“We will forget about yesterday, Pauline,” said her aunt. “We will go back to work this morning just as though there never had been any yesterday. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” said Pauline.
“Do you happen to know your lessons?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Well, my dear, as this is practically your first transgression3, I am the last person to be over-hard. You can listen to your sisters this morning. At preparation to-day you will doubtless do your best. Now go to your seat.”
Pauline sat between Briar and Adelaide. Adelaide nestled up close to her, and Briar took the first opportunity to whisper:80
“They none of them know what I did,” thought Pauline; “and, of course, I meant to tell them. Not Aunt Sophia, but the girls. Yes, I meant to confide5 in the girls; but the atmosphere of peace is so nice that I do not care to disturb it. I will put off saying anything for the present. It certainly is delightful6 to feel good again.”
Lessons went on tranquilly7. The girls had a time of delightful rest afterwards in the garden, and immediately after early dinner there came a surprise. Miss Tredgold said:
“My dear girls, there are several things you ought to learn besides mere8 book knowledge. I propose that you should be young country ladies whom no one will be ashamed to know. You must learn to dance properly, and to skate properly if there ever is any skating here. If not, we will go abroad for the purpose. But while you are in the Forest I intend you to have riding lessons and also driving lessons. A wagonette will be here at two o’clock, and we will all go for a long and delightful drive through the Forest. I am going to some stables about six or seven miles away, where I hear I can purchase some good horses and also some Forest ponies9. Don’t look so excited, dears. I should be ashamed of any nieces of mine brought up in the New Forest of England who did not know how to manage horses.”
“Oh, she really is a darling!” said Verena. “I never did for a single moment suppose that we should have had the chance of learning to drive.”
“And to ride,” said Pauline.
She began to skip about the lawn. Her spirits, naturally very high, returned.
“I feel quite happy again,” she said.
“Why, of course you are happy,” said Verena; “but you must never get into Punishment Land again as long as you live, Paulie, for I wouldn’t go through another day like yesterday for anything.”
The wagonette arrived all in good time. It drew up at the front door, and Mr. Dale, attracted by the sound of wheels, rose from his accustomed seat in his musty, fusty study, and looked out of the window. The window was so dusty and dirty that he could not see anything plainly; but, true to his determination, he would not open it. A breeze might come in and disturb some of his papers. He was busy with an enthralling11 portion of his work just then; nevertheless, the smart wagonette and nicely harnessed horses, and the gay sound of young voices, attracted him.
“I could almost believe myself back in the days when I courted my dearly beloved Alice,” he whispered to himself. “I do sincerely trust that visitors are not beginning to arrive at The Dales; that would be the final straw.”81
The carriage, however, did not stop long at the front door. It was presently seen bowling12 away down the avenue. Mr. Dale, who still stood and watched it, observed that it was quite packed with bright-looking young girls. Blue ribbons streamed on the breeze, and the girls laughed gaily13.
“I am glad those visitors are going,” thought the good man, who did not in the least recognize his own family. “A noisy, vulgar crowd they seemed. I hope my own girls will never become like that. Thank goodness they did not stay long! Sophia is a person of discernment; she knows that I can’t possibly receive incidental visitors at The Dales.”
He returned to his work and soon was lost to all external things.
Meanwhile the girls had a lovely and exciting drive. Aunt Sophia was in her most agreeable mood. The children themselves were quite unaccustomed to carriage exercise. It was a wonderful luxury to lean back on the softly cushioned seats and dash swiftly under the noble beech-trees and the giant oaks of the primeval forest. By-and-by they drove up to some white gates. Verena was desired to get out and open them. The carriage passed through. She remounted into her seat, and a few minutes later they all found themselves in a great cobble-stoned yard surrounded by stables and coach-houses. The melodious14 cry of a pack of fox-hounds filled the air. The girls were almost beside themselves with excitement. Presently a red-faced man appeared, and he and Miss Tredgold had a long and mysterious talk together. She got out of the wagonette and went with the man into the stables. Soon out of the stables there issued, led by two grooms15, as perfect a pair of Forest ponies as were ever seen. They were well groomed16 and in excellent order, and when they arched their necks and pawed the ground with their feet, Pauline uttered an irrepressible shout.
“Those ponies are coming to The Dale in a fortnight,” said Miss Tredgold. “Their names are Peas-blossom and Lavender.”
“I believe I’ll die if much more of this goes on,” gasped17 Briar. “I’m too happy. I can’t stand anything further.”
“Hush, Briar!” said Verena, almost giving her sister a shake in her excitement, and yet at the same time trying to appear calm.
“Now, my dear children, we will go home,” said their aunt. “The wagonette will come any day that I send for it, and Mr. Judson informs me he hopes by-and-by to have a pair of carriage horses that I may think it worth while to purchase.”
“Aren’t these good enough?” asked Verena, as they drove back to The Dales.
“They are very fair horses, but I don’t care to buy them. Judson knows just the sort I want. I am pleased with the 82ponies, however. They will give you all a great deal of amusement. To-morrow we must go to Southampton and order your habits.”
“I wonder I ever thought her cross and nasty and disagreeable,” thought Pauline. “I wonder I ever could hate her. I hope she’ll let me ride Peas-blossom. I liked his bright eyes so much. I never rode anything in my life, but I feel I could ride barebacked on Peas-blossom. I love him already. Oh, dear! I don’t hate Aunt Sophia now. On the contrary, I feel rather bad when I look at her. If she ever knows what I did yesterday, will she forgive me? I suppose I ought to tell her; but I can’t. It would get poor Nancy into trouble. Besides—I may as well be frank with myself—I should not have the courage.”
As soon as the girls got home Penelope ran up to Pauline.
“You stayed for a long time in the shrubbery yesterday, didn’t you, Pauline?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Pauline.
“You didn’t by any chance find Aunt Sophy’s thimble?”
“I! Why should I?”
“You did find it; you know you did. Where is it? Give it to me. I want my penny. Think of all the fun you are going to have. She doesn’t mean me to ride, ’cos I asked her. I must have my penny. Give me the thimble at once, Paulie.”
“I haven’t got it. Don’t talk nonsense, child. Let me go. Oh! you have hurt me.”
Pauline could not suppress a short scream, and the next minute she felt herself turning very faint and sick, for Penelope had laid her exceedingly hard little hand on Pauline’s burnt arm.
“What is it, Paulie? I know you are not well,” said Verena, running up.
“It is ’cos of her bad conscience,” said Penelope, turning away with a snort of indignation.
“Really,” said Verena, as Pauline leaned against her and tried hard to repress the shivers of pain that ran through her frame, “Penelope gets worse and worse. Only that I hate telling tales out of school, I should ask Aunt Sophia to send her back to the nursery for at least another year. But what is it, Paulie dear? You look quite ill.”
“I feel rather bad. I have hurt my arm. You must not ask me how, Renny. You must trust me. Oh dear! I must tell you what has happened, for you will have to help me. Oh, Renny, I am in such pain!”
Poor Pauline burst into a torrent19 of tears. Where was her happiness of an hour ago? Where were her rapturous thoughts of riding Peas-blossom through the Forest? Her arm hurt her terribly; she knew that Penelope was quite 83capable of making mischief20, she was terrified about the thimble. Altogether her brief interval21 of sunshine was completely blotted22 out.
Verena, for her years, was a wonderfully wise girl. She had since her mother’s death been more or less a little mother to the younger children. It is true, she had looked after them in a somewhat rough-and-ready style; but nevertheless she was a sympathetic and affectionate girl, and they all clung to her. Now it seemed only natural that Pauline should lean on her and confide her troubles to her. Accordingly Verena led her sister to a rustic23 seat and said:
“Sit down near me and tell me everything.”
“It is this,” said Pauline. “I have burned my arm badly, and Aunt Sophia must not know.”
“You have burnt your arm? How?”
“I would rather not tell.”
“I’d rather conceal it; please don’t ask me. All I want you to do is to ask me no questions, but to help me to get my arm well; the pain is almost past bearing. But, Renny, whatever happens, Aunt Sophia must not know.”
“You are fearfully mysterious,” said Verena, who looked much alarmed. “You used not to be like this, Paulie. You were always very open, and you and I shared every thought Well, come into the house. Of course, whatever happens, I will help you; but I think you ought to tell me the whole truth.”
“I can’t, so there! If you are to be a real, real sister to me, you will help me without asking questions.”
The girls entered the house and ran up to Pauline’s bedroom. There the injured arm was exposed to view, and Verena was shocked to see the extent of the burn.
“You ought to see a doctor. This is very wrong,” she said.
She made Pauline lie down, and dressed her arm as well as she could. Verena was quite a skilful25 little nurse in her own way, and as Pauline had some of the wonderful ointment26 which the Kings’ cook had given her, and as Verena knew very nicely how to spread it on a piece of rag, the arm soon became more comfortable.
Just before dinner Miss Tredgold called all the girls round her.
“I have something to say,” she remarked. “I want you all to go upstairs now; don’t wait until five minutes before dinner. You will each find lying on your bed, ready for wearing, a suitable dinner-blouse. Put it on and come downstairs. You will wear dinner-dress every night in future, in order to accustom10 you to the manners of good society. Now go upstairs, tidy yourselves, and come down looking as nice as you can.”
The girls were all very much excited at the thought of 84the dinner-blouses. They found them, as Aunt Sophia had said, each ready to put on, on their little beds. Verena’s was palest blue, trimmed daintily with a lot of fluffy27 lace. The sleeves were elbow-sleeves, and had ruffles28 round them. The blouse in itself was quite a girlish one, and suited its fair wearer to perfection. Pauline’s blouse was cream-color; it also had elbow-sleeves, and was very slightly open at the neck.
“Do be quick, Paulie,” called out Briar. “I have got a sweet, darling, angel of a pink blouse. Get into yours, and I’ll get into mine. Oh, what tremendous fun this is!”
“Now, Miss Rose, what’s up?” said the good woman. “You do look happy, to be sure. You don’t seem to miss the old days much.”
“Of course I don’t, nursey. I’m twice as happy as I used to be.”
“Twice as happy with all them lessons to learn?”
“Yes; twice as happy, and twice as good. She doesn’t scold us when we’re good. In fact, she’s just uncommonly30 nice. And to-night she says she’ll play and sing to us; and it’s so delicious to listen to her! Dad comes out of his study just as if she drew him by magic. And I like to learn things. I won’t be a horrid pig of an ignorant girl any more. You will have to respect me in the future, nursey. And there’s a darling little blouse lying on my bed—pink, like the leaf of a rose. I am to wear it to-night. I expect Aunt Sophia chose it because I’m like a rose myself. I shall look nice, shan’t I, nursey?”
“That’s all very well,” said nurse. “And for my part I don’t object to civilized31 ways, and bringing you up like young ladies; but as to Miss Pen, she’s just past bearing. New ways don’t suit her—no, that they don’t. She ain’t come in yet—not a bit of her. Oh! there she is, marching down the corridor as if all the world belonged to her. What have you done to yourself, Miss Pen? A nice mess you are in!”
“I thought I’d collect some fresh eggs for your tea, nursey,” said the incorrigible32 child; “and I had three or four in my pinafore when I dropped them. I am a bit messy, I know; but you don’t mind, do you, nursey?”
“Indeed, then, I do. Just go straight to the nursery and get washed.”
Sit by the fire and spin.”
She disappeared like a flash, and nurse followed her, murmuring angrily.85
Briar ran into her bedroom. This room she shared with Patty and Adelaide. They also were wildly delighted with their beautiful blouses, and had not begun to dress when Briar appeared.
“I say, isn’t it all jolly?” said Briar. “Oh, Patty, what a duck yours is!—white. And Adelaide’s is white, too. But don’t you love mine? I must be a very pretty girl to cause Aunt Sophia to choose such a lovely shade of rose. I wonder if I am really a pretty girl. Do stand out of the way; I want to stare at myself in the glass.”
Briar ran to the dressing-table. There she pushed the glass into such an angle that she could gaze contentedly36 at her features. She saw a small, rather round face, cheeks a little flushed, eyes very dark and bright, quantities of bright brown curling hair, dark pencilled eyebrows37, a little nose, and a small pink mouth.
“You are a charming girl, Briar Dale,” she said, “worthy of a rose-pink blouse. Patty, don’t you just love yourself awfully38?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty. “I suppose every one does.”
“The Bible says it is very wrong to love yourself,” said Adelaide. “You ought to love other people and hate yourself.”
“Well, I am made the contrary,” said Briar. “I hate other people and love myself. Who wouldn’t love a darling little face like mine? Oh, I am just a duck! Help me into my new blouse, Patty.”
The three girls, each with the help of the other, managed to array themselves even to Briar’s satisfaction. She was the neatest and also the vainest of the Dales. When she reached the outside corridor she met Verena, looking sweet, gentle, and charming in her pale-blue blouse. They all ran down to the drawing-room, where Miss Tredgold was waiting to receive them. She wore the old black lace dress, which suited her faded charms to perfection. She was standing39 by the open French window, and turned as her nieces came in. The girls expected her to make some remark with regard to their appearance, but the only thing she said was to ask them to observe the exquisite40 sunset.
Presently Pauline appeared. She looked pale. There were black shadows under her eyes, and she was wearing a dirty white shirt decidedly the worse for wear. The other girls looked at her in astonishment41. Verena gave her a quick glance of pain. Verena understood; the others were simply amazed. Miss Tredgold flashed one glance at her, and did not look again in her direction.
Dinner was announced in quite the orthodox fashion, and the young people went into the dining-room. Mr. Dale was present. He was wearing quite a decent evening suit. He had not the faintest idea that he was not still in the old suit that had lain by unused and neglected for so many long 86years. He had not the most remote conception that Miss Tredgold had taken that suit and sent it to a tailor in London and desired him to make by its measurements a new suit according to the existing vogue42. Mr. Dale put on the new suit when it came, and imagined that it was the old one. But, scholar as he was, he was learning to appreciate the excellent meals Miss Tredgold provided for him. On this occasion he was so human as to find fault with a certain entrée.
Miss Tredgold thought this an enormous sign of mental improvement. She had already spoken to cook on the subject of Mr. Dale’s tastes.
“Why, drat him!” was Betty’s somewhat indignant answer. “In the old days he didn’t know sprats from salmon45, nor butter from lard. Whatever have you done to him, ma’am?”
“I am bringing him back to humanity,” was Miss Tredgold’s quiet answer.
Betty raised her eyebrows. She looked at Miss Tredgold and said to herself:
“So quiet in her ways, so gentle, and for all so determined46! Looks as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth; yet you daren’t so much as neglect the smallest little sauce for the poorest little entrée or you’d catch it hot. She’s a real haristocrat. It’s a pleasure to have dealings with her. Yes, it’s a downright pleasure. When I’m not thinking of my favorite ’ero of fiction, the Dook of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton, I feel that I’m doing the next best thing when I’m receiving the orders of her ladyship.”
Another of cook’s ideas was that Miss Tredgold was a person of title, who chose for the present to disguise the fact. She certainly had a marvellous power over the erratic47 Betty, and was turning her into a first-rate cook.
“Are you going to give us some of that exquisite music to-night, Sophia?” asked Mr. Dale when he had finished his dinner. He looked languidly at his sister-in-law.
“On one condition I will,” she said. “The condition is this: you are to accompany my piano on the violin.”
Mr. Dale’s face became pale. He did not speak for a minute; then he rose and went nimbly on tiptoe out of the room.
There was silence for a short time. The girls and their aunt had migrated into the drawing-room. The drawing-room looked sweetly pretty with its open windows, its softly shaded lamps, its piano wide open, and the graceful48 figures of the girls flitting about. Even Pauline’s ugly blouse was forgotten. There was a sense of mystery in the air. Presently in the distance came the sound of a fiddle49. It was the sound of a fiddle being tuned50. The notes were discordant51; 87but soon rich, sweeping52 melodies were heard. They came nearer and nearer, and Mr. Dale, still playing his fiddle, entered the room. He entered with a sort of dancing measure, playing an old minuet as he did so.
Miss Tredgold stepped straight to the piano and without any music, played an accompaniment.
“I have won,” she thought. “I shall send him away for change of air; then the study must be cleaned. I shall be able to breathe then.”
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1
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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transgression
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| n.违背；犯规；罪过 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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7
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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8
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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9
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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enthralling
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| 迷人的 | |
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bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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15
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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17
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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41
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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43
curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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46
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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47
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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49
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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50
tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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51
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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52
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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