A Little Mother to the Others by L. T. Meade (good books to read for 12 year olds .txt) 📗

grass playing soldiers, and watching the tricks of a snow-white rabbit who ran in and out of his hole close by. Presently, however, she grew tired of this solitary entertainment, and sprang to her feet, looking eagerly around her.

"Punishment is a very good thing," she said to herself. "I's punished, and I's lot better. It's now Aunt Jane's turn to be punished, and it's Simpson's turn to be punished—it'll do them heaps of good. First time I's only going to punish 'em, I isn't going[111] to kill 'em down dead, but I's going to pwick 'em. I is Diana, and mother said I was to live just like the gweat Diana what lived long, long, long ago."

Diana began to trot eagerly up and down under the shade of the tall forest trees. She looked about her to right and left, and presently was fortunate enough to secure a pliant bough of a tree which was lying on the ground. Having discovered this treasure, she sat down contentedly and began to pull off the leaves and to strip the bark. When she had got the long, supple bough quite bare, she whipped some string out of her pocket, and converted it into the semblance of a bow. It was certainly by no means a perfect bow, but it was a bow after a fashion.

The bow being made, the arrow must now be secured. Diana could not possibly manage an arrow without a knife, and she was not allowed to keep a knife of her own. Both bow and arrow must be a secret, for if anyone saw her with them it might enter into the head of that person not to consider it quite proper for her to punish Aunt Jane.

"And Aunt Jane must be punished," muttered Diana. "I must make an arrow, and I must pwick her with it. My bow is weally beautiful—it is a little crooked, but what do that matter? I could shoot my arrow now and pwick the twees, if only I could get one made. Oh, here's a darlin' little stick—it would make a lovely arrow, if I had a knife to sharpen the point with. Now, I do wonder what sort of a woman that Miss Wamsay is."

Diana fixed her coal-black eyes on the lady.

"She looks sort of gentle now she's weading," whispered the little girl to herself. "She looked howid this morning in the schoolroom, but she looks sort[112] of gentle now. I even seed her smile a minute back, and I should not be a bit s'prised if she didn't hate Aunt Jane too. I know what I'll do; I'll just go and ask her—there is nothing in all the world like being plain-spoke. If Miss Wamsay hates Aunt Jane, why, course, she'll help me to sharpen my arrow, when I tell her it is to give Aunt Jane a little pwick."

Accordingly Diana approached Miss Ramsay's side, and, as the governess did not look up, she flung herself on the grass near by, uttering a deep sigh as she did so. But Miss Ramsay was intent on her book, and did not take the least notice of Diana's deep-drawn breath. The little girl fidgeted, and tried further measures. She came close up to the governess, and, stretching out one of her fat hands, laid it on one of Miss Ramsay's.

"Don't touch me, my dear," said the lady. "You are much too hot, and your hand is very dirty."

"I's sossy for that," said Diana. "I had to touch you 'cos you wouldn't look up. I has something most 'portant to talk over."

"Have you indeed?" replied Miss Ramsay. She closed her book. The part she was reading was not specially interesting, and she could not help being amused with such a very curious specimen of the genus child as Diana Delaney.

"Well, little girl, and what is it?" she asked.

"I 'spects," said Diana, looking very solemnly into her face, "that you and me, we has both got the same enemies."

"The same enemies! My dear child, what do you mean?" asked Miss Ramsay.

"I 'spects I's wight," said Diana, tossing her black head. "I's not often wrong. I wead your thoughts[113]—I think that you has a desp'ate hate, down deep in your heart, to Aunt Jane."

"Good gracious!" cried the governess, "what does the child mean? Why should I hate Mrs. Dolman?"

"But why should not you?—that's the point," said Diana.

"Well, I don't," said Miss Ramsay.

Diana looked intently at her. Slowly, but surely, her big black eyes filled with tears; the tears rolled down her cheeks; she did not attempt to wipe them away.

"What is the matter with you, you queer little creature?" said Miss Ramsay. "What in the world are you crying about?"

"I is so bitter dis'pointed," repeated Diana.

"What, because I don't hate your Aunt Jane?"

"I is bitter dis-pointed," repeated Diana. "I thought, course, you hated her, 'cos I saw her look at you so smart like, and order you to be k'ick this morning, and I thought, 'Miss Wamsay don't like that, and course Miss Wamsay hates her, and if Miss Wamsay hates her, well, she'll help me, 'cos I hates her awful.'"

"But do you know that all this is very wrong?" said Miss Ramsay.

"W'ong don't matter," answered Diana, sweeping her hand in a certain direction, as if she were pushing wrong quite out of sight. "I hate her, and I want to punish her. You ought to hate her, 'cos she told you to be k'ick, and she looked at you with a kind of a fwown. Won't you twy and begin? Do, p'ease."

"I really never heard anything like this before in the whole course of my life," said Miss Ramsay. "Mrs. Dolman did warn me to be prepared for much,[114] but I never heard a Christian child speak in the way you are doing."

"I isn't a Chwistian child," said Diana. "I is a heathen. Did you never hear of Diana what lived long, long ago?—the beautiful, bwave lady that shotted peoples whenever she p'eased with her bow and arrows?"

"Do you mean the heathen goddess?" said Miss Ramsay.

"I don't know what you call her, but I is named after her, and I mean to be like her. My beautiful mother said I was to be like her, and I'm going to twy. See, now, here is the bow"—she held up the crooked bow as she spoke—"and I only want the arrow. Will you help me to make the arrow? I thought—oh, I did think—that if you hated Aunt Jane you would help me to make the arrow. Here's the stick, and if you have a knife in your pocket you can just sharpen it, and it will make the most perfect arrow in all the world. I'll love you then. I'll help you always. I'll do my lessons if you ask me, and I'll twy to be good to you; 'cos you and me we'll both have our enemies, and p'w'aps, if I'm not stwong enough to use the bow, p'w'aps you could use it, and we might go about together and sting our enemies, and be weal fwiends. Will you twy? Will you make me the little arrow, p'ease, p'ease?"

"And what are you going to do with the arrow when it is made?" asked Miss Ramsay. "I happen," she continued, without waiting for Diana's reply, "to have a knife in my pocket, and I don't mind sharpening that piece of wood for you. But bows and arrows are dangerous weapons for little girls like you."

"Course they is dangerous," said Diana. "What[115] would be the use of 'em, if they wasn't? They is to pwick our enemies and p'w'aps kill 'em."

"But look here, Diana, what do you want this special bow and arrow for?"

"I want to have Aunt Jane Dolman and Simpson shotted. I'll tell you why I want 'em both to be shotted—'cos Simpson killed my spiders and beetles, and Aunt Jane Dolman is a poky old thing and she shut me up in a punishment woom. Now wouldn't you like to help me—and then we'll both have deaded our enemies, and we'll be as happy as the day is long."

Miss Ramsay was so astounded at Diana's remarks that she slowly rose from her seat and stared for nearly half a minute at the little girl.

"Well," she said at last, "I have seen in my lifetime all sorts of children. I have taught little girls and boys since I was eighteen years of age. I have seen good children and naughty children, and clever children, and stupid children, but I have never met anyone like you, little Diana Delaney. Do you really know what you are saying? Do you know that you are a very, very wicked little girl?"

"Are I?" said Diana. "Well, then, I like being a wicked little girl. I thought p'w'aps you would help me; but it don't matter, not one bit."

Before Miss Ramsay could say another word Diana had turned abruptly and flown, as if on the wings of the wind, right down through the wood.

The governess watched the little figure disappearing between the oaks and elms until at last it quite vanished from view. She felt a momentary inclination to go after the child, but her book was interesting, and her seat under the overhanging elm extremely[116] comfortable. And this was a holiday, and she worked hard enough, poor thing, on working days. And, after all, Diana was nothing but a silly little child, and didn't mean half she said.

"It would be folly to take the least notice of her remarks," thought the governess. "I'll just go on treating her like the others. I expect I shall have a good deal of work breaking in that interesting little quartette, for, after all, if my salary is to be raised, I may as well stay at the Rectory as anywhere else. The house is comfortable, and I have got used to Mrs. Dolman's queer ways by this time."

Accordingly Miss Ramsay reseated herself, and again took up her novel. She turned the leaves, and soon got into a most interesting part of the volume. Lost in the sorrows of her hero and heroine, she forgot all about Diana Delaney and her bow and arrow.

Meanwhile, Diana, walking rapidly away by herself, was reflecting hard.

"Miss Wamsay's a poor sort," she thought. "I aren't going to twouble 'bout anyone like her, but I must get that arrow made. The bow is beautiful, but I can't do nothing 'cos I hasn't got an arrow."

At this moment, to her great delight, she saw Apollo coming to meet her.

"There you is!" she shouted.

"What do you want with me?" asked Apollo.

"Look at my bow, 'Pollo! Aren't it beautiful? Aren't I just like the weal Diana now?"

"Did you make this bow all by yourself?" asked Apollo.

"Yes; why shouldn't I?"

"Well, it's awfully crooked."[117]

"Is it?" said Diana; "I thought it was beautiful. Can you stwaighten it for me a little bit, 'Pollo?"

"I think I can make you a better bow than this," answered Apollo.

"Oh, can you? What a darlin' you is! And will you cut an arrow for me, and will you make it very sharp? Will you make it awfu' sharp? The kind that would pwick deep, you know, that would cut into things and be like the arrow that the gweat Diana used."

Apollo was finding his afternoon somewhat dull. He had made no friends as yet with the little Dolman children. Orion had disappeared with both the boys; Iris was with Ann, Lucy, and Mary; he had been thrown for the last hour completely on his own resources. The sight, therefore, of Diana, with her flushed face and bright eyes and spirited manner, quite cheered the little fellow. He and Diana had often been chums, and he thought it would be rather nice to be chummy with his little sister to-day.

"I may as well help you," he said, "but, of course, Di, you can't expect me to do this sort of thing often. I shall most likely be very soon going to school, and then I'll be with fellows, you know."

"What's fellows?" asked Diana.

"Oh, boys! Of course, when I get with boys, you can't expect me to be much with you."

"All wight," answered Diana. "I hope you won't get with no fellows this afternoon, 'cos you is useful to me. Just sit down where you is, and help me to make a bow and arrow."

Apollo instantly seated himself on the grass, and Diana threw herself on her face and hands by his side. She raised herself on her elbows and fixed her bright[118] black eyes on her brother's face. She stared very hard at him, and he stared back at her.

"Well," she said,