we shall be turned into black dogs, and have to go on all fours till dinner time!" I laughed and left them. I don't altogether envy their nurse!'

'Betty is not enough of a child,' Mrs. Fairfax said; 'some of her sayings are quite uncanny.'

'Do you think so? She has plenty of life and spirits. But she is a child of intense feeling. I am afraid she will suffer for it as she grows older. Yesterday I came upon her outside the churchyard crying, as if her heart would break, over a dead frog. I tried to comfort her.

"Oh," she sobbed; "I'm so afraid Prince has killed it. I didn't see him, but he may have; and he doesn't look a bit sorry. What shall I do if he grows up a murderer!"'

Mrs. Fairfax would have thought Betty a stranger child still, if she could have seen her that evening tossing in her little bed.

Molly was fast asleep; nurse had left the room, and all was quiet; but Betty was going over in her busy little mind the events of the past day. At last she stretched out her hand to Prince in his basket.

'She said you had no soul, Prince; I wonder if you haven't! I wish you'd say prayers to G.o.d; I'm sure G.o.d will give you a soul, if you ought to have one! Prince, wake up!'

Prince rolled over, shook himself, and jumped up on the bed, wondering what was the reason of this summons.

Betty sat up with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. 'Come here. Prince!

Now beg! that's right. Now say a prayer; just a very little one. I pray for you, darling, every night; but you're big enough to pray yourself. G.o.d will know your language if you speak to Him, and you can just speak secret to Him--I do often. Now, Prince--no--don't lick my hand, and keep your tail still. I wish you'd shut your eyes. I'll put my hand over them--there! Now Prince, ask G.o.d to give you a soul, and forgive your sins, and take you to heaven when you die.'

Betty bent her head in silence; whilst for two minutes Prince kept perfectly still; then she took her little hands from his eyes, and he gave a quick short bark of delight, perhaps in antic.i.p.ation of a lump of sugar for this new trick taught him. If so, he was disappointed, he was only kissed and put back into his basket. And Betty laid her little head on the pillow, but only half satisfied. 'O G.o.d,' she murmured sleepily, 'if Prince hasn't prayed properly, please forgive him, and give him a soul and make him a good dog, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.'

CHAPTER XI

A Daring Feat

It was a hot afternoon in July. The children had tired themselves out with play, and were resting under some shady trees near the farm. By and bye Betty wandered off into a neighbouring cornfield, and resting her head against an old log of wood in the corner of it, went fast asleep, whilst Prince sat at her feet, keeping a faithful watch over his little mistress. Mr. Russell, sauntering through a footpath in the field, came up and looked at them; and his artist's eye was at once charmed with the picture they made. He stood, and taking out his sketch-book, drew a rapid outline of Betty's little figure as she lay there, one hand grasping some red poppies, and the other arm thrown behind her curly head. Prince was also sketched; and then Betty awoke.

She looked confused at first, then jumped to her feet.

'Don't be frightened,' said Mr. Russell gravely. 'Do you live near here?'

Betty pointed out the farm.

'And do you think you would be allowed to come to my house one day, for me to make a picture of you?'

Betty coloured with pleasure.

'I'll ask nurse. All by myself?'

'All by yourself--at least with your dog. Where is your nurse? Would she come out here to speak to me?'

Nurse was only in the next field, so was easily fetched, and though demurring somewhat at first, was soon rea.s.sured by Mr. Russell, who promised to keep her only about an hour.

'I will see she returns to you safely, my good woman; and when you find that she has come to no harm, perhaps you will allow her to come again.

I want to make a little sketch of her, for a subject I have in view.'

And it was settled that Betty should go to him the next day at two o'clock.

'I don't quite like it,' said nurse afterwards, when talking it over with Mrs. Giles; 'but he seemed rather a high-handed gentleman, as if he wouldn't take no. I don't know whether the mistress would like it, most children would be shy of it, but none of these seem to know what shyness is; and Miss Betty seems to make friends wherever she goes. I can't understand it; Miss Molly, to my eyes, is much the most taking!'

'Mr. Russell is our landlord,' responded Mrs. Giles; 'he's a proper sort o' gentleman, and he won't hurt the child by a-paintin' of her.

He lives all alone since his little girl died, and maybe she'll cheer him up; he's very downhearted, folks say.'

'Why should you go and not us?' said Molly, when Betty ran off to tell them all about it; 'it's too bad; you're getting all the nice things, and I'm the eldest.'

'I don't expect you'll like it,' said Douglas, rolling over on the gra.s.s and tickling Bobby's bare legs with a bunch of gra.s.s; 'I know the man, and he has an awful temper! Sam told me he thrashed a boy who was taking a bird's nest out of his orchard; and he has a large gla.s.s room with skeletons and bits of people's bodies lying all about. I think he likes to get children in there, and then he keeps them prisoners, and never lets them out again.'

Betty stood still, eyeing her brother doubtfully.

'I don't believe it.'

'You wait till he gets you there! He has dead men's legs and hands.

Sam says he's seen them through the window! He's a Bluebeard; he always keeps the room locked, and doesn't let any one in. And if he takes you in there to-morrow afternoon, you'll never come out again!'

'And then I shall have Prince, and take him back to London for my dog,'

put in Molly.

'Prince is coming with me,' Betty retorted; 'so if I never come back again, Prince won't! And I don't care if we don't come back. I'd rather live with Mr. Russell than with you when you are cross.'

'He'll fatten you up with porridge for a week; and then he'll cut you up into little bits, and Prince too.'

Betty laughed and danced away, Prince at her heels.

'You're jealous because I'm going to be put into a picture,' she called out. 'I'll tell you all about the dead men's legs when I come back.'

The next afternoon she was taken up to the Hall by nurse, who arrayed herself in her best clothes, and was delighted when she was taken to the housekeeper's room to be entertained. She would have liked to wait there the full hour, but Mr. Russell had promised to bring back Betty himself; so she had not that excuse.

And Douglas and Molly were consoling themselves at home, by building a hay castle in the meadow, and capturing Bobby and Billy at intervals, under the plea of painting their pictures; and then going through a process which was more entertaining to them than to their little victims--that of cutting off their arms and legs to hang on their walls.

It was nearly five o'clock when Betty returned, and her little tongue was busy all tea-time.

'Such a funny room! and Mr. Russell had changed his mind, and he isn't going to paint my picture; but he's going to make a dead figure of me and Prince instead; he's got some white wet stuff like putty, and he rolls up his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves like a workman! I had to lie down and pretend to be asleep, but I could keep my eyes open, and I did see some legs, but they're images--and there was a image without a head, a dead figure, you know. And there were beautiful curtains, and flowers, and rugs, and pictures half finished. It was rather an untidy room. I told Mr. Russell what you said, Douglas; and he laughed. He gave me some peaches, and then we had a nice grave talk coming home.'

This and more Betty revealed; and her visits to the Hall became very frequent as time wore on. If she enjoyed them, Mr. Russell did too, and yet she brought to him mingled feelings of pleasure and pain. He talked lightly to her, and put aside his stern moods whilst with her; but every now and then some childish gesture or tone would stab him with the memory of his little daughter, and his brows would contract and his voice falter at the remembrance.

One day he was called away from the studio, and for some time Betty was left alone.

When he returned, he found her lying flat on her chest, turning over the leaves of a book.

'What book have you got hold of?' he asked; 'something that seems to interest you.'

'It's Revelation,' said Betty, with a beaming face.

'The Bible? I did not remember I had one in the room; ah yes, I remember, it's here for its antique cover! Well, what do you make of Revelation?'

'Oh, I love it, don't you? I'm reading about the singing in heaven; and it says "ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands." What crowds there will be! Mr. Russell, supposing heaven gets too small for all the people, what will happen?'