CHAPTER VIII

Hecla in Charge

ONE Sunday Miss Storey had a very bad headache. It was a rather unfortunate day for this to happen. Elisabeth had been sent home for two nights, to meet a sister whom she had not seen for three years; and Mrs. Prue, in consequence, was extra busy, and extra cross.

Miss Anne Storey always had to go out after early dinner, to the Sunday school, where she was superintendent of the girls' classes; and it was very difficult for her to stay away. Yet the question was—how could she leave poor Aunt Millicent in charge of the two children, with nobody to help? It would have been different, if Hecla had been a staid, dependable child—or if Ivy had been the elder of the two. Hecla was such an erratic little person; one never could guess what she might do next; and if left alone, she was sure to get into mischief.

"I wonder if I ought to stay at home. If I do, I must send word to the Vicar," Miss Anne said anxiously, before dinner, when she came back from church with Hecla and Ivy.

Little as Ivy was, she always begged to be allowed to go with the others. And, while Hecla fidgeted and fussed, twisted her fingers and kicked the hassock, dropped her Prayer-book and turned over the leaves of her hymn-book, Ivy would sit as still and as quiet as a woman of thirty.

"I am sure you ought not, and I could not let you, my dear," Miss Storey answered bravely. She had been on her bed all the morning, and had dragged herself downstairs before their return, looking very white, and hardly able to hold up her head. "I shall do quite well. The children will be good, I am sure. And the Vicar could not manage without you."

"He would—if I sent him word that I must stay away."

"It would be wrong. He has so much on his hands. And you told me yesterday that your three best teachers are ill. You must certainly go. I will not hear of anything else."

She tried to sit up at dinner, and pretended to take some food; but she soon had to give in, and lie down on the sofa, with her eyes shut.

"I wish I knew what to do," sighed Miss Anne, feeling herself pulled in two.

Hecla spoke up eagerly. "Auntie, won't you let me take care of Ivy this afternoon? I'll be most dreadfully good, if only you will. Please—please—"

Miss Anne smiled. "I am sure you will do your best," she said. "If you will think of Auntie Millicent, and will not talk loudly or knock things down, that will be a real help."

"I promise I will, auntie. And I'll amuse Ivy. Mayn't I have the pictures to show her? I'll keep her ever so quiet."

Miss Anne thought that of the two Ivy would need less "keeping quiet" than Hecla; but she did not say so. "Yes, I hope you will," she replied. "Any noise makes Auntie Millicent's head worse. You shall have the pictures; only you must turn them over carefully, and not crumple the corners."

Hecla clapped her hands.

"Oh, I forgot!" she said, as Miss Anne put a finger to her lips. "I won't again."

"Try to remember. I would leave you both with Prue, but she has Elisabeth's work to do as well as her own, so she cannot attend to you. Mind, Hecla, you are the older, and I shall count you responsible. Do you know what that means?"

Hecla weighed the question. "No," she said. "Is sponresible something nice?"

"It means that if things go wrong, you will be the one blamed, and not Ivy, because she is so little. But Ivy must be good too."

"Mayn't we go into the garden, please? I do love being there. I'll take such heaps of care of Ivy."

"You shall go into the garden when I come back; and I shall try to be early. Till then you must play in the bow-window, while Auntie Millicent lies on the drawing-room sofa. Suppose you try to teach Ivy a little about some of the pictures."

"Oh, that'll be lovely!" exclaimed Hecla, with a leap in her chair. "I know!—we'll have Sunday school. And I'll have a class; and Ivy shall be my class."

"Very well. But remember, dear, Bible pictures don't mean fun. You must tell her reverently—remembering that the Bible Is God's Book. Can I trust you, Hecla?"

"Yes, auntie."

They went into the drawing-room; and Aunt Millicent lay down on the easy sofa, with a shawl over her; and Miss Anne settled the children in the big sunny bow-window, bringing the promised pictures before she went off to the school.

Hecla would much have preferred to be left in sole charge. But as Miss Storey had her face towards the wall, and could not see what they were doing, this was next best. She began energetic preparations for holding her "class," dragging a chair for herself, and then running into the passage for a small bench which always stood there. Pulling this along made a considerable clatter, and Miss Storey asked wearily, "What are you doing?"

"I'm only getting this for my class, auntie. I won't go on making noises," promised Hecla cheerfully. "It's only just a teeny minute—and it will bump and flump so."

Miss Storey sighed, and endured as best she might.

"You're to sit there, Ivy, 'cause you've got to be my class," eagerly explained Hecla. "And you're four little girls. When you're there, right-top of the class, you're Ivy; and when you're there, you're Mary; and the next is Jane; and the next is Susan. And you've got to slide along—so—" She whisked the submissive child aside, and showed how it was to be done. "And so you'll be all the little girls. And if Ivy can't answer a question, you'll slip along and be Mary. And if Mary can't, you'll slip along and be Jane. Don't you see?"

Ivy did not see, though her eyes were solemnly wide open and attentive. Hecla plumped down into her own chair, took up a book, and asked with an important air—

"How many people got into the Ark, children?"

Silence. Ivy stared calmly and helplessly. The arrangement was too complicated.

"Can't you tell me, Ivy? Then Mary must. Shove along!"—in an authoritative whisper. "Hurry!"—and Hecla herself gave the needed push. "Now you're Mary; and you're to hold out your hand—right out!—'cause you've got to know. You're to say—'Six'—no, I mean—auntie, how many was there in the Ark?"

Miss Storey was trying to get to sleep.

"What, dear?" she inquired drowsily.

"How many people was it that got into the Ark, auntie?"

"Eight," murmured Miss Storey. "Don't ask me any more questions."

"No, auntie, I won't. Now then, Mary, you've got to say—'eight.' Say—'eight'—Ivy."

Ivy made no effort.

"Oh dear me, you don't understand yet! Get up, and I'll show you. Now, you ask me, and I'll answer. I'm the class now. Ask me—'How many people were there in the Ark?'

"Well—I'll pretend that you have. Look—I'm Hecla, and I can't answer. Now I'm Mary, and I can't answer. Hecla and Mary are stupid. Now I'm Jane, and Jane is cleverer, and I can answer. And I stick out my hand like that—I've seen the children do it!—And I shout out—'Eight!'"

Hecla did shout too, forgetting all about poor Miss Storey.

But it was too bewildering for little Ivy, who never did anything in a hurry. Hecla's lightning rapidity of movement overpowered her. Tears filled her eyes, and she muttered—"I want—mummie!"

"Oh dear, oh dear!—You're not going to cry! Why, I only meant to amuse you. Don't cry!—Please don't cry, Ivy darling. Wouldn't you rather be a class? I should like it, if I was you."

"I want mummie." And there was a small sob.

Hecla plumped down beside her, and began an energetic hug.

"Don't cry. We won't have a class. We'll do something different. You've got to be good, you know, 'cause of Auntie Millicent. I know what—I'll show you the pictures straight off; and you'll be you, and I'll be me; and we won't be teacher and children. I'll show you the pictures that I like most of all. There's four of them. Look—isn't that a beauty? It's Daniel in the lions' den, you know; and there's King Darius peeping in. Isn't Daniel a nice dear man? And that's such a sweet lion that's got his head against Daniel's knee. And he was so hungry, and he wouldn't eat Daniel."

"Why-because wouldn't he eat Daniel?" asked Ivy, comforted.

"Because he mightn't. Because Daniel was such a good, good man, and God took care of him. Lots of care! And He shut all the lions' mouths quite tight, so they couldn't bite Daniel."

"That lion's got his mouth wide open," remarked Ivy, pointing to one in the background.

"That's only because he doesn't like the king peeping through the window-hole, and the king was naughty, not good like Daniel, and so the lion's roaring at him. And he couldn't roar with his mouth shut, I s'pose. And the king was most dreadfully unhappy, because he thought he was going to find his nice dear Daniel eaten all up. And he didn't."

"Why-because didn't he?"

"Why, Ivy, I've just told you why. You know quite well. And now I am going to show you my most particular pet picture of all."

"But I want to see Daniel and the nice lion," complained Ivy.

"Well, you shall see them again presently. I want to show you David and the giant. David was another nice good man—there's such lots of nice men in the Bible. And I do like that giant, he's so big and fierce, and he's got, oh, such a big staff and sword. And David is such a little mite of a man. But David's face is pretty, and the giant's is ugly. Isn't that a beauty picture?"

Ivy was so long taking it in, that Hecla grew impatient.

"Why-because is that man so big?"

"Why, he was a giant, and his name is Goliath. All giants are big, you know. If they weren't, they wouldn't be giants. Now I'm going to show you a lovely picture—it's the man that got hung in a tree. Oh dear, where is he? I can't remember his name, but he was King David's naughty son—King David that killed the wicked giant. And he's got a most beautiful dress—lots of colours."

Hecla was frantically turning over the pictures, forgetting her promise to be careful of the edges; and the rustle tried poor Aunt Millicent not a little. She said nothing, however, as Hecla was trying hard to keep Ivy happy.

"Here he is—stuck right up in the tree," exclaimed Hecla, with triumph. "And look, he's caught by his chin. Auntie Anne says the painter's made it wrong, 'cause he really was caught by his hair. He'd grown lots and lots of hair, more like what you've got, and his hair caught tight, and he was running away, and the horse galloped off, and he just hung there and couldn't get down, and he was killed. And now I'm going to show you—"

"But I want to look at that man. Why-because didn't he get down out of the tree?"

"Why, he couldn't, Ivy. His hair was all twisted in and out of the branches. Don't you see? I know his name—it's Absalom. You can look at him while I'm hunting for the next. I want to find the little Syrian maid. She's such a dear; and her mistress is sitting all doubled up, so funny, on a big cushion. Auntie Anne says they do sit like that in some places, and not properly on chairs like we do."

"Ablomson's got pretty hair," remarked Ivy.

"Yes; all yellow, isn't it? And now you'd like to see the giant again, wouldn't you? And I'll tell you the whole real story, if you'll sit on my lap and be good."

Hecla's lap was rather small, but she managed to perch Ivy in a safe position; and the story-telling proved such a success that Ivy listened, entranced, and kept saying, "More!" if Hecla showed signs of stopping.

Hecla much flattered, kept on, and the two were so quiet that Miss Storey actually managed to drop asleep for a few minutes, which did her a great deal of good.

And then, unexpectedly, Miss Anne stood close by, smiling down on the children.

"You have been good," she said. "And now I am going to take you both out in the garden, till tea is ready."

"Auntie Anne, why, you've got back ever so quick."

"Yes; somebody else took my place the last part of the time. I didn't feel sure that you would manage so nicely as you have done, Hecla."

Hecla danced all the way upstairs. "I think it's nice to be good," she said. "I won't ever be naughty again."

"You'll try not, at all events," Miss Anne suggested.

"Yes, I'll try," repeated Hecla.