The Children of Wilton Chase

CHAPTER X.

THE REIGN OF CHAOS

A cold bath and a rapid toilet afterward effectually removed all traces of sleep from Mr. Wilton's eyes.

"I feel like a sort of knight putting on my armor," he said to himself. "I am going on a crusade for the rest of the day. A crusade against all my established customs, against all my dearly loved order, against my newspaper, my books, my quiet pleasant meals. Well, it is for the sake of the children; and their mother, bless her" – here he glanced at the picture of the girl over the mantelpiece – "would smile at me if she could. Oh, yes, I buckle on my armor cheerfully enough. Hey, for Chaos! Hey, for wild Mirth and childish Frivolity! Here I come, Eric and Maggie – poor patient little mice that you are! Here's father at last. Give me your hand, Mag: you may jump on my shoulder, if you like. Now for a race downstairs to the garden, and then you can tell me what you got me out of my bed in the middle of the night for."

Miss Wilton was quite right when she left the Chase the day before. She certainly would not have enjoyed being awakened from her early morning slumbers by the wild raid which now took place through the old house. There was a scamper, a rush, some shouts, not only from childish throats, but from a manly and decidedly bass voice. The poor respectable old house would have looked shocked if it could, but who cared what anything looked or felt when Chaos was abroad?

About three hours later a somewhat draggled-looking party might have been seen approaching the Chase. They were all dead tired, and all very untidy, not to say disreputable in appearance. The little girl's brown Holland frock was not only torn, but smeared with mud and some sort of green mossy stuff which produces a deep stain very difficult for laundresses to remove. The little boy was also in a sorry plight, for he had a scratch across his cheek, and his knickers were cut through at the knees; while the big boy, in other words, the man, looked the most untidy, the most fatigued, the most travel-stained of all.

Ermengarde, in her neat white cool frock, with a green sash tied round her slim waist, and her long fair hair streaming down her back, came out to meet this party. She was accompanied by Lucy, who was also neat and fresh and trim. The two had stepped out of the house to gather a few flowers to put on the breakfast-table, and now they assumed all the virtuous airs of those good moral people who do not get up to catch the early worm.

"What a figure you are, Maggie! and what a disgraceful noise you and Eric made this morning," she began, in her most grown-up and icy tones.

"Oh, please don't scold us, Ermengarde," said Mr. Wilton. "Look at our water-lilies, gaze well at them, and be merciful."

Yes, the water-lilies were superb – each jaded conqueror was laden with them – buds and blossom and leaf, all were there —such buds, such blossoms, heavy and fragrant with richness.

Ermie adored flowers. She uttered a little shriek of delight when her father held up a great mass of enormous waxen bells for her to bury her face in.

"Oh, delicious!" she exclaimed, "but how tired you all are!"

"Yes, yes, yes," exclaimed Victor No. 1, "tired and starving, absolutely starving. Get us some breakfast, good Ermie, and put the lilies in water as quickly as you can."

Miss Nelson presided at the breakfast-table, and as this meal was eaten in the comfortable old schoolroom, and as Miss Nelson looked just as usual, just as orderly, just as neat and prim as she did yesterday, and as she would again to-morrow, her presence had a certain calming effect upon the rioters. They ate their meal with some decorum, and not more than three children spoke at the same moment.

There was a grand consultation immediately after breakfast as to the proceedings of the day, and here it must be confessed Chaos once more mounted his throne, and held a most determined sway.

After ten minutes of babel, Marjorie suddenly squatted herself on the floor, and began to write furiously.

This was her programme: "Rush upstairs and dress as fast as possible – don't be long on account of keeping the carriages waiting. Put on our oldest, but we must be neat on account of father not liking dirty hands, and smuts on the top of the nose, and smears anywhere – we had better wear our best, perhaps – tumble into the carts and carriages and wagons, and drive to Bee's Head, that's ten miles away. Eric wants to go, the others don't; Lucy and I are for Salter's Point, on account of the shells, and that's in the other direction. I think it's quite eleven miles. Ermengarde votes for the Deep Woods, although I hate midges. Well, we'll all go somewhere, and we'll take every scrap of food that the house holds, even if there is to be a famine afterward; well, perhaps we oughtn't to take every scrap, for the servants at home will be hungry, and we'll want supper ourselves; we'll be starving for it, I expect. Eric says the ferrets must come with us, for they ought to have fun like the rest of us on father's birthday, particularly Shark, who has a great sense of humor. Ermie is nearly crying, for she's afraid Shark will bite her, and Basil is winking at her, and trying to comfort her, and he's frowning at Eric with the other side of his mouth, and Eric is putting out the tip of his tongue when he thinks no one is looking at him, which is vulgar, even though it is father's birthday. What was I saying? I do get cramped and mixed, huddled up on the floor, scribbling. We're to go for a long drive, to Bee's Head, or somewhere, and the horses and the carriages and the servants and the ferrets and the children and father and all the food are to come too, and we are to have a great ball – no, that's in the evening – and supper, and the fireworks will go off. Dear, dear, where are the fireworks to be squeezed? it's a most confusing sort of day."

"Maggie!" suddenly exclaimed Basil.

She raised a flushed face.

"What are you doing, huddled up on the floor like a ball; and what's that queer squiggly bit of paper in your hand? – it looks all over hieroglyphics. Here, I must see!" he snatched at the paper, held it aloft, and read Marjorie's programme aloud amid the roars of the company.

"I was only trying to make what we said less confusing," answered Marjorie. "I was getting it down as hard as I could, and I said I was mixed; anyone else would have been mixed too, I think."

"I should rather think they would," said Basil. "So that's the nonsense we have been talking all this time. Thank you, Maggie, for showing us ourselves. Now, sir," here Basil turned round and addressed his father. Mr. Wilton looked at him with the greatest admiration; he felt years younger than his son at the moment.

"Now, sir," proceeded Basil, "we cannot go to Bee's Head, and Salter's Point, and the Deep Woods all in the same morning, as the three places happen to be in totally different directions, and as each of them also happens to be from ten to twelve miles from here. We must make a choice, and we must abide by it. It's your birthday, father, and you ought to choose. Which shall it be?"

"Thank you, my boy, but I would not have the responsibility of a choice for the world – I don't feel equal to it. You young folks must make the selection among you."

"I'm for Bee's Head and the lighthouse!" screamed Eric; "there's a man at the lighthouse of the name of Bolster, and he promised to get me some crabs, and I know he'd like to have a good stare at Shark. I'm for Bee's Head and the lighthouse; that's what I'm for!"

"I think the Deep Woods would be best," said Ermengarde. "It's sure to be grilling in the sun to-day, and I expect there'll be a good deal of dust, and the dust and the sun together do make your face feel so horrid and smarty. Don't they, Basil?"

"I don't know," said Basil, whose eyes were trying to interpret whether his father had any unspoken choice which might guide his own.

"Whereas in the Deep Woods it will be deliciously cool and fresh," proceeded Ermengarde in her sedate tones.

"Think of the midges and the gnats!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Oh, I'd rather have the sun any day! Who cares whether we are burnt or not? Now at Salter's Point there are such lovely shells, real cowries, and those little pointers, and those sweet little yellow sea-snail shells."

"Yes – yes – yes – I want to go to Salter's Point!" exclaimed Lucy.

"Oh, the lighthouse is twice the fun," exclaimed Eric, "and I know Shark – "

"Once for all, father," exclaimed Ermengarde, "you are not going to allow that odious ferret to destroy the whole pleasure of our day? I do wish, father, you'd vote for the Deep Woods."

"Here comes Miss Nelson; she shall decide," answered Mr. Wilton. "No, Eric, my boy, Shark must stay at home. There! I have said it – no more words. Miss Nelson, please come and be our deliverer. These young people have divided ideas with regard to the locality for the great birthday picnic. Some vote for Bee's Head, some for Salter's Point, some for the Deep Woods – all cannot be pleased; you shall therefore make the choice. Where are we to go?"

All the anxious pairs of eyes were immediately turned on Miss Nelson. She quite blushed under their battery.

"Think of Bolster and the lighthouse!" exclaimed Eric. "Bolster has a tank where he keeps his crabs alive. He can take us up the tower, too, and show us the lanterns."

"Think of the shade of the Woods," said Ermengarde.

"Oh, those cowrie and yellow snail shells!" sighed Marjorie.

Miss Nelson only caught these last words. She looked down into the pleading gray eyes of her favorite, and her choice was made.

"We will go to Salter's Point," she said.

Some hurrahs, accompanied by some groans, met her decision; but it was a satisfaction to have anything fixed, and the children rushed upstairs to prepare for the great picnic.

It was discovered that the large wagonette and the pony-carriage could accommodate the whole party, and accordingly, soon after eleven o'clock, they started in the highest possible spirits – even Miss Nelson casting away her mantle of care for the time, and Mr. Wilton, who had now thoroughly entered into the spirit of the fun, enjoying himself as much as the youngest child present.

It was a glorious day, the breeze was only fresh, and the dust, notwithstanding Ermengarde's fears, by no means excessive.

The little girl soon therefore got over her slight disappointment at Miss Nelson's choice not having been the same as her own. She was seated by her favorite Basil's side, in the pony-carriage, the more riotous party, with Mr. Wilton at their head, having elected to go in the wagonette.

Miss Nelson and two of the younger children sat opposite to Ermengarde and Basil. Ermengarde would rather have had another vis-à-vis, but as the governess devoted her whole time to amusing the two little ones, Ermengarde decided to take no notice of her, and to give herself up to the delights of Basil's conversation.

Basil was a boy who, with all his sunny and pleasant ways, had a very reserved nature. There were in reality two Basils: one with a kindly word, a joke, a light jest, an affectionate manner for each and every one he came across; the other was made of sterner stuff – grave, with deep thoughts and high aspirations, and very strong, almost rigid ideas with regard to honor and rectitude – this was the inner Basil, whose existence Ermengarde knew of, whom she adored, loved, admired, dreaded.

This Basil had a heart which could be wounded, and Ermengarde knew well that, if she caused that deep heart a pang, it might close its doors against her, and shut her out in the cold, outside its affection and influence forever.

By superficial observers Basil was considered one of the most forgiving and the most easily pleased people in the house. But Ermengarde knew better. She knew things might happen which might make Basil a very stern and unrelenting young judge.

This morning, however, all was sunshine. Basil was in his sunniest humor. He would not talk all the time to Ermengarde, but gave Miss Nelson and the children enough of his conversation to make them feel in it all, and consequently in excellent spirits. But for his sister he had some tender glances, and one or two allusions which no one understood but herself, for the brother and sister had spent happy birthdays like this in their mother's time, and they were both thinking of her to-day.

A part of the road which led to Salter's Point wound through the woods which lay at the back of Wilton Chase. There was plenty of shade, therefore, here, and Ermengarde lay back on her comfortable seat with a great feeling of rest and security. She almost forgot that miserable day which followed the boys' return from school; she even looked at Miss Nelson without being haunted by any sense of reproach. The governess's worn face looked quite peaceful and happy; and Ermengarde hoped that she had really forgotten that tiresome old-fashioned miniature which had so mysteriously disappeared from her room. Ermie trusted that the stolen miniature would soon be forgotten, and she was fully convinced that her share in its disappearance would never be known.

The wagonette, with its two horses, had disappeared from sight, and the pony-carriage, drawn by the pretty Shetlands with their tinkling bells, was about to emerge through the park-gates, when there came a sudden interruption. This was caused by Collins, the head keeper, who stepped across the road, and touched his hat to the whole party, and to Ermengarde in particular.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Nelson," he said, addressing himself first of all to the governess, "but the fact is we are in a little bit of trouble at home, and the good wife said if I stood here I'd be sure to see Miss Ermengarde passing, and she knew Miss Ermengarde would come to Susy, just for one minute, as she wants her so very badly."

On hearing these words Ermengarde turned so white that Miss Nelson thought she was going to faint. She started to her feet at once with a half-cry. "Oh, please let me go," she said eagerly. Her hand shook; she would have leaped out of the carriage had not Basil held her back.

"Sit quiet, Ermengarde," said her governess authoritatively. "Now, Collins, please explain why it is necessary that Miss Wilton should see your daughter at this inconvenient moment, when we are just on our way to Salter's Point; you are aware that Mr. Wilton has forbidden any intimacy."

"Oh, let me go; I won't keep you two minutes," said Ermie.

"Quiet, Ermengarde. Now, Collins, what does Susan want with Miss Wilton?"

Collins had a strongly-marked face, and it flushed now rather angrily.

"I can't say, I'm sure, miss," he said. "The poor child is all in a fluster, and as to Miss Ermengarde, poor Susy worships the very ground she walks on. You haven't, maybe, heard of the accident that has happened to her, miss?"

Miss Nelson's manner became gentle at once. Ermengarde was about to burst forth with another exclamation; the governess laid her hand on the little girl's arm with a not unkind pressure. "One moment, Ermie. No, Collins, we have not heard of any accident. I sincerely trust your daughter has come to no harm."

"Well, miss, for the matter of that, Susy's life ain't in danger, but she has broke her leg; a bad fracture, too, midway between the knee and the ankle. Poor child, she's for all like a boy in some of her ways, and she was climbing a tree to get a glimpse of me, she said, the rogue; and a rotten bough broke under her, and she came down right on her leg. The poor thing was insensible when I took her up, miss, but she's better now, of course, and the leg was set by Doctor Reeves last night."

"Oh, do let me go to her," said Ermengarde; "what does a stupid picnic matter? Basil, won't you speak up for me. Do get Miss Nelson to let me go at once."

"Poor Susy, she's feverish a bit," said Collins, favoring Ermengarde with a quick grateful glance, "and she has been crying out all the morning and half the night for missie. It was that made the wife think of me standing here to watch, in case Miss Ermengarde might spare a minute or two from the day's pleasure to give to the poor child."

"I am sorry for you, Collins," said Miss Nelson; "and the story of the accident certainly alters matters a good deal. I do not think Mr. Wilton will object to Ermengarde's going to Susan for a moment."

"Thank you," said Ermie, with a great breath of relief.

"My dear child, you need not tremble so. Steady, you will fall on your face. Basil, help your sister out of the carriage. We will give you five minutes, Ermengarde. Collins, be sure you send for anything necessary for Susan to the Chase."

Collins touched his hat and withdrew. Ermengarde had already flown down a little path which led directly to the keeper's little cottage.

"Poor child, I did not know she was so sensitive," said Miss Nelson to Basil. He was standing by the side of the carriage, and she thought he had not heard her remark, for he turned his head away.

Meanwhile Ermengarde, having reached the cottage, was promptly taken upstairs to Susy's little attic-room by her mother.

The poor little girl had gone through a night of dreadful suffering, and at another time her flushed face and feverishly bright blue eyes would have excited Ermengarde's pity, and she would have been as gentle and sympathetic in her manner as heart could wish. The influence of fear, however, and the consciousness of wrong-doing, have a wonderfully hardening effect upon the best of us, and Ermie only waited until Mrs. Collins's back was turned to say crossly: "What did you mean by sending for me in that fashion, Susy? and after what I said to you yesterday. I do think you have no consideration! I got a horrible fright when your father came up, and asked point-blank for me, and before Miss Nelson, too!"

The harsh words made Susy cry.

"I'm dreadful bad," she said, her pretty lips quivering. "Oh, Miss Ermie, don't look at me like that. I did think you'd have been sorry for me, and when I always set such store by you, miss."

"Of course I'm sorry for you, Susy, but I really can't stay now, or they'll remark it. If you want me very badly, I'll try and slip up here one evening. There, if you like, and it really quiets you, I'll come to-night. I'll promise that I'll manage it somehow, but I must go now."

"Oh, miss, please take the picture with you! Put it in your pocket, miss. Oh, do take it away, Miss Ermengarde; I had such awful, awful dreams about it all night long, and I fancied as the little lady herself come and told me I was to put the picture back. I saw her come in at the door heaps of times, and she always told me to put the picture back, and to be quick about it. Please put the picture into your pocket, Miss Ermengarde."

Ermengarde laughed harshly.

"You must be mad, Susan," she said. "How could I put a miniature in a glass frame into the pocket of this thin dress? Why, everyone would see it, and then where should I be? It's all your own fault, Susy; you would not give up the picture yesterday when I coaxed you to, and now you must keep it until it is convenient for me to fetch it. If I can, I'll come for it to-night."

"Mother will find it out, miss. I can't move hand nor foot, and mother has only to open my drawer at the top there, and she'll see it. Mother'll know at once that I took it, for the servants at the Chase are talking about it. I do wish you'd get it out of the house somehow, Miss Ermengarde."

"I can't, I tell you. It wouldn't get into my pocket. Oh, dear, dear, there's your mother's step on the stairs, and I must fly. What a horrid troublesome girl you are, Susy. I wish I had never made friends with you!"