The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2) Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  THE PIC-NIC.

  'There, on a slope of orchard, Francis laid A damask napkin, wrought with horse and hound; Brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of home, And, half-cut down, a pasty costly made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied; last, with these A flask of cider from his father's vats, Prime which I knew;--and so we sat and ate.' _Tennyson._

  No. 8, St. Oswald's Buildings was a roomy house, which owed itscheapness to its situation, this being neither in the genteel nor thebusy part of Bexley. It was tall and red, and possessed a good manyrooms, and it looked out into a narrow street, the opposite side ofwhich consisted of the long wall of a brewery, which was joined fartheron to that of the stable-yard of the Fortinbras Arms, the principalhotel, which had been much frequented in old posting days, andtherefore had offices on a large scale. Only their side, however, waspresented to St. Oswald's Buildings, the front, with its arched 'portecochere,' being in the High Street, as it was still called, though itwas a good deal outshone by the newer part of the town.

  The next-door neighbours of No. 8 were on the one hand a carpenter'syard, the view of which was charming to the children, and the noisesnot _too_ obnoxious to their parents; and on the other the Rectorygarden, which separated them from the churchyard, now of coursedisused. It had no entrance towards their lane; and to reach thechurch, it was necessary to turn the corner of the wall, and go inthrough the south porch, which opened close upon the High Street.

  In this old street lay the two buildings that chiefly concerned theyoung Underwoods, _i.e._ the two schools. That for boys was an oldfoundation, which had fallen into decay, and had been reformed andrevivified in nineteenth-century fashion, to suit the requirementsof the town. The place, though in the south of England, had becomenoted as a pottery, owing partly to the possession of large fieldsof a peculiar clay, which was so bad for vegetable growth, as toproclaim its destiny to become pots and pans, partly to its convenientneighbourhood to the rising seaport of Dearport, which was only an hourfrom it by railway. The old St. Oswald's school had been moulded underthe influence of new comers, who had upset the rules of the founder,and arranged the terms on the broadest principles of liberality,bringing, instead of the drowsy old clerical master, a very briskand lively young layman, who had a knack of conveying instruction ofmultifarious kinds such as had never occurred to his predecessor.

  Mr. Underwood had a certain liking for the man, and when tolerablywell, enjoyed the breaking a lance with him over his many crudeheterodoxies; but he did not love the school, and as long as he wasable had taught his boys himself, and likewise taken a few day-pupilsof the upper ranks, who were preparing for public schools. But when hisfailure of health rendered this impracticable, the positive evil ofidleness was, he felt, greater than any possible ones that might arisefrom either the teaching or the associations of the town school, and hetrusted to home influence to counteract any such dangers. Or perhapsmore truly he dreaded lest his own reluctance might partly come fromprejudice in favour of gentlemen and public schools; and he believedthat where a course seemed of absolute necessity, Providence becamea guard in its seeming perils. Indeed, that which he disapproved inMr. Ryder's school was more of omission than commission. It was thatsecularity was the system, rather than the substance of that secularity.

  So Felix and Edgar went to school, and were in due time followed byClement and Fulbert; and their bright wits, and the educated atmosphereof their home, made their career brilliant and successful. Mr. Ryderwas greatly pleased to have got the sons of a man whom he could not butadmire and respect, and was anxious that the boys should be the meansof conquering the antiquated prejudices in favour of exclusiveness atschool.

  Felix and Edgar were neck and neck, carrying off all the prizes ofthe highest form but one--Felix, those that depended on industry andaccuracy; Edgar, those that could be gained by readiness and dexterity.Both were to be promoted to the upper form; and Mr. Ryder called upontheir father in great enjoyment of their triumph, and likewise tocommunicate his confident certainty that they would do him and Bexleycredit by obtaining the most notable scholarships of the University.Mr. Underwood was not a little delighted, grateful for the cordialsympathy, and he fully agreed that his own lads had benefited by theclear vigorous teaching they had received; but though he smiled andallowed that they had taken no harm, he said good-humouredly that 'Ofcourse, he must consider _that_ as the proof of his own powers ofcounteraction.'

  'Exactly so,' said the schoolmaster. 'All we wish is, that each homeshould exercise its powers of counteraction. We do the teaching, youform the opinions.'

  'Oh! are we parents still to be allowed to form the opinions?'

  'If you _will_. Your house is your castle, and the dungeons there maybe what you will.'

  'Well, I cannot have a quarrel with you to-day, Ryder! As long as Ican show up my boys as tokens of God's blessing on their home, you arewelcome to them as instances of wits well sharpened by thorough goodinstruction.'

  Mrs. Underwood had likewise had a congratulatory visit that was verygratifying. The girls' school, a big old red house, standing back fromthe road at the quietest end of the town, was kept by two daughters ofa former clergyman, well educated and conscientious women, whom sheesteemed highly, and who gave a real good grounding to all who cameunder their hands, going on the opposite principle to Mr. Ryder's, andtrying to supply that which the homes lacked.

  And they did often succeed in supplying it, though their scholars camefrom a class where there was much to subdue; and just at present theirdifficulties had been much increased by their having been honouredby the education of Miss Price. Seven governesses in succession hadproved incapable of bearing with Lady Price; and the young lady hadin consequence been sent to Miss Pearson's, not without an endeavouron her mother's part to obtain an abatement in terms in honour of the_eclat_ of her rank.

  There her airs proved so infectious, that, as Miss Pearson said, theonly assistance she had in lessening their evil influence was theperfect lady-likeness of the Underwood twins, and the warm affectionthat Wilmet inspired. Alda headed a sort of counter party againstCaroline Price, which went on the principle of requiting scorn withscorn; but Wilmet's motherly nature made her the centre of attractionto all the weak and young, and her uprightness bore many besidesherself through the temptation to little arts. Both sisters had prizes,Alda's the first and best; and Miss Pearson further offered to letWilmet pay for her own studies and those of a sister, by becomingteacher to the youngest class, and supervisor during the mid-dayrecreation, herself and her sister dining at school.

  It was a handsome offer for such a young beginner, and the mother'seyes filled with tears of pleasure; and yet there was a but--

  'Not come home to dinner!' cried the children. 'Can't it be Aldainstead of Wilmet? We do always want Wilmet so, and Alda would do justas well at school.'

  Alda too was surprised; for was not she more regular and more forwardthan her twin sister, who was always the one to be kept at home whenany little emergency made Mamma want the aid of an elder daughter?And the mother would almost have asked that Alda might be the chosengoverness pupil, if Mr. Underwood had not said, 'No, my dear, MissPearson must have her own choice. It is a great kindness, and must beaccepted as such. I suppose Robina must be the new scholar. My littlepupil will not leave me.'

  Geraldine only heard of the alternative, to say, 'I'll be nobody'spupil but yours, Papa.'

  While Robina was proportionably exalted by her preferment, and took toteasing every one in the house to hear her spelling and her tables,that she might not fulfil Edgar's prediction by going down to thebottom of the baby-class; and up and down the stairs she ran, chantingin a sing-song measure--

  'Twenty pence are one and eightpence, Thirty pence are two and sixpence,'

  and so on, till her father said, smiling, 'Compens
ations again, Mother:the less you teach them the more they are willing to learn.' The mothershook her head, and said the theory was more comfortable than safe, andthat she did not find Lancelot an instance of it.

  But there was a general sense of having earned the holiday, when thegrocery van came to the door, on a morning of glorious sunshine. Edgarand Alda, true to their promise, had walked on so far ahead as toavoid being seen in the town in connection with it; and Fulbert hadstarted with them to exhale his impatience, but then had turned backhalf-way, that he might not lose the delicious spectacle of the packingof the vehicle. A grand pack it was: first, the precious hamper; then along sofa-cushion, laid along the bottom; then Geraldine lifted in bySibby and Felix, and folded up with shawls, and propped with cushionsby Mamma, whose imagination foresaw more shaking than did the moreyouthful anticipation; then Mamma herself, not with 'little baby,' butwith Angela on her lap, and Angela's feet in all manner of unexpectedplaces; then a roll of umbrellas and wraps; then Wilmet, Fulbert,Lance, and Robina--nowhere in particular; and lastly Papa, making roomfor Clement between himself and the good-humoured lad of a driver, whohad not long ago been a member of the choir; while Felix, whom nothingcould tire on that day, dived rapidly down a complication of alleys,declaring he should be up with the walkers long before they wereovertaken by the van.

  Next appeared Mr. Audley, with his pretty chestnut horse, offeringin the plenitude of his good-nature to give Lance a ride, whereuponvociferous '_me toos_' resounded from within the curtains; and thematter was compounded on ride and tie principles, in which theUnderwood juniors got all the ride, and Mr. Audley all the _tie_--ifthat consisted in walking and holding the bridle.

  By the time the very long and dull suburbs of Bexley were passed, withtheir interminable villas and rows of little ten-pound houses--thechildren's daily _country_ walk, poor things!--the two elder boys andtheir sister were overtaken, the latter now very glad to condescend tothe van.

  'Oh, how nice to get beyond our tiresome old tether!' she said,arranging herself a peep-hole between the curtains. 'I am so sick ofall those dusty black beeches, and formal evergreens. How can you stareat them so, Cherry?'

  But Geraldine was in a quiet trance of delight; she had never spoken aword since she had first found a chink in the awning, but had watchedwith avid eyes the moving panorama of houses, gardens, trees, flowers,carriages, horses, passengers, nursemaids, perambulators, and children.It was all a perfect feast to the long-imprisoned eyes, and the morecharming from the dreamy silence in which she gazed. When Felix came upto the slit through which the bright eyes gleamed, and asked whethershe were comfortable and liked it, her answer was a long-drawn gaspfrom the wells of infinite satisfaction, such as set him calculatinghow many drives in a Bath-chair the remnant of his birth-day gift wouldyet produce.

  But there were greater delights; corn-fields touched with amber, woodssloping up hills, deep lanes edged with luxuriant ferns, greenery thatdrove the young folk half mad with delight, and made them scream tobe let out and gather--gather to their hearts' content. Only Mammarecommended not tiring themselves, but trusting that Centry Park wouldafford even superior flowers to those they passed.

  They reached the lodge-gate at last. They were known, for the Castlehad been long untenanted, and they, like other inhabitants of Bexley,had from time to time enjoyed themselves in the Park; but to-day therewas a shadow of demur. The gentleman who was going to buy the place waslooking over it--but surely--

  Horror began to spread over the inmates of the van.

  'But did you come by appointment, sir?' added the gatekeeper's wife,coming out; 'the gentleman's name is Mr. Underwood.'

  Mr. Underwood was obliged to disclaim any appointment; but he lookedround at the children's blank faces, and saw lips quivering, and eyesgazing wistfully into the paradise of green shade, and added, 'If thegentleman has not actually bought it, he could not object. We do notwish to go near the house.'

  Maybe Mr. Audley, who was standing near the gate, added another moresubstantial argument, for 'Oh, certainly, sir,' at once followed; andthe van was allowed to turn down a gravelled road, which skirted anextensive plantation.

  Every one now left it, except Mrs. Underwood, Cherry, and Angela; andthe children began to rush and roll in wild delight on the grassyslope, and to fill their hands with the heather and ling, shriekingwith delight. Wilmet had enough to do to watch over Angela in hertoddling, tumbling felicity; while Felix, weighted with Robina on hisback, Edgar, Fulbert, Clement, and Lance, ran in and out among theturf; and Alda, demurely walking by her papa, opined that it was 'veryodd that the gentleman's name should be Underwood.'

  'Less odd than if it was Upperwood,' said her father, as if to throwaside the subject; and then, after a few moments' thought, and an oddlittle smile, as if at some thought within himself, he began to handin flowers to Cherry, and to play with little Angela. Mr. Audley hadgone to put up his horse at the village inn, and did not join the partyagain till they had reached what the children called Pic-nic Hollow--aspot where a bank suddenly rose above a bright dimpling stream with abed of rock, the wood opening an exquisite vista under its beech treesbeyond, and a keeper's lodge standing conveniently for the boiling ofkettles.

  Here the van was disposed of, the horses taken out and provided withfood, Cherry carried to a mossy throne under a glorious beech-tree,and the hampers unpacked by Mamma and Wilmet, among much capering anddancing of the rest of the family, and numerous rejected volunteers ofassistance. Felix and Alda were allowed to spread the table-cloth andplace the dishes, but Edgar was only entreated to keep the rest out ofthe way.

  Meanwhile, Geraldine sat under the silvery bole of her beech-tree,looking up through its delicate light green leaves to the blue sky,not even wanting to speak, lest anything should break that perfectionof enjoyment. Her father watched the little pale absorbed countenance,and as Mr. Audley came up, touched him to direct his attention to thechild's expression; but the outcry of welcome with which the restgreeted the new-comer was too much for even Cherry's trance, andshe was a merry child at once, hungry with unwonted appetite, andso relishing her share of the magnificent standing-pie, that Mrs.Underwood reproved herself for thinking what the poor child would be ifshe had such fare and such air daily, instead of ill-dressed mutton inthe oppressive smoke-laden atmosphere.

  And meantime, Lance was crowing like a cock, and the other boys werelaughing at Robina for her utter ignorance of the white-fleshed bipedshe was eating.

  'No, Clem, chickens have got feathers and wings, and their long neckshang down! This can't be one of them.'

  'Perhaps it is a robin-redbreast,' said Felix.

  'No, nobody kills robin-redbreasts, because they covered the poorlittle children with leaves.'

  'Will you cover me with leaves, if I am lost, Bobbie?' said Mr. Audley;but as soon as she found that his attention was gained, she returned tothe charge.

  'Please, did it come from your own home? and what is it, really?'

  'Why, Bobbie, I am hardly prepared to say whether it is a Hamburg ora Houdan, or a more unambitious Dorking. Cannot you eat in comfortwithout being certified?'

  'The species will be enough for her without the varieties,' said herfather. 'You have given us a new experience, you see, Audley, and wemay make a curious study of contrasts--not of Audley and myself, Motherdear, but of the two Underwoods who seem to be in this place togetherto-day.'

  'Who is it?' was of course the cry; and the inquiry was in Mrs.Underwood's eyes, though it did not pass her quiet lips. It was to herthat he answered, 'Yes, my dear--Tom; I have little doubt that it ishe. He was a very rich man when last I heard of him.'

  'Is that the man at Vale Leston?' whispered Alda to Felix. 'Oh, I hopehe is not coming here to insult us.'

  'Bosh!' said Felix; 'that man's name is Fulbert. Listen, if you want tohear.'

  'Twenty years ago,' continued Mr. Underwood, 'I thought myself aprodigiously fine fellow--with my arms full of prizes at Harrow,and my Trinity scholarship--and cou
ld just, in the plenitude of mypresumption, extend a little conceited patronage to that unlucky dunce,Tom Underwood, the lag of every form, and thankful for a high stool atold Kedge's. And now my children view a cold fowl as an unprecedentedmonster, while his might, I imagine, revel in '_pates de foie gras_.'

  'O Papa, but we like you so much better as you are!' cried Geraldine.

  'Eh, Cherry!' said Mr. Underwood, 'what say you? Shouldn't you like mebetter if I were buying that king beech-tree, and all the rest of it?'

  Cherry edged nearer, mastered his hand, and looked up in his face witha whole soul of negation in her wistful eyes. 'No, no, no--just as youare,' she whispered.

  Some mood of curiosity had come over him, and he turned aninterrogative look elsewhere.

  Alda spoke. 'Of course, it would be horrid not to be a clergyman; butit is a great shame.'

  'No,' said Wilmet, 'it can't be a shame for this cousin Tom tohave earned a fortune fairly--if he has; but'--and she pressed herhands tightly together as she looked at the thin worn faces of herparents--'one can't help wishing. Why do things always go hard andwrong?' and the tears dimmed her bright eyes.

  'Because--they _don't_,' said her father, with a half-seriousquaintness that vexed her, and forced her to turn away to let the teardrop.

  Clement said, in his calm voice, 'How can you be all so repining andfoolish!'

  And Mr. Underwood, almost in lazy mischief, pursued his experiment.'Eh, Felix, you are the party most concerned--what say you?'

  'Most concerned?' Felix looked up surprised, then recollected himself.'I don't care,' he said, with an appearance of gruff sullenness;but his father could not content himself without continuing in asemi-teasing tone, 'Don't care--eh? Why, this Centry Underwood oncebelonged to our family--that's the reason Tom is after it. If I hadnot scouted old Kedge, you would be prancing about here, a Harrovian,counting the partridges.'

  'Don't!' broke in Felix, with a growl.

  'Never fear, Fee,' cried Edgar, with his hand on his brother'sshoulder; 'if one man got on in life, another may. If one only wasgrown up, and had the start----' and his blue eyes sparkled.

  'I did not know Care's clutch had been so tight,' sighed Mr. Underwood,half to himself, half to his wife. 'It is not safe, my gentle Enid, totry such experiments. Eh!' rousing himself, 'what's that? Have the mobthere a right to any sentiments?'

  'Only,' cried Clement, shouting with laughter, 'Lance thought you werewanted to hold a high stool for Jack Ketch.'

  'For a green goose!' shouted Lance, indignantly.

  'Oh!' cried Robina, in the tone of one who had made a scientificdiscovery, 'did the goose have a high stool to lay the golden eggs?'

  'A most pertinent question, Bobbie, and much more reasonable thanmine,' said Mr. Underwood; while his colleague gravely answered, 'Yes,Bobbie, golden eggs are almost always laid by geese on high stools.'

  'I've got a picture of one! It has got a long neck and long legs,'quoth Bobbie.

  'It is only a flamingo, you little goose yourself,' cried Clement.

  'Here is the golden egg of the present,' said Mr. Underwood,replenishing the boy's plate with that delicious pie. 'What's thatbeverage, Wilmet? Any horrible brew of your own?'

  'No; it is out of Mr. Audley's hamper.'

  'The universal hamper. It is like the fairy gifts that producedunlimited eatables. I dreaded cowslip wine or periwinkle broth.'

  'No, no, Papa,' sighed Alda, 'we only once made cowslip tea at ValeLeston.'

  'Vale Leston is prohibited for the day.--Master Felix ChesterUnderwood, your good health; and the same to the new Underwood ofCentry Underwood.'

  'Shall we see him, Papa?' asked Alda.

  'If either party desires the gratification, no doubt it will comeabout.'

  'Shall not you call on him, Papa?'

  'Certainly not before he comes. Mother, some of the wonderfulbottle--ay, you covetous miser of a woman, or I'll make a libation ofit all. Audley, it must have wrung your father's butler's heart to havethrown away this port on a pic-nic. What did you tell him to deludehim?'

  'Only what was true--that I was to meet a gentleman who was a judge ofthe article.'

  'For shame!' he answered, laughing. 'What right had you to know that Iknew the taste of Cape from Roriz?'

  But his evident enjoyment of the 'good creature' was no small pleasureto the provider, though it was almost choking to meet the glisteningglance of Mrs. Underwood's grateful eyes, knowing, as she did, thatthere were three more such bottles in the straw at the bottom ofthe hamper. And when baby Angela had clasped her fat hands, and, as'youngest at the board,' 'inclined the head and pronounced the solemnword,' her father added, '_Gratias Deo_, and _Grazie a lei_. We mustrenew our childhood's training, dear Mary--make our bow and curtesy,and say "Thank you for our good dinner."'

  'Thank Felix for our pleasant day,' said Mr. Audley. 'Come, boys, havea swing! there's a branch too good not to be used; and Ful has alreadyhung himself up like a two-toed sloth.'

  Then began the real festivity--the swinging, the flower and fernhunting, the drawing, the racing and shouting, the merry calls andexchange of gay foolish talk and raillery.

  Mr. Underwood lay back on a slope of moss, with a plaid beneath him,and a cushion under his head, and said that the Elysian fields musthave been a prevision of this beech-wood. Mrs. Underwood, with Felixand Wilmet, tied up the plates, knives, and forks; and then themother, taking Angela with her, went to negotiate kettle-boiling atthe cottage. Geraldine would fain have sketched, but the glory and thebeauty, and the very lassitude of delight and novelty, made her eyesswim with a delicious mist; and Edgar, who had begun when she did,threw down his pencil as soon as he saw Felix at liberty, and the twoboys rushed away into the wood for a good tearing scramble and climb,like creatures intoxicated with the freedom of the greenwood.

  After a time they came back, dropping armfuls of loose-strife,meadow-sweet, blue vetch, and honey-suckle over delighted Cherry;and falling down by her side, coats off, all gasp and laughter, andbreathless narrative of exploits and adventures, which somehow diedaway into the sleepiness due to their previous five-mile walk. Felixwent quite off, lying flat on his back, with his head on Cherry'slittle spreading lilac cotton frock, and his mouth wide open, muchtempting Edgar to pop in a pebble; and this being prevented by tenderCherry in vehement dumb show, Edgar consoled himself by a decidedlyuncomplimentary caricature of him as Giant Blunderbore (a name derivedfrom Fee, Fa, Fum) gaping for hasty pudding.

  'That's a horrid shame!' remonstrated Geraldine. 'Dear old Fee, whenthe whole treat is owing to him!'

  'It is a tidy little lark for a Blunderbore to have thought of,' saidEdgar. ''Tis a good sort of giant after all, poor fellow!'

  'Poor!' said Cherry indignantly. 'Oh, you mean what Papa said--that heis the greatest loser of us all. I wonder what made him talk in thatway? He never did before.'

  'I am sorry for _him_,' said Edgar, indicating his brother. 'He isfamous stuff for a landlord and member of parliament--plenty of witsand brains--only he wants to be put on a shelf to be got at. Whereverhe is, he'll go on there! Now, a start is all I want! Give me my onestep--and then--O Gerald, some day I'll lift you all up!'

  'What's that?' said Felix, waking as the enthusiastic voice was raised.'Edgar lifting us all! What a bounce we should all come down with!'

  'We were talking of what Papa said at dinner,' explained Cherry. 'Whatdid you think about it, Fee?'

  'I didn't think at all, I wished he hadn't,' said Felix, stretchinghimself.

  'Why not?' said Cherry, a little ruffled at even Felix wishing Papa hadnot.

  'There's no use having things put into one's head.'

  'O Felix, you don't want to change?' cried Cherry.

  'No,' he said; but it was a 'no' in a tone she did not understand. Thechange he saw that hardship was working was that from which he recoiled.

  'That's like you, Blunderbore,' said Edgar. 'Now, the very reason I amglad not to be born a great swell, but only a poor gentlem
an, is thatso much is open to one; and if one does anything great, it is all thegreater and more credit.'

  'Yes,' said Felix, sitting up; 'when you have once got a scholarship,there will be the whole world before you.'

  'Papa got a scholarship,' said Cherry.

  'Oh yes!' said Edgar; 'but every one knows what happens to a man thattakes Orders and marries young; and he had the most extraordinaryill-luck besides! Now, as Ryder says, any man with brains can shine.And I am only doubting whether to take to scholarship or art! I loveart more than anything, and it is the speediest.'

  The conversation was broken, for just then Wilmet was seen peeringabout with an anxious, careful eye.

  'What is it, my deputy Partlet?' asked her father. 'Which of your broodare you looking for?'

  'I can't see Robina,' said Wilmet anxiously. 'She was swinging justnow, but neither she nor Lance is with the big boys.'

  'Flown up higher,' said Mr. Underwood, pretending to spy among thebranches. 'Flapsy, come down! Bobbie, where are you?'

  A voice answered him; and in another moment Robina and Lance stood inthe glade, and with them a girl newly come to her teens, whom theypulled forward, crying, 'She says she's our cousin!'

  'Indeed,' said Mr. Underwood: 'I am sure you are very much obliged toher.'

  'I am Mary Alda Underwood,' said the girl abruptly; 'and I'm sure theremust be a very naughty boy here. He had put these poor little things upa tree, and run away.'

  'No, no! He only put us up because Tina bothered about it!' screamedLance and Robina at once; 'he wasn't naughty. We were being monkeys.'

  'Black spider-monkeys,' added Robina.

  'And I swung about like a real one, Father,' said Lance, 'and wastrying to get Bobbie down, only she grew afraid.'

  'It was ten feet from the ground,' said Mary Alda, impressively, 'andthey had lost their way; but they told me who they were. I'm come downwith my father to see the place.'

  Mr. Underwood heartily shook hands with her, thanked her, and askedwhere her father was.

  'Gone out with the man to see a farm two miles off,' she said. 'He toldme I might stay in the house, or roam where I liked, and I saw you alllooking so happy; I've been watching you this long time.'

  'Indeed!' said Mr. Underwood, 'till you captured two of us! Well, weare obliged for the introduction, especially if you are to be ourneighbour.'

  'And my cousins will be friends with me,' continued Mary Alda. 'I'm allalone, you know.'

  'No, I did not know,' said Mr. Underwood. 'Are you the only child?'

  'Yes,' she said, looking wistfully at the groups around her; 'and it isvery horrid--oh dear! who is that pretty one? No, there's another ofthem!'

  Mr. Underwood laughed heartily. 'I suppose you mean Wilmet andAlda,' he said. 'Come, girls, and see your new cousin--Mary, did yousay?--Your name backward, Alda Mary.'

  'Mary,' she repeated. 'Papa calls me Mary, but Mamma wants it to beMarilda all in one word, because she says it is more distinguished; butI like a sensible name like other people.'

  Mr. Underwood was much amused. He felt he had found a character inhis newly-discovered cousin. She was Underwood all over in his eyes,used to the characteristic family features, although entirely devoidof that delicacy and refinement of form and complexion that was soremarkable in himself and in most of his children, who were all, exceptpoor little Cherry, a good deal alike, and most of them handsome.There was a sort of clumsiness in the shape of every outline, and acoarseness in the colouring, that made her like a bad drawing of one ofhis own girls; the eyes were larger, the red of the cheeks was redder,the lips were thicker, the teeth were irregular; the figure, insteadof being what the French call _elance_, was short, high-shouldered,and thick-set, and the head looked too large. She was over-dressed,too, with a smart hat and spangled feather, a womanly silk mantle andmuch-trimmed skirt, from which a heavy quilling had detached itself,and was trailing on the ground; her hands were ungloved, and showedred stumpy fingers, but her face had a bright open honest heartinessof expression, and a sort of resolute straightforwardness, thatattracted and pleased him; and, moreover, there was something in thefamily likeness, grotesque as it was, that could not but arouse afellow-feeling in his warm and open heart, which neither neglect normisfortune had ever chilled.

  'I think I should have known you,' he said, smiling. 'Here! let meintroduce you; here is our little lame white-hearted Cherry, and thetwins, as like as two peas. Wilmet, Alda--here!'

  'Shall I mend your frock?' was Wilmet's first greeting, as she put herhand in her pocket, and produced a little housewife.

  'Oh, thank you! You've got a needle and thread! What fun!'

  'The little ones are very apt to tear themselves, so I like to have itready.'

  'How delicious! And you mend for them? I wish I had any one to mendfor. Please show me, and let me do it. I tried to tear the nasty thingoff, but it would not come. I wish Mamma would let me wear sensibleprint like yours.'

  'Are you laughing at us?' said Wilmet rather bluntly.

  'No, indeed, not a bit,' said Marilda, or Mary Alda, eagerly. 'If youonly knew how tiresome it all is.'

  'What is?'

  'Why, being fine--having a governess, and talking French, and learningto dance, and coming down into the drawing-room. Then Grandmamma Kedgetells me how she used to run about in pattens, and feed the chickens,and scrub the floor, and I do so wish I was her. Can you scrub, and dothose nice things?'

  'Not a floor,' said Wilmet; 'and we live in the town.'

  'So have we done till now; but Papa is going to get this place, becausehe says it is family property; and I hope he will, for they willnever be able to screw me up here as they do at home. I say, which isFulbert? Won't your father punish him?'

  'Oh, no! You should not have told, Marilda. We never tell Papa oflittle tricks of the boys.'

  'But the little darling might have broken her neck.'

  'Oh! life in a large family is made up of _might haves_,' said Alda.

  'Why, I do declare there's a smaller still! What a little duck!' andshe pounced upon Angela.

  'We have a smaller than that,' said Wilmet--'Bernard, only we left himat home.'

  'Tell me all your names!' cried Marilda, delighted.

  She was perfectly happy, and chattered on in great delight in herdownright voice, as much at ease as if she had known them all her life.She shared their tea, and wanted Mr. Underwood to come and see herfather at the house; but as she could not promise his early return, andit was necessary to get the van under weigh before five, this could notbe.

  However, she would not leave them till they were all packed into thevan, and then only parted with repeated kisses and auguries of manyfuture meetings; so that the children looked down a vista of unlimitedenjoyment of Centry Park. Edgar, little gentleman as he was, saw her asfar back on the way as he could venture.