Young Folks Treasury Volume 3 (of 12) - Hamilton Wright Mabie (classic books to read .txt) 📗

early in the morning to the Abbey, with my compliments."

Feeling quite sure that her bonnet and the guinea-fowl would make Miss Somers think well of her, Barbara paid her first visit to the Abbey. She expected to see wonders, but when she was shown into the room where Miss Somers and other ladies were sitting, simply dressed, and with work, books and drawings on the table before them, she was surprised and vexed. There was nothing grand to be seen anywhere.

When Miss Somers tried to find out what would interest her, and talked of walks, and flowers and gardens, Miss Barbara was offended. "I will show them," she said to herself, "that I can talk of other things." So in a grand tone she spoke of what she did not understand, until her mistaken airs of gentility made the ladies of the Abbey feel first amused and then ashamed. One by one the ladies left the room, and when Miss Somers went to change her dress for dinner, Barbara was left alone with some pretty drawings to amuse her. But the silly girl paid no heed to these. She could think only of the ball. Suddenly she remembered that nothing had been said about the guinea-hen. The truth was that Betty, in the hurry of dressing Barbara for her visit to the Abbey, had forgotten the bird, but it arrived just as Miss Somers was dressing. The housekeeper went to her mistress's room to say it had come.

"Ma'am," she said, "here's a beautiful guinea-hen just come with Miss Barbara Case's compliments."

Miss Somers thought by the housekeeper's tone that she was not quite pleased, and she soon found she was right in thinking so. The woman came close up to the dressing-table, and said, "I never like to speak till I'm sure, ma'am, and I'm not quite sure in this case, ma'am, but still I think it right to tell you what crossed my mind about this same guinea-hen, ma'am, and you can ask about it or do as you feel best, ma'am. Some time ago we had guinea-fowls of our own, and not knowing they were going to die as they have done, ma'am, I made bold to give a couple last Christmas to Susan Price, and very proud of them she was, ma'am, and I'm sure would never have parted with the hen of her own will. But if my eyes don't deceive me, ma'am, this guinea-hen that Miss Barbara sends to you with her compliments is the same that I gave to Susan. How Miss Barbara came by it, I can't tell, ma'am, but if my boy Philip was at home, he might know, for he's often at Farmer Price's cottage. If you wish it, ma'am, I'll ask him when he comes home to-night."

"I think the best way will be for me to ask Miss Case herself about it this evening," said Miss Somers.

Dinner was now served. Attorney Case expected to smell mint sauce, and as the covers were taken off the dishes he looked around for lamb, but no lamb did he see.

Among other things talked of at table was a carving-knife that Sir Arthur had made for his sister. From this the conversation passed to carving. "Now is my chance to find out about my present," thought the Attorney. "Pray, may I ask," he said to Sir Arthur, "how you carve a fore quarter of lamb?"

Sir Arthur at once saw what the Attorney wanted to hear. Having answered his question, he went on to thank him for the present he had offered, but added, "I am sorry I cannot accept it, as it is my rule never to accept gifts from my neighbors. The reason is that our poor tenants cannot show their good will in this way, as they have little or nothing to offer."

Attorney Case listened with surprise. He was annoyed and angry, for he did not understand Sir Arthur's just mind and kind heart. After the ladies left the dining-room and were walking up and down the large hall, one of them remarked that it would be a charming place for music. Barbara, who like her father always seized any chance of turning the conversation as best pleased herself, said what a fine instrument was the harp. Then she spoke of the prize-giving to the harpers and of the ball that was to follow. "I know a good deal about the ball," she said, "because a lady in the town where it is to be held offered to take me with her, but although she has a carriage, Papa did not like to let her send it so far." At this point Barbara fixed her eyes on Miss Somers, that she might, if possible, read her thoughts, but as the lady was at that moment letting down the veil of her hat, her face was not seen.

"Shall we go for a little walk before tea?" said Miss Somers to the other ladies. "I have a pretty guinea-hen to show you." Barbara now felt hopeful, and when even among the pheasants and peacocks the guinea-hen was much admired, she was sure that Miss Somers must indeed be proud to accept her gift.

At this moment Philip came running by on an errand for his mother. As his eye fell upon the guinea-hen, he exclaimed before he knew, "Why, that is Susan's guinea-hen!"

"No, it is not Susan's guinea-hen," said Miss Barbara, coloring furiously, "it is mine, and I have made a present of it to Miss Somers."

At the sound of Bab's voice, Philip turned round, his face ablaze with anger.

"What is the matter, Philip?" asked Miss Somers in a soothing voice, but Philip was not in the mood to be soothed.

"Why, ma'am, may I speak out?" he asked, and without waiting for leave he gave a full account of the loss of Susan's guinea-fowl, of Rose's visit to Barbara, and of Barbara's greedy and cruel conduct.

Barbara denied all that Philip said, and told quite another tale. When she could find no more to say she blushed deeply, for she saw that her story was not believed. One might have thought she was covered with shame, had it not been that the moment Philip was out of sight, she exclaimed, "I am sure I wish I had never seen this wretched guinea-hen! It is all Susan's fault for letting it stray into our garden."

Barbara was too angry to notice that she was admitting the truth of Philip's story.

"Perhaps," said Miss Somers, "Susan will be more careful now that she has had so hard a lesson. Shall we see? Philip will, I am sure, carry the guinea-hen back to her, if we wish it."

"If you please, ma'am," said Barbara sulkily.

So the guinea-hen was given to Philip, who set off with joy and was soon in sight of Farmer Price's cottage.


IX

A SURPRISE FOR SUSAN


When Philip came to the door he stopped suddenly, for the idea struck him that it would give Rose great pleasure to carry the guinea-fowl to Susan. So he ran into the village.

All the children who had given up their Mayday money to Susan were playing on the green. They were delighted to see the guinea-hen once more. Philip took his pipe and tabor and they all marched together towards the whitewashed cottage.

As they passed the butcher's house, his boy came out. They told him where they were going.

"Let me come with you, let me come with you," he said. "But wait one moment, for my father has something to say to you," and he darted into the house. The children waited. In a few moments they heard the bleating of a lamb, and soon they saw it being gently led by the butcher from the paddock.

"It is Daisy!" exclaimed Rose.

"It is Daisy!" they all shouted with joy, "Susan's lamb! Susan's lamb!"

"Well, for my part," said the good butcher, as soon as he could be heard, "for my part I would not be so cruel as Attorney Case for the whole world. It's true the lamb did not know what was before it, but poor Susan did, and to wring her gentle heart was what I call cruel. But at any rate, here it is, safe and sound now. I'd have taken it to her sooner, but was off early this morning to the fair, and am but just come back. Daisy, though, was as well off in my paddock as in the field by the water-side."

The troop of happy children went on their way with the guinea-fowl and the lamb. As they passed the shop where Susan had been shown the pretty calicoes, the shopkeeper, who, you remember, was Rose's father, came out. When he saw the lamb, and learned whose it was and heard its story, he gave the children some pieces of colored ribbon, with which Rose decorated Susan's favorite.

The children now once more moved on, led by Philip, who played joyfully upon his pipe and tabor. Susan was working in her summer-house, with her little pine table before her. When she heard the sound of the music, she put down her work and listened. She saw the crowd of children coming nearer and nearer. They had closed round Daisy, so she did not see her pet, but as they came up to the garden-gate she saw that Rose beckoned to her. Philip played as loud as he could, that she might not hear, until the proper moment, the bleating of the lamb. As Susan opened the gate, the children divided, and first she saw, in the midst of her taller friends, little smiling Mary, with the guinea-hen in her arms.

"Come on! come on!" cried Mary, as Susan started with joyful surprise; "you have more to see."

At this instant the music paused. Susan heard the bleating of a lamb, and pressing eagerly forward, she beheld poor Daisy. She burst into tears. "I did not shed one tear when I parted with you, my dear little Daisy," she said, "it was for my father and mother. I would not have parted with you for any one else in the whole world. Thank you, thank you all," she added to her companions, who were even gladder for her in her joy than they had been sorry for her in her sorrow. "Now, if my father was not to go away from us next week, and if my mother were quite strong, I should be the happiest person in the world." As Susan finished speaking, a voice behind the listening crowd cried, in a rough tone, "Let us pass, if you please; you have no right to block the road." This was the voice of Attorney Case, who was returning with Barbara from his visit to the Abbey. He saw the lamb and tried to whistle as he went on. Barbara also saw the guinea-hen and turned her head another way. Even her new bonnet, in which she had expected to be so much admired, now only served to hide her blushing face.

"I am glad she saw the guinea-hen," cried Rose, who now held it in her hands.

"Yes," said Philip, "she'll not forget Mayday in a hurry."

"Nor I either, I hope," said Susan, looking round upon her companions with a most loving smile: "I hope, while I live, I shall never forget your goodness to me last Mayday. Now that I've my pretty guinea-hen safe once more, I should think of returning your money."

"No! no! no!" was the cry, "we don't want the money-keep it-keep it-you want it for your