CHAPTER VI
Gwendolyn was lying on her back in the middle of the nursery floor. Theskein of her flaxen hair streamed about her shoulders in tangles. Herhead being unpillowed, her face was pink--and pink, too, with wrath. Herblue-and-white frock was crumpled. She was kicking the rug with bothheels.
It was noon. And Miss Royle was having her dinner. Her face, usually sopale, was dark with anger--held well in check. Her expression was thatof one who had recently suffered a scare, and her faded eyes shiftedhere and there uneasily. Thomas, too, looked apprehensive as he movedbetween table and tray. Jane was just gone, showing, as shedisappeared, lips nervously pursed, and a red, roving glance thatbetokened worry.
Gwendolyn, watching out from under the arm that rested across herforehead, realized how her last night's breach of authority hadimpressed each one of them. And secretly rejoicing at her triumph, shekept up a brisk tattoo.
Miss Royle ignored her. "I'll take a little more chocolate, Thomas," shesaid, with a fair semblance of calm. But cup and saucer rattled in herhand.
Thomas, too, feigned indifference to the rat! tat! tat! of heels. Hebent above the table attentively. And to Gwendolyn was wafted down asweet aroma.
"Thank you," said Miss Royle. "And cake, _too?_ Splendid! How did youmanage it?" A knife-edge cut against china. She helped herselfgenerously.
Gwendolyn fell silent to listen.
"Well, I haven't Mr. Potter to thank," said Thomas, warmly; "only my ownforethoughtedness, as you might say. The first time I ever set eyes onit I seen it was the kind that'd keep, so--"
From under the shielding arm Gwendolyn blinked with indignation. _Herbirthday cake!_
"Say, Miss Royle," chuckled Thomas, replenishing the chocolate cup,"that was a' _awful_ whack you give Miss J--last night."
At once Gwendolyn forgot the wrong put upon her in the matter of thecake--in astonishment at this new turn of affairs. Evidently Miss Royleand Thomas were leagued against Jane!
The governess nodded importantly, "She _was_ only a cook before she camehere," she declared contemptuously. "Down at the Employment Agency,where Madam got her, they said so. The common, two-faced thing!" Thislast was said with much vindictiveness. Following it, she profferedThomas the cake-plate.
"Thanks," said he; "I don't mind if I do have a slice."
Now, of a sudden, wrath and resentment possessed Gwendolyn, sweeping herlike a wave--at seeing her cake portioned out; at having her kickingignored; at hearing these two openly abuse Jane.
"I want some strawberries," she stormed, pounding the rug full force."And an egg. I _won't_ eat dry bread!" Bang! Bang! Bang!
Miss Royle half-turned. "Did you ask to go down to the library?" sheinquired. She seemed totally undisturbed; yet her eyes glittered.
"Did she ask?" snorted Thomas. "She's gettin' very forward, she is."
"No, you knew better," went on Miss Royle. "You _knew_ I wouldn't permityou to bother your father when he didn't want you--"
"He _did_ want me!"--choking with a sob.
"Think," resumed the governess, inflecting her tones eloquently, "of thefortune he spends on your dresses, and your pony, and your beautifulcar! And he hires all of us"--she swept a gesture--"to wait on you, younaughty girl, and try to make a little lady out of you--"
"I hate ladies!" cried Gwendolyn, rapping her heels by way of emphasis.
"Tale-bearing is _vulgar_," asserted Miss Royle.
"Next year I'm going to _day_-school like Johnnie _Blake!_"
"Oh, hush your nonsense!" commanded Thomas, irritably.
Miss Royle glanced up at him. "That will do," she snapped.
He bridled up. "What the little imp needs is a good paddlin'," hedeclared.
"Well, _you_ have nothing to do with the disciplining of the child. Thatis _my_ business."
"It's what she needs, all the same. The very idear of her bawlin' allthe mornin' at the top of her lungs--"
"I did _not_ at the top of my lungs," contradicted Gwendolyn. "I criedwith my mouth."
"--So's the whole house can hear," continued Thomas; "and beatin' aboutthe floor. It's clear shameful, _I_ say, and enough to give a sensitiveperson the nerves. As I remarked to Jane only---"
"You remark too many things to Jane," interposed the governess, curtly.
Now he sobered. "I _hope_ you ain't displeased with me," he ventured.
"_Ain't_ displeased?" repeated Miss Royle, more than ever fretful. "Oh,Thomas, _do_ stop murdering the King's English!"
At that Gwendolyn sat up, shook back her hair, and raised a startledface to the row of toys in the glass-fronted case. Murdering the King'sEnglish! Had he _dared_ to harm her soldier with the scarlet coat?
"I was urgin' your betterin', too, Miss Royle," reminded Thomas, gently."I says to Jane, I says--"
The soldier was in his place, safe. Relieved, Gwendolyn straightened outonce more on her back.
"--'The whole lot of us ought to be paid higher wages than we'regettin' for it's a real trial to have to be under the same roof withsuch a provokin'--'"
Miss Royle interrupted by vigorously bobbing her head. "Oh, that I haveto make my living in this way!" she exclaimed, voice deep withmournfulness. "I'd rather wash dishes! I'd rather scrub floors! I'drather _star-r-ve!_"
Something in the vehemence, or in the cadence, of Miss Royle'sdeclaration again gave Gwendolyn that sense of triumph. With a suddencurling up of her small nose, she giggled.
Miss Royle whirled with a rustle of silk skirts. "Gwendolyn," she saidthreateningly, "if you're going to act like that, I shall know there'ssomething the matter with you, and I shall certainly call a doctor."
Gwendolyn lay very still. As Thomas glanced down at her, smirkingexultantly, her smile went, and the pink of wrath once more surged intoher face.
"And the doctor'll give nasty medicine," declared Thomas, "or maybehe'll cut out your appendix!"
"Potter won't let him."
"Potter! Huh!--He'll cut out your appendix, and charge your papa athousand dollars. Oh, you bet, them that's naughty always pays thepiper."
Gwendolyn got to her feet. "I _won't_ pay the piper," she retorted. "I'mgoing to give all my money to the hand-organ man--_all_ of it. I like_him_," tauntingly. "But I hate--you."
"_We_ hate a sneak," observed Miss Royle, blandly.
The little figure went rigid. "And I hate _you_," she cried shrilly.Then buried her face in her hands.
"_Gwen-do-lyn'!_" It was a solemn and horrified warning.
Gwendolyn turned and walked slowly toward the window-seat. Her breastwas heaving.
"Come back and sit in this chair," bade the governess.
Gwendolyn paused, but did not turn.
"Shall I fetch you?"
"Can't I even look out of the window?" burst forth Gwendolyn. "Oh,you--you--you--" (she yearned to say Snake-in-the--grass!--yet darednot) "you mean! _mean!_" Her voice rose to a scream.
Miss Royle stood up. "I see that you want to go to bed," she declared.
The torrent of Gwendolyn's anger and resentment surged and broke bounds.She pivoted, arms tossing, face aflame. There were those wicked wordsacross the river that each night burned themselves upon the dark. Shehad never pronounced them aloud before; but--
"Starch!" she shrilled, stamping a foot, "Villa sites! Borax! _Shirts!_"
Miss Royle gave Thomas a worried stare. He, in turn, fixed her with alook of alarm. So much Gwendolyn saw before she flung herself downagain, sobbing aloud, but tearlessly, her cheek upon the rug.
She heard Miss Royle rustle toward the school-room; heard Thomas closethe door leading into the hall. There were times--the nursery had seen afew--when the trio found it well to let her severely alone.
Now only a hoarse lamenting broke the quiet.
It was an hour later when some one tapped on the school-room door--MissFrench, doubtless, since it was her allotted time. The lamentationsswelled then--and grew fainter only when the last foot-fall died away onthe stairs. Then Gwendolyn slept.
&nb
sp; Awakening, she lay and watched out through the upper panes of the frontwindow. Across the square of serene blue framed by curtains and casing,small clouds were drifting--clouds dazzlingly white. She pretended theclouds were fat, snowy sheep that were passing one by one.
Thus had snowy flocks crossed above the trout-stream. Oh? where was thatstream? the glade through which it flowed? the shingled cottage amongthe trees?
With all her heart Gwendolyn wished she were a butterfly.
Suddenly she sat up. She had found her way alone to the library. Why notput on hat and coat _and go to Johnnie Blake's?_
She was at the door of the wardrobe before she remembered the kidnapers,and realized that she dared not walk out alone. But Potter liked thecountry. Besides, he knew the way. She decided to ask him to go withher--old and stooped though he was. Perhaps she would also take thepretty nurse-maid at the corner. And those who were left behind--MissRoyle and Thomas and Jane--would all be sorry when she was gone.
But let them fret! Let them weep, and wish her back! She--
That moment she caught sight of the photographs on the writing-desk. Shestood still to look at them. As she looked, both pictured facesgradually dimmed. For tears had come at last--at the thought of leavingfather and mother--quiet tears that flowed in erratic little S's betweengray eyes and trembling mouth.
How could she forsake _them?_
"Gwendolyn," she half-whispered, "s'pose we just pu-play the JohnnieBlake Pretend ... Oh, very well,"--this last with all of Miss Royle'sprecise intonation.
The heavy brocade hangings were the forest trees. The piano was themountain, richly inlaid. The table was the cottage, and she rolled itnearer the dull rose timber at the side window. The rug was the grassy,flowery glade; its border, the stream that threaded the glade. Beyondthe stream twisted an unpaved and carefully polished road.
The first part of this particular Pretend was the drive to thevillage--carved and enameled, and paneled with woven cane. A hassock didduty for a runabout that had no top to shut out the sun-light, nowindows to bar the fragrant air. In front of the hassock, a pillow didduty as a stout dappled pony.
Her father drove. And she sat beside him, holding on to the iron bar ofthe runabout seat with one hand, to a corner of his coat with the other;for not only were the turns sharp but the country road was uneven. Thesun was just rising above the forest, and it warmed her little back. Thefresh breeze caressed her cheeks into crimson, and swirled her hairabout the down-sloping rim of her wreath-encircled hat. That breezebrought with it the perfume of opening flowers, the fragrance exhaled bythe trees along the way, the essence of the damp ground stirred by hoofand wheel. Gwendolyn breathed through nostrils swelled to their widest.
Following the drive to the village came the trip up the stream totrout-pools. Gwendolyn's father led the way with basket and reel. Shetrotted at his heels. And beside Gwendolyn trotted Johnnie Blake.
The piano-seat was Johnnie. His eyes were blue, and full of laughter.His small nose was as freckled as Jane's. His brown hair disposed itselfin several rough heaps, as if it had been winnowed by a tiny whirlwind.
"Good-morning," said Gwendolyn, curtseying.
"Hello!" returned Johnnie--while Gwendolyn smiled at herself in thepier-glass. Johnnie carried a long willow fishing-pole cut from thestream-side. Reel he had none, nor basket; and he did not own a beltedouting-suit of hunter's-green, and high buckled boots. He wore a plaidgingham waist, starched so stiff that its round collar stood up andtickled his ears. His hat was of straw, and somewhat ragged. His brownjeans overalls, riveted and suspendered, reached to bare ankles fully asbrown. The overalls were provided with three pockets. Bulging one washis round tin drinking-cup which was full of worms.
"Are there p'liceman in these woods?" inquired Gwendolyn.
"Nope," said Johnnie.
"Are there bears?"
"Nope."
"Are there doctors?"
"Nope. But there's snakes--some."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of snakes. I've got one at home. It's long andblack, and it's got a wooden tongue."
"'Fraid to go barefoot?"
"Oh, I wish I could!"
Here she glanced over a shoulder toward the school-room; then toward thehall. Did she dare?
"Well, you're little yet," explained Johnnie. "But just you wait tillyou grow up."
"Are--are _you_ grown-up?"--a trifle doubtfully.
"Of _course_, I'm grown up! Why, I'm _seven_." Whereat she strode up anddown, hands on hips, in feeble imitation of Johnnie.
But here the inclination for further make-believe died utterly--at apoint where, usually, Johnnie threw back his head with a triumphantlaugh, gave a squirrel-like leap into the air (from the top of thenursery table), caught the lower branch of a tall, slim tree (thechandelier), and swung himself to and fro with joyous abandon. ForGwendolyn suddenly remembered the cruel truth borne out by the ink-lineon the pier-glass. And instead of climbing upon the table, she went tostand in front of her writing-desk.
"I was seven my last birthday," she murmured, looking up at therose-embossed calendar.
Seven, and grown-up--and yet everything was just the same!
She went to the front window and knelt on the cushioned seat. Across theriver red smoke was pouring up from those chimneys on the water's edgethat were assuredly a mile high. Red smoke meant that evening wasapproaching. Jane would enter soon. With two in the nursery, theadvantage was for her who did not have to make the overtures of peace.She turned her back to the room.
Jane came. She drew the heavy curtains at the side window and busiedherself in the vicinity of the bed, moving about quietly, saying not aword. Presently she went out.
Gwendolyn faced round. The bed was arranged for the night. At its head,on the small table, was a glass of milk, a sandwich, a cup of broth, aplate of cooked fruit.
The western sky faded--to gray, to deep blue, to jade. The river flowedjade beneath. Along it the lights sprang up. Then came the stars.
Gwendolyn worked at the buttons of her slippers. The tears were fallingagain; but not tears of anger or resentment--only of loneliness, ofyearning.
The little white-and-blue frock fastened down the front. She undid it,weeping softly the while, found her night-dress, put it on and climbedinto bed.
The food was close at hand. She did not touch it. She was not hungry,only worn with her day-long combat. She lay back among the pillows. Andas she looked up at the stars, each sent out gay little flashes of lightto every side.
"Oh, moth-er!" she mourned. "Everybody hates me! Everybody hates me!"
Then came a comforting thought: She would play the Dearest Pretend!
It was easy to make believe that a girlish figure was seated in the darkbeside the bed; that a tender face was bending down, a gentle handtouching the troubled forehead, stroking the tangled hair.
"Oh, I want you all the time, moth-er!... And I want _you_, my preciousbaby.... How much do you love me, moth-er?... Love you?--oh, big as thesky!... Dear moth-er, may I eat at the grown-up table?... All the time,sweetheart.... Goody! And we'll just let Miss Royle eat with Janeand--"
She caught a stealthy _rustle! rustle! rustle!_ from the direction ofthe hall. She spoke more low then, but continued to chatter, herpretend-conversation, loving, confidential, and consoling.
Finally, "Moth-er," she plead, "will you please sing?"
She sang. Her voice was husky from crying. More than once it quaveredand broke. But the song was one she had heard in the long, rafteredliving-room at Johnnie Blake's. And it soothed.
"Oh, it is not while beauty and youth are thine o-o-own, And thy cheek is unstained by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul can be kno-o-own--"
It grew faint. It ended--in a long sigh. Then one small hand in thegentle make-believe grasp of another, she slept.