could have been very happy with Mrs Moore. Icould have been quite glad to be kissed by her and fondled by her, andto sit with her and encourage her to tell me stories about herself. AndI could have helped her with her needlework, and to keep the place tidy;and I should have enjoyed going with her to dine with Uncle Charles--whoever Uncle Charles might be. But there was Augusta, who did not carea bit about her mother, but wanted to be the daughter of my father. Ohyes, she was right; it was a strange, mixed world.
Well, I had the picture of mother, and I was going to look at itto-night. I lit three or four pieces of candle in honour of the greatoccasion, and then I drew my chair near the ugly little dressing-table,and I took the case and opened it. The picture within had beencarefully painted; it was a miniature, and a good one, I am sure, for itlooked quite alive. The eyes seemed to speak to me; the gentle mouthlooked as though it would open with words of love for me. It was thesort of mouth I should like to kiss. The face was very young. I hadimagined that all mothers must be older than that. It was a girlishface.
"It was because no one understood her that she died," I said to myself."Hannah said she was killed. Hannah spoke nonsense, of course."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Darling, I would have loved you," I murmured. "I'd have made so muchof you! You wouldn't have been a bit angry with Dumps for notresembling you. You'd have let me kiss you and kiss you, and yourhungry heart would not have pined and pined. Why didn't you live just alittle longer, darling--just until I grew up, and Alex grew up, andCharley grew up? Why didn't you, dearest, darling?"
My tears flowed. I gazed at the picture many, many times. Finally Iput it under my pillow.
In the middle of the night I woke, and my first thought was of thepicture and of the mother whom it represented. I clasped it tightly tomy breast and hugged it. Oh yes, the picture of my mother was betterthan nothing.
The next morning I got up with a sense of relief at knowing that fatherwould be away for at least a couple of days. It was a sadly wrongfeeling; but then I held mother's picture, and father had not understoodmother, and mother had died. Killed!--that was what Hannah had said--killed because she had not had enough sunshine.
"It was such a pity you didn't wait for me! I'd have made thingssunshiny for you," I thought.
I ran downstairs. The boys had had their breakfast and had already goneto school; but there was a little pot of coffee inside the fender, somebread-and-butter on the table, and a jug of cold milk and some sugar.It was one of Hannah's unpleasant ways that she never would make themilk hot for the children's coffee. She said cold milk was good enoughfor them.
But there was something else also on the table. There was a letter--aletter addressed to me. Now, when you hardly ever get letters, you areinterested. I had been terribly excited about Miss Donnithorne'sletter; and now here was another, but it was not written by MissDonnithorne; it was in father's handwriting. What could father have tosay to me? He had never written to me before in the whole course of mylife. I took the letter in my hand.
"I wonder if he is coming back to-day," I thought.
I felt rather sad at this thought, for there was quite a lot of moneyleft and we could have another good supper to-night.
Then I opened the letter and read its contents. They were quite brief.These were the words I read:
"My dear Rachel,--I have just done what I trust will contribute much toyour happiness. I have been united in marriage with Grace Donnithorne.I will bring your new mother back on Sunday evening. Try and have thehouse as nice as possible. My dear child, I know well what a greathappiness lies before you in the tender care and affection of thisadmirable woman.--Your affectionate Father."
I read the letter twice, but I could not comprehend it. I read it in amisty sort of way, and then I put it on the table and went to the windowand gazed out into the street. There was no fog this morning; there waseven a little attempt at watery sunshine. I remembered that if I wasnot quick I should be late for school; and then it did not seem tomatter whether I went to school or not. I took up the letter again.What was the matter with my eyes? I rubbed them. Was I going blind?No, no--of course not. I could see perfectly. I read the words, "Ihave been united in marriage with Grace Donnithorne."
United in marriage! That meant that father had married GraceDonnithorne, the lady I had stayed with on Saturday and Sunday andMonday and part of Tuesday. She was--oh no, what nonsense!--she wasnothing of the sort; I would not even allow my lips to frame the words.
I tore the letter up into little fragments and thrust the fragments intothe fire. I kept saying to myself, "Nonsense! it isn't true! Fatherwas in one of his dreams!"
I deliberately poured out my coffee and drank it; I cut a hunk of bread,buttered it, and ate it. All the time I was saying fiercely to myself,"It isn't true; it is a practical joke that father is playing on me."
I was so fiercely, terribly indignant with myself for even allowing thethought of that word, which from ordinary lips would be applied to MissDonnithorne, to come so near my own lips, that I had no time to rememberthat father was the very lost man to play a practical joke on any one.
Hannah came into the room. I looked at Hannah. Her face was quiteunsmiling, quite everyday. If it was true Hannah would know--certainlyHannah would know; she would be the last person to be kept in ignorance.
"Why, Miss Dumps--sakes alive, child! You'll be late for school. Hurryup. Whatever are you pondering about? What's the matter?"
"Nothing. What should be the matter? Hannah, I have got a littlemoney; father left it with me."
"That's something queer," said Hannah. "How much did he give you?"
"Five shillings."
"My word! Sakes alive! The man must have lost his senses!"
When Hannah said this I rushed up to her, and clasped both her hands,and said, "Oh Hannah, Hannah darling, say that again--say it again!"
"Whatever am I to say over again? I've no time to repeat my words."
"Oh Hannah, do say it once more! Father has lost--"
"What little sense he ever had," said Hannah. "Don't keep me, Dumps."
She had laid a hideous iron tray on the table, and with a noisy clattershe put the cups and saucers on it.
"When people have lost their senses they say and do all sorts of queerthings, don't they?" I asked.
"My word, child, they do!"
"And other people, when they know that they have lost their senses,don't believe them?"
"Believe 'em? Who'd ever believe what people who have gone crazy sayand do?"
I rushed up to Hannah and hugged and kissed her.
"I'll be in time for school," I said, "for I'll run all the way. Get mea little chop for dinner--please do, Hannah; and--and to-night we'llhave supper, and we'll ask Von Marlo, and you shall come and have supperwith us, dear, darling Hannah!"
Hannah grinned.
"You're wonderful coaxing in your ways just now, Dumps. I can't makeout what sort of maggot you've got in your head. But there! you shallhave your chop; it's as cheap as anything else."
I always brought my hat and jacket down with me when I came tobreakfast; now I put them on and went off to school. I really was veryridiculous; but I always was wanting in common-sense. I forced myselfto believe that father's letter was a sort of practical joke, and I wascomfortably conning over the fact that we would have another jollyevening to-night, and that he doubtless would have forgotten all abouthaving ever put pen to paper when he returned home, when I saw a numberof my schoolfellows waiting for me just round the corner which led intothe great school. Amongst them was Augusta Moore. But Augusta Moore,who might have been a sort of refuge from the ordinary girls, was nowflanked on the right hand by Rita Swan and on the left by Agnes Swan;and there were several other girls behind this trio. When they saw methey all shouted, "Here she is! Here she is!" and they made for me in abody.
I stood still when I saw them advancing. It wasn't that they cameslowly;
they came in a great rush as from a catapult. They drew up whenthey got within a few inches of me. Then Rita said, "We were making abet about you."
"A bet?" I said. "What do you mean?"
"Augusta said you would come; Agnes and I said you wouldn't."
"Why should I come?" I said.
"Well," exclaimed Rita, "I know most girls would take a holiday on theday after their father's wedding. Most girls would--but you!"
"What do you mean?" I said.
My face was as white as a sheet then, I knew, for I felt very cold, andmy eyes were smarting, and that dimness was coming over them again.
"Oh, there,