Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl by L. T. Meade (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📗

thoughtless of me not to know that you must be very tried and hungry! Molly and I are glad you have come.”

“But where is Molly? I should like to see her.”

Linda went up to Nora and spoke in a low whisper.

“She is in disgrace.”

“In disgrace? Has she done anything naughty?”

“Yes, fearfully naughty. She is in hot water as usual.”

“I am sorry,” said Nora. She instantly began to feel a strong sensation of sympathy for Molly. She was sure, in advance, that she would like her.

“But is she in such dreadful disgrace that I may not see her?” she asked after a pause.

“Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose so.”

Just then there was heard at the room door a gay laugh and a kind of scamper. A knock followed, but before Nora could answer the door was burst open, and a large, heavily made, untidy-looking girl, with a dark face and great big black eyes, bounded into the apartment.

“I have burst the bonds, and here I am,” she said. “How do you do, Nora? I'm Molly. I am always and always in hot water. I like being in hot water. Now, tell-tale-tit, you can go downstairs and acquaint mother with the fact that I have burst the bonds, for kiss little Irish Nora I will.”

“Oh, I am glad to see you,” said Nora. Her depression vanished on the spot. She felt that, naughty as doubtless Molly was, she could get on with her.

“Come, let's take a squint at you,” said the eldest Miss Hartrick; “come over here to the light.”

Molly took Nora by both hands over to the window.

“Now then, let's have a category of your charms. Terence has been telling us that you are very pretty. You are. Come, Linda; come and look at her. Did you ever see such black hair? And it's as soft as silk.”

Molly put up a rather large hand and patted Nora somewhat violently on the head.

“Oh, don't!” said Nora, starting back.

“My dear little cousin, I am a very rough specimen, and you must put up with me if you mean to get on at The Laurels. We are all stiff and staid here; we are English of the English. Everything is done by rule of thumb—breakfast to the minute, lunch to the minute, afternoon tea to the minute, dinner to the minute, even tennis to the minute. Oh! it's detestable; and I—I am expected to be good, and you know there's not a bit of goodness in me. I am all fidgets, and you can never be sure of me for two seconds at a time. I am a worry to mother and a worry to father; and as to Terence—oh, my dear creature, I am so truly thankful you are not like Terence! Here I drop a courtesy to his memory. What an awfully precise man he will make by and by! I did not know you turned out that kind of article in Ireland.”

Nora's face, over which many emotions had been flitting, now looked grave.

“You know that Terence is my brother?” she said slowly.

Molly gazed at her; then she burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

“You and I will get on,” she said. “I like you for sticking up for your brother. But now, my dear, I must go back. I am supposed to stay in my bedroom until to-morrow morning. Linda, if you tell—well, you'll have to answer to me when we are going to bed, that's all. By-by, Nora. I'll see you in the morning. Do get her some hot water, Linda. She's worth waiting on; she's a very nice sort of child, and very, very pretty. If that is the Irish sort of face, I for one shall adore it. Good-by, Nora, for the present.”

Molly banged herself away—her mode of exit could scarcely be called by any other name. As soon as the door had closed behind her Linda laughed.

“I ought to tell, you know,” she said in her precise voice; “it is very, very wrong of Molly to leave her bedroom when mother is punishing her.”

“But what has she done wrong?” asked Nora.

“Oh, went against discipline. She is at school, you know, and she would write letters during lessons. It is really very wrong of her, and Miss Scott had to complain; so mother said she should stay in her room, instead of being downstairs to welcome you. She is a good soul enough; but we none of us can discipline her. She is very funny; you'll see a lot of her queer cranks while you are here.”

“How old is she?” asked Nora.

“Between sixteen and seventeen; too old to be such a romp.”

“Only a little older than I am,” said Nora. “And how old are you, Linda?”

“Fifteen; they all tell me I look more.”

“You do; you look eighteen. You are very old for your age.”

“Oh, thank you for the compliment. Now, then, do brush your hair and wash your hands; there's the supper-gong. Mother will be annoyed if we are not down in a jiffy. Now, do be quick.”

Nora washed her hands, brushed her hair, and ran downstairs with her cousin. As she ate during the somewhat stiff meal that followed she thought many times of Molly. She felt that, naughty as Molly doubtless was, she would make the English house tolerable. Terence sat near her at supper, by way of extending to her brotherly attentions; but all the time he was talking on subjects of local interest to his aunt and uncle.

Mr. Hartrick evidently thought Terence a very clever fellow, and listened to his remarks with a deference which Nora thought by no means good for him.

“He wants one of the dear old dad's downright snubs,” was her inward comment. “I must have a talk with him to-morrow. If he progresses at this rate toward English refinement he will be unbearable at O'Shanaghgan when he returns; quite, quite unbearable. Oh, for a sniff of the sea! oh, for the wild, wild wind on my cheeks! and oh, for my dear, darling, bare bedroom! I shall be smothered in that heavily furnished room upstairs. Oh, it is all lovely, I know—very lovely; but I'm not made to enjoy it. I belong to the free, and I don't feel free here. The silken chains and the feather-bed life won't suit me; of that I am quite sure. Thank goodness, however, there's Molly; she is in a state of rebellion, too. I must not sympathize with her; but I am truly glad she is here.”