The Squire's Little Girl

She took Phyllis’s hand and dragged her from the room. Phyllis struggled; but Miss Fleet was a strong woman, and Phyllis had no chance. She left the four Rectory children behind her in the attic with all the delightful débris of the delightful feast, and went downstairs, down and down, into the proper part of the house, into the dull rooms and the dull routine of her life, knowing that she was naughty, and knowing that Miss Fleet had a perfect right to punish her.

Miss Fleet took her straight into the schoolroom.

“Here you stay,” she said, “for the present. I will talk to you when you are calmer. You stay here until I let you out. I am too angry to speak to you at all just now.”

Miss Fleet turned as she spoke, shut the door behind her, locked it, and went away with the key in her pocket.

“Well!” said Phyllis.

She said this word aloud. She had been angry; she had been excited; she had gone through what seemed to her every sort of emotion during the last few hours, and now things had come to this.

“If only Father were at home,” thought the Squire’s little girl, and then she sank down on an ottoman in the middle of the room and burst into tears.

Her heart was very sore. She had not been a good girl, but, oh! she had enjoyed herself.

“Why is it so nice to be naughty, and why is it that I can’t feel sorry?” she said to herself.

She nursed with all her might and main hot anger against her governess, and for a long time succeeded. But the days were short, and by-and-by the light faded away at the windows, and there was only the firelight in the room. The fire was a good one; it had a guard in front of it. Phyllis went and poked it up; it blazed, and soon cheerful flashes of light fell all over the room. There was no lamp nor any other way of making a light. Phyllis crouched down near the fire and tried hard to think.

“I wonder when I’ll begin to feel sorry,” she said to herself. “In all the story-books when the children are naughty they are desperately, madly sorry afterwards, but I’m not one bit sorry – at least not yet.”

She nestled down comfortably on the hearthrug. Presently she took a pillow from one of the sofas and put it under her head, and then blinking into the fire and shutting and opening her eyes, she dropped off to sleep. When she awoke she found that the fire was nearly out; she was stiff and cold, too, from lying on the rug. She started up, and could not make out where she was.

Presently, however, memory came back to her. How cruel of Miss Fleet to leave her like this! How wrong! – how more than wrong!

“If Father were at home I would tell him he was to send Miss Fleet away,” said the little girl to herself. “She is a horrid, horrid woman; she makes me downright miserable. Oh, how dark it is! and there is no more coal in the coal-hod, and the fire will soon be out.”

She stood up and shook herself, and then she took the poker and poked what fire was left into as good a blaze as she could manage; but it soon died away for want of new fuel, and the little girl, who was now very desolate and in very low spirits and very hungry, began thoroughly to feel her punishment.

“I won’t stand it,” she said to herself. “It is awfully unfair. She has no right to do it.”

Phyllis ran to the door, shook it, and began to cry out:

“Open the door, please. Somebody come and open the door. I am here; Phyllis is here.”

But nobody answered because nobody heard her. Suddenly she thought of the bell. She ran to it and rang it over and over again; but as Miss Fleet had given positive directions that no one was to approach poor Phyllis in her imprisonment, there was no reply. The fire was now very nearly out.

“Well,” said Phyllis to herself, “at this rate she’ll kill me. I’ll be found frozen to death in the morning; and, oh, I am so hungry!”

But just then, before her physical sufferings could get any worse, there came a slow step on the carpet outside. The door was unlocked, and Miss Fleet, bearing a lamp in her hand, entered.

She laid the lamp on the centre table; she then went over and rang the bell. Phyllis stood facing her. Her face was tear-stained and very pale; her eyes flashed an angry light.

“I can run past you,” she said, “and get out of this room.”

“You can,” said Miss Fleet, just glancing at her and then bending down to adjust the flame of the lamp, “but you won’t.”

A servant appeared at the door.

“Fill this coal-hod, Henry, and bring it up immediately; and tell Cook to send Miss Phyllis’s dinner up. Be quick, please; the room is rather cold.”

The man departed, having just dared to give a sympathetic glance at Phyllis before he left the room. He quickly returned with the coals. The fire was built up and blazed merrily. He then drew down the blinds and pulled the curtains across the windows, and a moment later reappeared again, bearing a little tray of delicious food.

“I declare,” thought the child to herself, “I never knew before how nice a thing it is to eat. I am ready for my chop and fried potatoes. Oh! and I am glad I am having roast apples.”

She sat down quite cheerfully to her meal; even Miss Fleet’s presence scarcely annoyed her, so hungry was she and so glad to eat.

Chapter Eight

At last the meal came to an end. While Phyllis was eating it Miss Fleet sat near the fire.

She read, or pretended to read, the evening newspaper which had just been sent to the Hall.

Presently Phyllis got up, uttering a low sigh.

“Have you said your grace?” said Miss Fleet.

“Yes,” replied Phyllis. “I said it in a whisper. What else do you want me to do?”

“I wish you to listen to me – to be attentive and no longer impertinent. I’m tired of punishing you. You have been a very naughty girl, but I am willing to forgive you and to restore you to my favour, provided you do what I wish.”

“What is that?” asked Phyllis in a guarded voice.

“Come here, Phyllis.”

Miss Fleet drew the little girl towards her. Her voice had softened; some of the severity had left it.

Phyllis was the kind of child to be easily touched by kindness – no one could drive her, but affection and love could always guide her. Miss Fleet almost caressed the small hand which Phyllis stole into hers.

“I hate not being friends with you,” she said. “You have been my constant care and my constant pleasure for the last three years. Why do you suddenly turn against me?”

“I don’t,” said Phyllis. “I have always liked you – very well, that is; but you don’t understand me.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Phyllis. You are only a little girl of twelve years old. I am three times your age.”

“Three times twelve are thirty-six,” said Phyllis under her breath. “She never let out her age to me before.”

The fact that she knew Miss Fleet’s enormously great age gave her a slight feeling of satisfaction.

“Yes,” she said aloud.

“I must be kind to the poor thing; she is so very aged,” was her inward thought.

“Yes, I quite like you when you talk softly,” she said. “Go on, please.”

“I cannot argue with you; I can but give you my opinion. You behaved badly to-day – so badly, so disgracefully that I cannot bring myself to speak of it. You did this in your father’s absence – which made it, let me tell you, ten times worse; but I will forgive you and not tell your father if you make me a promise.”

“What, Miss Fleet?”

“Wait one moment. You don’t care to be always in this room, do you?”

“I hate being in this room. I hate being punished. I hate – I hate – I hate you to be cold to me. Do be nice to me again, Fleetie, for I’m quite too awfully miserable just now;” and the little girl flung her arms round Miss Fleet’s neck and burst into bitter weeping.

After all, Josephine Fleet did love her wayward little charge. She kissed her once or twice and patted her on her arm, and then she said:

“Now for our conditions. I forgive and you promise.”

“I promise!” said Phyllis.

“Yes.”

“And if I promise, you’ll never tell Father?”

“I will never tell your father.”

“And you will let me go into all the rooms and play, and ride my pony, and do everything just as I did before – just as I did before?”

“Just as you did before.”

“Then, of course, I’ll promise, darling Fleetie. There is no doubt about it. If you’ll let me do as I did before, I’ll promise. Is it to learn a lot of history? It is to do my horrid – Is it? Is it?”

“It is none of these things, Phyllis. It is this. You must give me your solemn word, as a lady, that you will not speak or have any intercourse with the Rectory children until your father’s return.”

“What!” said Phyllis.

All the light went out of her small face and all the gladness from her eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d be so mean, Fleetie,” she said, and she went right away to the other end of the room and stood with her back to her governess.

Miss Fleet glanced with a queer sort of longing towards the little figure.

The little figure at the other end of the room looked pathetic; it looked lonely. Miss Fleet remembered certain words of the Rector’s:

“I cannot see why you should object to the children playing with each other. Squire Harringay did not object; on the contrary, he was glad.”

“Yes, yes,” thought the governess; “and I would have allowed it in moderation, and doubtless it can be arranged in moderation when the Squire comes back. But Phyllis did wrong, and she must be punished in such a way as to make her feel it. I am forced to get this promise from her. I can take nothing else.”

But all the time while Miss Fleet thought, she kept watching the little figure, and presently she saw the shoulders slightly heave, and she guessed that Phyllis was crying.

“It is very hard; I hate myself,” thought the governess. “But I must, I must make her feel it.”

It was just at that moment that Phyllis wheeled right round and came up to Miss Fleet and said quietly:

“If I cannot see them, may I write to them to say why?”

“I will write to them and give the reason,” said Miss Fleet.

“May I not write my own self to Ralph, please, or to – to Susie?”

“I will write to them,” said Miss Fleet gently.

Phyllis stood quite silent for a moment. Once again her shoulders worked suspiciously, and Miss Fleet noticed that her little chest heaved, but she kept back her tears.

“There’s Susie,” she said after a pause; “she would so like the baby-house, and the rocking-horse that I never ride on because I have no playmates, you know. May they be sent over to the Rectory? I promised that she should have them. Need I wait till Father comes back to keep my promise?”

“You had no right to make the promise.”

“But mayn’t they go? Please say yes.”

“Not until your father returns.”

Phyllis now stood, very calm and despairing, close to Miss Fleet.

“You want me to love you, but you make it very hard for me to do so,” she said gently. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll promise for two whole days. If Father isn’t back at the end of two whole days, my promise is at an end. I don’t give you my word, as a lady, after two whole days. That is all. I will not make any promise after that, not for anybody.”

Chapter Nine

Phyllis was so tired after her day of exciting adventure that she slept quite soundly. She had no bad dreams in her sleep, and when she awoke in the morning and looked round her pretty, cosy room – with Nurse standing not far off ready to wait on her, with a bright fire burning in the grate, and her bath and all her other comforts close at hand – she raised herself on her elbow and gave a sigh of content.

“How nice you look, Nursey!” she said.

“How that pretty dress becomes you! What a darling, dear sort of face you have, Nursey; and how much I love you!”

But as she said the last words her happiness was changed into a sigh, for memory had returned.

“Oh Nursey!” she said, with a sort of groan, “I had forgotten just for a minute. Oh! I was such a miserable little girl yesterday, and Fleetie was so angry; but I have promised her, and for two whole days I will keep my promise. Do you think by any chance Father will be back at the end of two days?”

Now, Nurse had no very keen love for Miss Fleet. To begin with, she was jealous of her. Before Miss Fleet came on the scene she had Phyllis all to herself. It was she who superintended the little girl’s work and play; it was she who petted her and loved her and made her happy. With Miss Fleet’s advent these things changed; and although the good woman was far too sensible not to know that it was right that her dear little lady should have the best instruction in the world, yet there were times when she did not think that Miss Fleet quite understood Phyllis; the present occasion was one of these. If Phyllis had slept soundly all night – had slept the sleep of absolute exhaustion – Nurse had often awoke, and once even, drawn by a low, deep sigh from the little sleeper, had got out of bed, lit a candle, and scanned the small white face with no little anxiety.

“If this sort of thing goes on she will do for her, sweet little darling,” thought the nurse. “She wants to cram her dear little head with all sorts of useless knowledge, and never once, never for a minute to think that the lamb needs play and laughter and companions. Why, bless her! it did my heart good to hear her laughing yesterday, when she and those young romps found their way to the big attic. Well did I guess what they were after, the termagants, and small idea had I of telling madam where they were. I wonder now what I can do to cheer up my little pet!”

So when Phyllis the next morning had looked piteously at Nurse, and had asked if her father was at all likely to be back within two days, Nurse had put a large bath-towel over the can of hot water, had stirred up the fire, and then, going close to the little girl, had spoken.

“You tell me all about it, darling,” she said – “all, every single thing about it. The Squire did not a bit want to go to London, but it was business took him there. Why do you want him to be back so mortal bad in two days’ time?”

Phyllis’s face turned first red and then pale.

“Because I made a promise,” she said, then slowly, “and the promise hurts me awfully; but it was only for two days. If Father stays longer away I know I shall get very naughty again. Nursey, I mean to be naughty; I mean to be. I will have them back again, Nursey, and I will give them every sort of thing they want; and I will go and see them, and I will disobey her. Oh! it is horrid of me, but I have not kept back anything from her. She knows quite well what she has to expect; I have been fair to her, and she knows – it is for two days. It is what you call an – an amnesty – is not that a long word? – and it is just for two days.”

“Oh, but, my pet, you ought not to be naughty, you know,” said Nurse, who felt she must read a little moral lecture to her charge. “It is I, darling, who would like to give you companions and every other mortal thing you want; but there, my pet, the governess is set over you by the master, and I suppose you must obey her.”

“For two days, yes,” said Phyllis.

She did not say any more, but a very heavy sigh escaped her lips.

Nurse and she then plunged into the mysteries of her toilet, and at the usual breakfast-hour a very sprucely dressed, nice-looking little girl joined her governess in the schoolroom.

Meanwhile the children of the Rectory were having very varied opinions with regard to Phyllis. Rosie announced that she thought Phyllis quite the most captivating and beautiful little girl in the world; but Susie, who had been even more fascinated, announced gravely that she thought Phyllis, for all her fascinations, was in the wrong.

“It was delightful to steal up into the attic and have our stolen tea,” she said, “and to be promised those lovely, most, most fascinating playthings; but all the same what a state she had that governess of hers in! And – well, anyhow, Rosie, I would not do that sort of thing to my own mother. I would not be deceitful to her, and have friends when she did not approve.”

“As if that horrid Miss Fleet could be compared to our mother!” said Rosie somewhat hotly. “There, Sue, you are talking nonsense, and I am not inclined to listen.”

As to the boys, they declined absolutely to discuss Phyllis; Ralph felt that he was in a sort of fashion Phyllis’s chosen prince.

“We do not understand, and we cannot pretend to,” he said. “She will see us again when the right time comes; there is nothing I would not do for her, of course, but I cannot talk of it.”

Susie burst into a merry laugh, and Rose looked attentively at her brother. Ralph turned on his heel; he felt very like a knight of ancient romance, and Phyllis was the fair lady whom he was to rescue. He did not like to own it to himself, but he was very much hurt at the way things had gone, and very much puzzled with regard to Phyllis’s extraordinary behaviour; and he wondered how things were going to end. At school that morning he was not quite so attentive as usual, and went down a place in his form, and altogether did his lessons in that unsatisfactory way which is the usual result of being absent-minded. Instead of joining his brother and Susie and Rosie for their usual walk, he slipped away by himself, and of course he went in the direction of the Hall. He often peered through the trees to catch a glimpse of the dear little figure of Phyllis dressed in its pretty brown, with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes. At last, to his great delight, he saw her walking by herself in the distance. She was walking slowly, and evidently was lost in thought. The sight of her was more than Ralph could withstand. He ran fast, and soon was standing breathless and excited by her side.

“Oh Phyllis!” he said. “Oh Phyllis!”

Phyllis turned at once when she saw him, and her rosy cheeks got white, and there came a very puzzled look into her eyes.

“Ralph,” she said, “I cannot explain anything. You must go away. No, I cannot give you any message. I have promised, and I must – yes, I must keep my word. Perhaps some day you will know, and I can tell you. No, I won’t say another word. Go away, please – please.”

There was something not only entreating but also commanding in Phyllis’s face, and Ralph knew at once that he must obey her. He turned, therefore, very disconsolately, walked about twenty yards, and then looked back.

“Have you anything to say?” he cried.

“No,” she answered; “and I won’t even speak if you ask me another question, for I have promised, and I must keep my word.”

Chapter Ten

Nurse did not often take the bit between her teeth, as she expressed it, but the time had now come when, in her opinion, she ought to do so. Accordingly she made an excuse to go into the town soon after breakfast, and sent off a telegram on her own account to the Squire.

The little message was worded as follows: —

“Dear Master, – If you cannot come back in two days, please send for Miss Phyllis to town. Urgent. – Nurse.”

This rather startling telegram reached the Squire in London about the middle of the day. Now, it so happened that he had made arrangements not only not to return to the Hall in two days’ time, but, further, to go with a friend on special and urgent business to Scotland. They would both be travelling about a good deal, and to have Phyllis with them would be absolutely impossible; so the Squire contented himself with writing a long letter to Nurse, and giving her an address which would find him in case of need, and enclosing a five-pound note, which was to be spent on any special thing which Phyllis liked best to have. He also wrote to Miss Fleet, not, of course, alluding to Nurse’s telegram, but speaking with great affection about his child.

“You must be as good to her as ever you can,” he said. “I need scarcely say that I know you will be. I am sorry to be so long away from the dear child, but she will have her little friends, and doubtless their company will do much to sweeten her life.”

This letter Miss Fleet received the following morning. She read it deliberately. Phyllis watched her face all the while.

“Well,” said Phyllis, who had been as good as gold on the previous day, “when is Father coming back?”

“He does not say a word about coming back, Phyllis. Oh yes, though; he says in his postscript that we must expect him when we see him.”

“Then he will not be back to-morrow night?”

“Certainly not, dear. He is going to Scotland.”

Phyllis’s face turned very white. Miss Fleet looked full at her.

“My dear,” she said, “you have pleased me much by your conduct yesterday, and I trust until your father’s return you will be equally good; then I shall have a delightful report to render him.”

Phyllis made no remark. She would keep her word, certainly, as far as it went, but to-morrow she fully meant to see the children of the Rectory. This night would end the second day of her promise; she would consider herself free the next morning. With all her faults she was a very honest child. She looked full at Miss Fleet now.

“I won’t deceive you,” she said. “I made you a promise, and I will keep it; but, please, you can understand that my promise ends to-night. I mean that when this time to-morrow arrives, I won’t have made you any promise with regard to being good or bad.”

As Phyllis uttered these words the governess’s eyes rested on that portion of the Squire’s letter which expressed satisfaction at his little girl’s having companions to play with.

“If he knew,” thought Miss Fleet, “what thoroughly naughty children they are, he would certainly approve of my determination not to allow Phyllis to have anything to do with them. Yes, I must be guided by my own common-sense in the matter.”

Miss Fleet therefore now looked full up at the little girl, and said slowly and gently:

“All the same, I do not think you will make me unhappy while your father is away.”

Some one called the governess hastily; she ran out of the room. Phyllis continued her breakfast, feeling extremely discontented.

“Oh, I do wish Dad would come back!” she said to herself. “It is more than horrid to have him away. What am I to do? I know he would not mind my playing with the children.”

As these thoughts came to her, she saw her father’s letter lying upon Miss Fleet’s plate. Phyllis was a thoroughly honourable child, and she would not have read the letter for worlds, but just then, as if to tempt her to the uttermost, a puff of wind came in through the open window. The letter, written on thin paper, fluttered to the floor, and as Phyllis sprang to pick it up, her eyes fell on the very words she was not meant to see. She turned very white, and a look of resolution crossed her face.

“So Father approves. Then I am quite right, and I will disobey to-morrow,” she thought.

She put the letter back on Miss Fleet’s plate, and a moment later her governess came in.

“Fleetie,” said the little girl, “do you know what has happened since you left the room? This letter was blown off your plate by a gust of wind. I jumped up to put it back again, and I saw the words in which Father said that he was glad that I had playmates, so after that of course you will not object to my playing with the Rectory children?”

Miss Fleet’s face turned very red.

“Am I to believe this story or not, Phyllis?” she said. “Is it possible that you did not read the letter on purpose?”

“I have told you just the very exact truth,” replied Phyllis. “You can believe it or not, as you please.”

She then got up and marched out of the room.

“Dear, dear!” thought Miss Fleet, “how very difficult it is sometimes to know what is right!”

The rest of the day passed quietly, and Phyllis was still a model child. She did her different lessons to the absolute satisfaction of her governess, and the time slipped by quickly.

“We have had a happy day,” said Miss Fleet as she kissed the little girl just before her bed-hour. “I hope it is a forerunner of many others just as happy.” Phyllis looked full at her, but did not speak. Miss Fleet tried hard to read the thoughts which were behind those frank grey eyes. Presently the little girl left the room and went to bed.

The next morning she awoke very early. She had a curious sense of something delightful, and, at the same time, very disagreeable, which was happening. At first her memory would not serve her right, but then it rushed back, and she knew everything.