CHAPTER V

The Wonderful News

HECLA had to wait next day till after early dinner, before hearing what the wonderful news was. Miss Storey felt sure that, if she were told sooner, she would not do a single lesson well that morning; so at breakfast, Aunt Anne promised that she should know directly dinner was over, if she were good meantime.

That "if" had wonderful power. Hecla, in alarm lest she should have to wait another day, did her very best, and did nicely. She actually kept from fidgeting, learnt her easy lessons, wrote neatly, made few ink-spots, and put almost everything away in its right place, without being reminded.

"So, you see, dear, you can do better when you choose," Aunt Millicent remarked. "What a pity you don't choose oftener!"

And it was a pity, was it not?

Then she went for her walk with Elisabeth, and Elisabeth seemed to know more than Hecla did, for she kept pursing up her lips in a most provoking fashion, and refusing to answer questions.

"You'll hear, all in good time," was the most she would say, when Hecla kept wondering and wondering what the "news" could possibly be.

"I believe you know all the time, and I don't see why I shouldn't too," she said in an injured tone, forgetting that but for her own fault she would have been told as soon as Elisabeth. "Do just say one thing! It isn't a doll, is it? A big, big doll that winks. I should love to have a doll that winks! It isn't that, I'm quite perfectly sure, because it's nobody's birthday now, and I do wish it was."

"If you're quite perfectly sure, Miss Hecla, there ain't no need for me to tell you."

"Elisabeth, you're just horrid!" cried Hecla, and she raced away, making Elisabeth race after her.

But, of course, she did not really mean that kind Elisabeth was horrid; and in three minutes she was back again by her side, putting endless questions.

In time the walk ended. They reached home punctually at one, and early dinner followed. Both aunts were smiling; and Hecla felt sure that the coming news must be good news. She was in such haste to be told, that she tried to get rid of her helping in a terrific hurry, and drew on herself more than one rebuke.

"My dear Hecla, you will certainly choke yourself," Miss Storey said seriously. "That is not the way to eat. Look at Aunt Anne and me. Do we stuff our food down in that fashion?"

Hecla was obliged to confess that they did not, as she watched the tiny morsels which were delicately inserted, one by one, between Miss Storey's lips.

"But I'm in such a dreadful hurry to-day, auntie."

Aunt Anne looked pleadingly at Aunt Millicent, and the latter said nothing. Hecla tried to copy Miss Storey's mode of eating; and so pleased was Miss Storey to see this that, when the meat went away, she observed—

"You have been a good girl this morning, and you shall not wait any longer."

And then the news was told.

Hecla listened with fixed eyes of amazement, hardly able to believe what she heard. She kept breaking in with questions, interrupting explanations, and repeating the words uttered, as if they conveyed no meaning to her mind. It was not that she was actually stupid, as a listener might have imagined, but that her own thoughts were racing at such a pace as to make it impossible for her to take in half of what was spoken. Naturally she became puzzled.

"A real little girl! Coming here! Coming to live! Truly, auntie! A real, live, little girl!"

"My dear Hecla, don't be silly," began Miss Storey, rather vexed.

And before she could utter another word, Hecla, suddenly grasping what the news meant, leaped from her chair, and hopped vigorously round the room.

Miss Storey looked in despair at her sister, who was smiling, and said, "Now, what is that for?"

"Just a little ebullition of feeling, dear Millicent," said Miss Anne.

And as Hecla, in her wild career, came close, she put out a firm hand and stopped the child. Hecla stood still, breathing hard with her exertions.

"What's 'ebullition,' auntie?"

Miss Anne did not take the trouble to reply, since she knew from experience that the explanation would be forgotten in five minutes. She only said—

"How will you like to have little Ivy?"

Hecla gasped with joy.

"And is her name Ivy, auntie?"

"We have told you so four times already," remarked Miss Storey. "Surely you knew that you had a little cousin named Ivy!"

Yes, of course Hecla had known it, but she had a provoking way of seeming to forget things, just when she ought to have remembered them.

"And will she be ever so much smaller than me?"

"Now, Hecla, why do you not ask sensible questions? Ivy is more than three years younger than you."

"And will she be here always, always?"

"For a time she will be here, while her father and mother are abroad."

Hecla wanted to hop again, but Miss Anne held her fast.

"That was what I expected," Miss Storey said, sighing. "We ought to have waited till after dinner, as I intended."

"Yes, you were right," agreed Miss Anne.

"Now, Hecla, you are to sit down and eat your pudding. No more hopping. You know that you are not allowed to get up in the middle of dinner."

"Unless Auntie Millicent wants me to ring the bell!"

"But she did not want you to ring the bell just now, so that has nothing to do with the question."

"Oh, but I'm so dreadfully glad, auntie."

Hecla danced round the table to her seat, and plumped into it.

"I don't want any pudding, please."

"But pudding is good for you." And Miss Storey sent a helping, as usual. "That is to be eaten, my dear."

Hecla began it in a distracted style. "Oh dear—what is Ivy like, auntie, please?"

"She was a very dear little girl when we saw her last," Miss Anne replied. "You and she will be great friends, I am sure."

Hecla gave a leap in her chair, which set the glasses rattling, and her spoon fell—handle and all—into her rice pudding.

"My dear Hecla!" protested Miss Storey, but she was unheard.

Hecla's cheeks were crimson.

"Auntie—oh, auntie—please—may I take care of Ivy? Please, mayn't I? I'd love to dress and undress her; like I do with my doll."

"And throw her into a corner, when you are tired of doing it?" asked Miss Anne.

"Oh no, no—I couldn't ever be tired of Ivy! May I?"

"Elisabeth, a fresh spoon for Miss Hecla. Finish your pudding," said Miss Storey.

"Mayn't I, auntie? Please say yes."

"If we find you growing very, very careful and particular, and always doing what you are told, perhaps some day you shall be allowed to help," Aunt Anne said. "But you must show us first that we can trust you, Hecla. You must not go on forgetting everything you are told."

Hecla swallowed a big mouthful with a gulp.

"I'll never, never, never forget one single thing ever again, auntie. And then you'll know I can be trusted—won't you?"

"Yes, I think we should know then," Miss Anne said.

And Miss Storey shook an unbelieving head.

"Auntie, I don't feel as if I could lie down quiet this afternoon," pleaded Hecla, as they rose from table. "I'm all over kicks and jumpiness all through every single bit of me. I do want to go out, and have a run. Please—mayn't I?"

The aunts spoke together in undertones; and Miss Anne turned to Hecla.

"Just for once we will let you off the lying down," she said. "You must be very good, and not ask it again. I am going to speak to Mr. Deane, and you may come with me."

Hecla flung herself on Aunt Anne, in rapturous gratitude.

Alas, for Miss Anne's beautiful frills! But she liked to be hugged, even though she gently tried to shelter the frills from being crushed.

"That will do, dear. Now we must get our hats."

"And perhaps I shall find Chris. I do want to tell Chris; and Uncle John too."

"Uncle John" was Mr. Deane, the Vicar of Nortonbury. He was not really Hecla's uncle, but since Chris, his nephew, always called him so, Hecla had fallen into the same way. Mr. Deane liked her to do it. He was very fond of children, and all children loved him.

During many years he had worked tremendously hard in a big poor London parish, till he became very ill, and was ordered to go into the country, to save his life. He was here still, three years after, always hoping to be some day strong enough to go back to his beloved London work; but at present he was not nearly so. He was not married, and he had one orphan nephew living with him, just as the Misses Storey had one little orphan niece.

Hecla and Chris were great chums. He was over ten, and of course he felt himself to be years and years older and wiser than a mere little girl of eight and a half; and, of course, he expected her to be properly meek and submissive. But, as she had an immense admiration for him, and never supposed that he could do wrong, he was really kind to her; and on the whole, he did not dislike to have her hanging round, and watching his every movement with dog-like devotion, only not quite so dumb as a dog's devotion, for whatever else happened or did not happen, Hecla always talked.

As Miss Anne Storey and Hecla reached the open door of the Vicarage—it generally stood wide open, as if inviting the people of the place to go in as often as they liked, which, indeed, was the Vicar's desire—a pale, thin, delicate-looking man, with a face which seemed made of sunshine, came out of the front room.

"What! Miss Anne and little Hecla! Come along. Come in," he said heartily. "How do you both do? Well, little one?"

Hecla burst out at once, "Oh, Uncle John, only think! There's a dear, sweet, little darling pet cousin coming!"

"Eh, how's that?" The Vicar led them in, put a chair for Miss Anne, and dropped into another himself.

Miss Anne began to explain, and Hecla broke in with further particulars, as she leant confidingly against the Vicar's knee.

"Hush, hush," he murmured. "Polite people don't interrupt, you know. Aunt Anne was saying something."

Hecla held her tongue exactly six seconds, and felt as if she had been silent for half-an-hour.

"Won't it be lovely?" she exclaimed, taking advantage of a tiny halt. "And I'm going perhaps to dress and undress Ivy, as soon as ever I've shown I can be properly trusted."

Mr. Deane's eyes twinkled. "Can't you be trusted yet? That is sad."

"Because I sometimes forget," Hecla said, hanging her head. "But," and she brightened up, "I'm beginning this very minute, so's to be ready when Ivy comes."

"It's a great thing to be trusted, Hecla. Worth trying hard for. Mind you do."

"And Ivy's only five years old, Uncle John."

"Ah, that ought to make a little woman of you. When she comes, you must remember that you will be the big girl, and she the little one. You will have to set her a good example. See?"

Hecla nodded, examining the Vicar's sleeve-stud.

"Little girls almost always try to do what they see big girls doing. So a great deal will depend upon you. If Ivy sees you careful and truthful and obedient, she will try to be the same. And if not—she will copy the other ways. I wonder if you are going to think about this, and be a help to Auntie Anne."

"I don't mean ever to forget anything ever again!"

"That's right. Aim high, little one. Always try for the best. And how are you going to do it?" He lifted his hand gravely upward. "That is the only way," he said. "You must ask God to make you able."

Hecla nodded shyly.

"And now I think you must run out into the garden while Aunt Anne and I have a talk. You'll find Chris there somewhere. Down the path to the little pond."

Hecla glanced at Miss Anne Storey for leave, and then, as he released her, she scampered cheerfully off, through the open front door, and down the side path of which the Vicar had spoken. This being Chris' half-holiday, she had been in great hopes of coming across him.

And, indeed, no sooner had she passed through a mass of bushes than she saw her friend. The path opened out upon a minute pond, and by its side stood a boy, hands in pockets, surveying a large frog. The frog sat motionless, apparently surveying him with no less interest. Christie, or Chris, as he was commonly called, had a merry, freckled face, and reddish hair.

"Chris!" she cried. "Only think—only think, Chris!"

"Well?" questioned Chris, not changing his attitude.

"Chris, it's going to be so lovely!"

"What is?"

Chris showed no overwhelming interest: A girl's news was not likely to be important.

Hecla whirled round like a little dancing Dervish as a relief to her spirits, and dropped down on the grass, only to spring up and whirl again.

"Hallo—I say, you're frightening my frog."

Hecla came to a standstill.

"Is he yours? How did you get him?"

"Came," Chris explained with brevity. "What's up?"

"Guess—only guess! I'll give you—twenty guesses!"

"New doll?"

"No, it isn't a new doll—not exactly."

"Well, you may as well say. New frock, I suppose," with calm disdain.

Hecla whirled again, three times round. "No, it isn't a new frock," she cried gleefully.

"Then I don't know what it is. Girls only care for dolls and frocks."

"It's—it's—Chris, it's the loveliest news! Only think! A dear little darling girl is coming to live with us. Really to live with us, Chris. A real, true cousin!" By which, she rather unkindly meant to point the difference between this connection and the sham relationship which Chris enjoyed.

But the arrow fell harmless, for Chris was sublimely indifferent to cousinships.

"And I'm going to do heaps of things for her. And she's to have all my toys, and the dolls most especially, for I sha'n't want dolls now I'm going to have Ivy. She'll be ever so much nicer than dolls, and I'll always play with her. And perhaps I'll be allowed to dress and undress her."

"You'll jolly soon get sick of that."

"No, I sha'n't. I'll never get tired of her. And I've got to show I can be trusted, and I don't mean ever to forget things again. And then they'll know I can."

Chris laughed.

"You needn't laugh, Chris—not like that—truly you needn't, because I do mean it you know."

Chris was delicately tickling the frog with a straw to induce it to leap. Hecla paused in her outpour to watch his proceedings. She always loved to look at what he might be doing.

"So it's a baby, is it?" he presently vouchsafed to ask.

"The frog?" inquired absent-minded Hecla.

"You dunderhead! The cousin, of course!"

"She's near a baby—but not quite. She's five years old."

"And you're only eight—pretty much the same."

This was too insulting—even from Chris.

"Why, Chris!"—getting crimson. "Oh, Chris, how can you? Why, I'm eight and a half, and a whole month besides. And I can read, and I can hem pocket-handkerchiefs, and I can spell and do lots of sums. And I know history. And she's only a tiny wee mite!"

Then Hecla reminded him that even he was only ten and a half, just two years older than herself—which he always treated as a huge difference—and she tried to reason out the fact that he was less older than herself than she was older than Ivy. She saw the comparison in her mind, but only managed to bring it out confusedly.

And Chris's sole comment was, "Bosh!"

Then the frog made up his mind what to do, and went off in a series of long leaps. Chris rushed after him, and Hecla would have done the same but for Aunt Anne's voice calling.

So she had to go home, feeling rather flat, for her joy in Ivy's coming had met with small sympathy from her chum.