Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade (the lemonade war series .txt) 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
Book online «Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade (the lemonade war series .txt) 📗». Author L. T. Meade
These alarming thoughts had scarcely passed through her mind before David rejoined her.
“He’s wrapped up in this towel,” he said. “He’s kicking with his hind legs, but he can’t get a squeak out; now come along.”
Too careless and happy in the success of their enterprise even to trouble to shut Mrs. Cameron’s door, the two children rushed downstairs and out of the house. They effected their exit easily by opening the study window. In a moment or two they were in the shrubbery.
“The hole isn’t here,” said David. “Somebody might find him here and bring him back, and that would never do. Do you remember Farmer Long’s six-acre field?”
“Where he keeps the bull?” exclaimed Fly. “You haven’t made the hole there, Dave?”
“Yes, I have, in one corner! It’s the best place in all the world, for not a soul will dare to come near the field while the bull is there. You needn’t be frightened, Fly! He’s always taken home at night! He’s not there now. But don’t you see how he’ll guard Scorpion all day? Even Mrs. Cameron won’t dare to go near the field while the bull is there.”
“I see!” responded Fly, in an appreciative voice. “You’re a very clever boy, Dave. Now let’s come quick and pop him into the hole.”
Farmer Long’s six-acre field was nearly a quarter of a mile away, but the children reached it in good time, and Fly looked down with interest on the scene of David’s excavations. The hole, which must have given the little boy[Pg 147] considerable labor, was nearly three feet deep, and about a foot wide. In the bottom lay a large beef bone.
“He won’t like it much!” said David. “His teeth aren’t good; he can only eat chicken bones, but hunger will make him nibble it by-and-by. Now, Fly, will you go behind that furze bush and bring me a square, flat board, which you will find there?”
“What a funny board!” said Fly, returning in a moment. “It’s all over little square holes.”
“Those are for him to breathe through,” said David. “Now, then, master, here you go! You won’t annoy any one in particular here, unless, perhaps, you interfere with Mr. Bull’s arrangements. Hold the board over the top of the hole, so, Fly. Now then, I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, my dear amiable little friend.”
The bandage which firmly bound Scorpion’s mouth was removed. He was popped into the hole, and the wooden cover made fast over the top. The children went home, vowing eternal secrecy, which not even tortures should wring from them.
At breakfast that morning Mrs. Cameron appeared late on the scene. Her eyes were red with weeping. She also looked extremely cross.
“Helen, I must request you to have some fresh coffee made for me. I cannot bear half cold coffee. Daisy, have the goodness to ring the bell. Yes, my dear children, I am late. I have a sad reason for being late; the dog is nowhere to be found.”
A gleam of satisfaction filled each young face. Fly crimsoning greatly, lowered her eyes; but David looked tranquilly full at Mrs. Cameron.
“Is it that nice little Scorpion?” he asked. “I’m awfully sorry, but I suppose he went for a walk.”
Mrs. Cameron glanced with interest at David’s sympathetic face.
“No, my dear boy, that isn’t his habit. The dear little dog sleeps, as a rule, until just the last moment. Then I lift him gently, and carry him downstairs for his cream.”
“I wonder how he likes that bare beef bone?” murmured Fly, almost aloud.
“He’s sure to come home for his cream in a moment or two!” said David.
He gave Fly a violent kick under the table.
“Helen,” said Mrs. Cameron, “be sure you keep Scorpion’s cream.”
“There isn’t any,” replied Helen. “I was obliged to send it up to father. There was not nearly so much cream as usual this morning. I had scarcely enough for father.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you have used up the dog’s cream?” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron. “Well, really, that is too much. The little animal will starve, he can’t touch anything else. Oh, where is he? My little, faithful pet! My[Pg 148] lap feels quite empty without him. My dear children, I trust you may never love—love a little creature as I love Scorpion, and then lose him. Yes, I am seriously uneasy, the dog would not have left me of his own accord.”
Here, to the astonishment of everybody, and the intense indignation of Mrs. Cameron, Fly burst into a scream of hysterical laughter, and hid her face in Polly’s neck.
“What a naughty child!” exclaimed the good lady. “You have no sympathy with my pet, my darling! Speak this minute. Where is the dog, miss?”
“I expect in his grave,” said Fly.
Whereupon Dave suddenly disappeared under the table, and all the others stared in wonder at Fly.
“Firefly, do you know anything?”
“I expect Scorpion is in his grave. Where is the use of making such a fuss?” responded Fly.
And she made a precipitate retreat out of the window.
All the remainder of that day was occupied in a vain search for the missing animal. Mrs. Cameron strongly suspected Firefly, but the only remark the little girl could be got to make was:
“I am sure Scorpion is in his grave.”
Mrs. Cameron said that was no answer, and further insisted that the child should be severely punished. But as in reply to that, Helen said firmly that as long as father was in the house no one should punish the children but him, she felt, for the present, at least, obliged to hold her sense of revenge in check.
After Fly had gone to bed that night, David crept into her room.
“I’ve done it all now,” he said. “I sold Scorpion to-night for a shilling to a man who was walking across the moor, and I have just popped the shilling into Mrs. Cameron’s purse. The horrid little brute worked quite a big hole in the bottom of the grave, Fly, and he nearly snapped my fingers off when I lifted him out to give him to Jones. But he’s away now, that’s a comfort. What a silly thing you were, Fly, to burst out laughing at breakfast, and then say that Scorpion was in his grave.”
“But it was so true, David. That hole looked exactly like a grave.”
“But you have drawn suspicion upon you. Now, Mrs. Cameron certainly doesn’t suspect me. See what she has given me: this beautiful new two-shilling piece. She said I was a very kind boy, and had done my best to find her treasure for her.”
“Oh, Dave, how could you take it!”
“Couldn’t I, just! I’m not a little muff, like you. I intend to buy a set of wickets with this. Well, good-night, Fly; nobody need fear hydrophobia after this good day’s work.”
A night’s sleep had by no means improved Mrs. Cameron’s temper. She came downstairs the next morning so snappish and disagreeable, so much inclined to find fault with everybody, and so little disposed to see the faintest gleam of light in any direction, that the children almost regretted Scorpion’s absence, and began to wonder if, after all, he was not a sort of safety-valve for Mrs. Cameron, and more or less essential to her existence.
Hitherto this good woman had not seen her brother-in-law; and it was both Helen’s and Polly’s constant aim to keep her from the sick room.
It was several days now since the Doctor was pronounced quite out of danger; but the affection of his eyes which had caused his children so many anxious fears, had become much worse. As the London oculist had told him, any shock or chill would do this; and there was now no doubt whatever that for a time, at least, he would have to live in a state of total darkness.
“It is a dreadful fate,” said Helen to Polly. “Oh, yes, it is a dreadful fate, but we must not complain, for anything is better than losing him.”
“Anything truly,” replied Polly. “Why, what is the matter, Flower? How you stare.”
Flower had been lying full-length on the old sofa in the school-room; she now sprang to her feet, and came up eagerly to the two sisters.
“Could a person do this,” she said, her voice trembling with eagerness—“Could such a thing as this be done: could one give their eyes away?”
“Flower!”
“Yes, I mean it. Could I give my eyes to Dr. Maybright—I mean just do nothing at all but read to him and look for him—manage so that he should know everything just through my eyes. Can I do it? If I can, I will.”
“But, Flower, you are not father’s daughter,” said Polly in an almost offended tone. “You speak, Flower—you speak as if he were all the world to you.”
“So he is all the world to me!” said Flower. “I owe him reparation, I owe him just everything. Yes, Helen and Polly, I think I understand how to keep your father from missing his eyes much. Oh, how glad I am, how very glad I am!”
From that moment Flower became more or less a changed creature. She developed all kinds of qualities which the Maybrights had never given her credit for. She had a degree of tact which was quite astonishing in a child of her age. There was never a jarring note in her melodious voice. With her impatience gone, and her fiery, passionate temper soothed,[Pg 150] she was just the girl to be a charming companion to an invalid.
However restless the Doctor was, he grew quieter when Flower stole her little hand into his; and when he was far too weak and ill and suffering to bear any more reading aloud, he could listen to Flower as she recited one wild ballad after another.
Flower had found her mission, and she was seldom now long away from the Doctor’s bedside.
“Don’t be jealous, Polly,” said Helen. “All this is saving Flower, and doing father good.”
“There is one comfort about it,” said Polly, “that as Aunt Maria perfectly detests poor Flower, or Daisy, as she calls her, she is not likely to go into father’s room.”
“That is true!” said Helen. “She came to the room door the other day, but Flower was repeating ‘Hiawatha,’ and acting it a little bit—you know she can’t help acting anything she tries to recite—and Aunt Maria just threw up her hands and rolled her eyes, and went away.”
“What a comfort!” said Polly. “Whatever happens, we must never allow the dreadful old thing to come near father.”
Alack! alas! something so bad had happened, so terrible a tragedy had been enacted that even Flower and Hiawatha combined could no longer keep Mrs. Cameron away from her brother-in-law’s apartment.
On the second day after Scorpion’s disappearance, the good woman called Helen aside, and spoke some words which filled her with alarm.
“My dear!” she said, “I am very unhappy. The little dog, the little sunbeam of my life, is lost. I am convinced, Helen! yes, I am convinced, that there is foul play in the matter. You, every one of you, took a most unwarrantable dislike to the poor, faithful little animal. Yes, every one of you, with the exception of David, detested my Scorpion, and I am quite certain that you all know where he now is.”
“But really, Aunt Maria,” said Helen, her fair face flushing, “really, now, you don’t seriously suppose that I had anything to say to Scorpion’s leaving you.”
“I don’t know, my dear. I exonerate David. Yes, David is a good boy; he was attached to the dog, and I quite exonerate him. But as to the rest of you, I can only say that I wish to see your father on the subject.”
“Oh! Aunt Maria! you are not going to trouble father, so ill as he is, about that poor, miserable little dog?”
“Thank you, Helen! thank you! poor miserable little dog indeed. Ah! my dear, you have let the cat out of the bag now. Yes, my dear, I insist on seeing your father with regard to the poor, miserable little dog. Poor, indeed, am I without him, my little treasure, my little faithful Scorpion.” Here Mrs. Cameron applied her handkerchief to her eyes, and Helen walked to the window, feeling almost driven to despair.
“I think you are doing wrong!” she said, presently. “It is wrong to disturb a man like father about any dog, however noble. I am sure I
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