CHAPTER XIII

Only Think

SOMETHING very unexpected was about to happen.

It was an ordinary day in July. The little girls woke up as usual, and dressed as usual, and had their breakfast as usual. And then as usual came lessons with Auntie Anne. And afterwards, as usual, they were sent out for a walk with Elisabeth.

All just the same as any other day. And yet something was drawing near, which nobody in the house suspected or had any idea of. Things often come like that in life; happy things or sad things, one after another, creeping step by step closer; and no one can see or hear or feel their approach till, suddenly—here they are.

What do you think it was that was coming? Can you guess? Wait, and presently you shall hear.

As they started for their walk, Ivy on one side of Elisabeth, walking demurely, and Hecla frisking on the other side, up ran Trip, the Vicarage dog.

"Come along, Trip. You dear delightful, Trip!" cried Hecla.

Trip was not so faithful in his affections as he might have been. Though Hecla, holding out hands of welcome, was his older friend, he unkindly passed her over and rushed at Ivy, fussing round the little girl and struggling to lick her face. It was a very nice face to lick, no doubt; but still he might just as well have said, "How do you do?" first to Hecla, if only as a matter of politeness.

When he had done with Ivy, he jumped on Hecla, and gave one little wet dab at the tip of her nose, and then made another dash at Ivy, Elisabeth all the while protesting, and telling the children on no account to let him lick them. It wasn't nice, she truly said.

"He may come with us, mayn't he?" cried Hecla. "Come along, Trip!"

And Ivy echoed—

"Come, Trip."

Trip fully meant to come, so these invitations were unnecessary. Chris was at school; and Trip liked companions.

They went through two or three fields, where cows were lazily munching, and dragon-flies swooped hither and thither, and birds sang and insects buzzed. It was warm and sunny and very pleasant. The trees were, of course, in full leaf now, and the sun blazed down hotly.

Hecla was in one of her question-asking moods. She had fits of it now and then; and Ivy would listen at such times, with her big brown eyes wide open, content to listen while Hecla chattered.

"Elisabeth, were you often naughty when you were a little girl?"

Elisabeth said she wouldn't wonder if she was.

"But I want to know, truly—were you? Grown-up people always won't say if they were naughty. And I do like to be told. What did you do that was naughty?"

"If I was naughty, my mother just smacked me, Miss Hecla."

"And did that make you very good directly?"

"If it didn't, it had ought to, Miss Hecla."

"I shouldn't like to be smacked. Auntie Anne doesn't smack me. Look at that big bird. Is it a rook? Why do the rooks say 'Caw' all day long?"

Elisabeth did not know. She supposed it was "their nature."

"I wish it was my nature. I don't see why we shouldn't say 'Caw, caw,' too, when we're happy! Elisabeth—what's a bob?"

"Whatever makes you want to know that, Miss Hecla?"

"I want to know heaps of things. I'd like to know everything. And I've heard people talk about a 'bob.' Somebody one day said he'd got 'two bob.' And somebody else said somebody had 'dropped a bob to the Vicar.' What did they mean?"

"It's a sort of a curtsey, I suppose, Miss Hecla."

"But it can't be that, possibly, you know. Why, you couldn't say a person had got two curtseys. It wouldn't be sense."

"It means money too." Elisabeth refrained from stating the value. "Little ladies don't talk about having two bob."

"Why don't they?"

"Because they don't, Miss Hecla."

"That's no reason at all. I'm learning how to make my curtsey quite nicely. If I was to see the King, I'd do it—so." Hecla made a profound dip. "Would he be pleased?"

"I shouldn't wonder but what he would, Miss Hecla."

Hecla made three more curtseys, and then went off on a fresh tack.

"What is it that makes people sneeze? Mrs. Prue sneezed six times this morning."

"Perhaps she'd got a cold."

"No, she said she hadn't. Not one bit of a cold. She said it was just her way. And Auntie Millicent said once—that was when Mrs. Prue was as cross as cross could be—she said it was just poor old Prue's way too. I think Mrs. Prue has a lot of 'ways.' Elisabeth! Oh, look at Trip."

A flock of geese, walking with slow and stately steps across the corner of their field, drew Trip's attention; and in a moment he was off, wildly charging the flock. Off too were the geese, at their best speed, careering along, legs aided by wings. Trip again and again all but overtook them, but the geese would make a fresh spurt and get ahead, and then the dog would urge himself to greater speed.

It was useless to call. He was not an obedient little dog. Elisabeth and Hecla shrieked after him in vain.

"Trip! Trip! Come back! Naughty Trip! Come back this instant!" they commanded again and again.

But Trip turned a deaf ear to all appeals. He was enjoying his chase, and he meant to have it out.

Would he kill or injure a goose, if he managed to get one into his grip? That was Elisabeth's fear. Hecla's dread was that the geese in their wrath might put an end to her beloved Trip.

Wisely the hunted geese thought of the pond, which lay low at one end of the large field. Cackling and protesting vehemently, they fled thither, pursued still by their relentless foe, and one and all plunged in. For the moment, Trip seemed non-plussed. He did not love water; and he ran round and round the pond, trying to get at his prey without wetting his feet. The geese swam vigorously to and fro, always avoiding that side where Trip happened to be. This lasted some little time, Elisabeth and Hecla still vainly ordering him to desist and to come away.

Then Trip made up his mind and plunged heroically in.

The game grew keener. Trip, snorting and gasping, pursued the big unwieldy birds, which in a terrific fright fled from him, to and fro, round and round the little pond. Again and again, as he overtook them, they splashed the water violently with their wings, half stifling the dog with showers of spray, and half swimming, half fluttering out of his reach. Trip, no whit daunted, though becoming more and more breathless, pursued them again; and this was repeated times without number.

"Oh dear, oh dear, I know they'll kill Trip," Hecla kept saying, almost crying. "Poor little Trip. Trip, do come away. Come, Trip. I know he'll be killed!"

"It's a deal more likely he'll kill one o' the geese, and there'll be a pretty kettle o' fish to fry," declared Elisabeth. "We can't stop longer, Miss Hecla. It's time to go home, and Miss Anne told me I was to be sure to be early, 'cause it worries Miss Storey so if we ain't."

"But we can't leave Trip. We can't possibly, Elisabeth. We must wait till he comes away. He'll get killed, if we go. Just look!—" As Trip, gasping for breath, reached the flock, and with a great fluttering and splashing, the geese once more skimmed across out of his reach. "Oh, you naughty naughty Trip. I know they'll kill him! He'll drown. Oh dear!"

"He'll take care of himself—never you fear. Miss Hecla, you've got to come. I can't stop, nor let you stop, if it was a dozen Trips. I've promised Miss Anne I wouldn't be late, and I ain't going to break my word. And you've made lots of promises that you'd be good; and if you don't come, you won't be good."

Yes, Hecla knew this; and she knew now the consequences that might spring from wrong-doing. She did not forget. But it was very, very hard. Poor dear Trip looked so exhausted, and swam so heavily, and gasped so hard for breath, that she felt sure he would soon fall into the clutches of those big noisy geese, and would sink and drown, and never rise again to the surface of the pond. And this might be her last sight of dear Trip. And Chris—what would Chris say?

But she had promised again and again. She had said she would try her very best to be good and obedient.

"Yes, I'll come," she murmured, turning her back upon the pond, and trying hard not to cry. "Please, mayn't we run very fast, and then we can send somebody to save poor little Trip?"

Elisabeth was quite willing, and they set off at full speed, each taking one of Ivy's hands to help her along.

And before they were half-way to the gate of that same field, Trip came flying cheerfully after them, none the worse for his exciting chase. So soon as he found himself alone, he left the geese, and followed his friends.

Hecla was immensely relieved, and did not know whether to scold him or to kiss him. So she did both by turns, and both had much the same effect on Trip. She was very, very glad that she had not given way to the temptation to disobey Elizabeth.

They reached "The Cottage" in good time; but the mid-day meal was not to be so punctual as usual that day. As they arrived at the front gate, a fly from the station drove up and stopped. And a voice cried from within,—

"Ivy! Ivy! My little darling!"

"It's mummie!" Ivy exclaimed, getting pink all over her face.

In a moment, two people were out of the cab, and Ivy was folded in her mother's tight embrace, while her father was kissing the top of her head, and trying to get hold of a little bit of his child.

Hecla stood looking on, and the two aunties came out, very much astonished.

But at first, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Croft could look at anybody or anything except their child, from whom they had been so many months parted.

Ivy's happy murmurs of "Mummie!" and "Daddy!" mingled with their smothered sounds of joy.

At last, they spoke to Aunt Millicent and Aunt Anne, Mrs. Croft still clasping Ivy, and the child still clinging to her.

"Yes, we have really, really come home," Mrs. Croft said.

"And you won't go away again, mummie?" Ivy entreated, as they went indoors, after a good deal of questioning, and of half answering, everybody speaking confusedly all at once.

"No, my sweet; never, never again, I hope!"

They had still to explain how it was that they had returned. It was Ivy who made them do so. Her little voice was heard very distinctly enquiring:

"Why-because have mummie and daddy got back?"

"Sweet little 'why-because!' I am so glad you have not cured her of that," Mrs. Croft said, as she hugged her child afresh.

Then she and her husband thanked Miss Storey and Miss Anne with all their hearts for taking such care of Ivy. She looked so well, they said; so rosy and strong and healthy and happy.

And then they explained "why-because" this had come about. Ivy's daddy had been ill, and the doctor had said that he ought not to stay in Africa. And they had been very much puzzled what to do, for it had been an expensive voyage out, and they did not see how they could afford to return so soon. And while they were wondering what to do, an old uncle had died suddenly; and this kind old uncle left them some money. And that had made it easy for them to give up Africa, and to come back to dear old England.

"But will Ivy have to go away from here?" asked Hecla in dismay. "I do hope she won't. I want Ivy always."

It would indeed have been a great trouble to both the children, had they been separated. Very soon, however, they found to their delight that this was not to be. Mr. and Mrs. Croft wanted to have Hecla with them—always. They meant to take a house at Nortonbury, as near as possible to the Miss Storeys, and to live there; and they wished to bring up Hecla with Ivy, because it was not good for Ivy to be an only child. They feared that their darling might be too much indulged, and spoilt.

Miss Anne was grieved at the thought of losing both the children; yet she knew that it was better so. And she perhaps felt a little relieved too. For Miss Storey was not strong enough, since the river accident, to stand children constantly about; and Miss Anne wanted to be free to devote herself more entirely to her elder sister.

Besides, if Mr. and Mrs. Croft lived near, the children would be perpetually running in and out; and that would keep the aunts cheerful.

And was it not curious? Aunt Anne knew of a nice, pretty house, just the right size, with a garden, standing empty round the next corner.

Mr. Croft went off to see it directly after dinner. And he liked the house and the garden so much, that in a few days everything was settled.

So, though Hecla would no longer be all day long with Miss Storey and Miss Anne, she would be less than five minutes off. Ivy was delighted to have her dear Hecla with her in the new home. And Mr. and Mrs. Croft were so good, and kind, and gentle with her, that very soon it almost felt to Hecla like the days when she had her own mother and father.

"Mummie, why-because does Hecla kiss you so very, very much?" Ivy one day asked.

"I suppose, pet, it is because she is a tender-hearted little girl, and likes to be loved," Mrs. Croft replied. "And she is very fond of Ivy too, I am sure—isn't she?"

"And I do love Hecla, mummie. I love her—heaps. And p'rhaps that's why-because she loves me," Ivy suggested, in her serious fashion.

THE END

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.