Volume I Part 14 (1/2)

”Go away, there's a good boy,” said the mother; ”you will only put things back.”

Robert, however, showed no inclination to leave the kitchen, but hovered about Phoebe like a b.u.t.terfly about a flower.

”_Do_ you hear what mother says?” demanded f.a.n.n.y, imperiously; she was given to lord it occasionally over her brother. ”Go at once, and listen to the gentlemen, and have your mind improved.”

”Now you're chaffing me,” said Robert, ”and you know that always puts my back up.”

Mrs. Lethbridge looked around with affectionate distraction in her aspect.

”Go, Robert,” said Phoebe.

”Not if you call me 'Robert,' said he.

”Well, Bob.”

”All right, I'll vanish. f.a.n.n.y, there's a s.m.u.t on your nose.”

Which caused f.a.n.n.y to rub that feature smartly with her handkerchief, and then to ask Phoebe in a tone of concern, ”Is it off?” This sent Robert from the kitchen laughing, while f.a.n.n.y called out to him that she would pay him for it. She laughed too, when he was gone, and declared that he was getting a greater tease every day. Presently all was bustle; the best cups and saucers were taken from the cupboard, and Phoebe, with her sleeves tucked up, was dusting them; f.a.n.n.y was cutting the bread and b.u.t.tering it; Aunt Leth was busy with eggs and rashers of bacon, and the frying-pan was on the fire; while, attending to the frying-pan and the kettle and the teapot, and working away generally with a will, was the most important person in the kitchen--the G.o.ddess, indeed, of that region--whose name, with a strange remissness, has not yet been mentioned: 'Melia Jane!

In these days of fine-lady-servants, the mere mention of so inestimable a treasure is an agreeable thing; for if ever there was a devoted, untiring, unselfish, capable, cheerful slave of the broom and the pan, that being was 'Melia Jane. Up early in the morning, without ever being called; up late at night, without a murmur; no Sundays out, as a law, the violation of which was a graver matter than the separation of church and state; cooking, scrubbing, was.h.i.+ng, with a light heart, and as happy as the day is long. Could I write an epic, I would set about it, and call it ”'Melia Jane.”

Not a beauty; somewhat the reverse, indeed. But ”Lor!” as she used to say, scratching her elbow, ”beauty's only skin-deep.” Nevertheless, she wors.h.i.+pped it in the persons of f.a.n.n.y and Phoebe, to whom she was devotedly attached. Of the two, she leaned, perhaps, more closely and affectionately to Phoebe, for whom she entertained the profoundest admiration, ”Wenus,” she declared, ”couldn't 'old a candle to 'er.” And had she been asked, in the way of disputation, under what circ.u.mstances and to what intelligible purpose that G.o.ddess could be expected to hold a candle to Phoebe, she would doubtless have been prepared with a reply which would have confounded the interrogator.

She had a history, which can be briefly recorded.

Like all careful housewives with limited incomes, Mrs. Lethbridge had her was.h.i.+ng ”done” at home, and 'Melia Jane's mother, in times gone by, was Aunt Leth's washer-woman. She died when 'Melia Jane was ten years old, and the child, being friendless and penniless, was admitted into Mrs. Lethbridge's kitchen as a kind of juvenile help. She proved to be so clever and willing, and so ”teachable,” as Mrs. Lethbridge said, that when the old servant left to get married, 'Melia Jane took her place, and from that day did the entire work of the house. For the present, this brief record is sufficient. More of 'Melia Jane anon.

Robert burst into the kitchen in a state of great excitement.

”Mother, you didn't tell me Mr. Linton was a dramatic author. Just think, Phoebe; he writes plays! Isn't it grand?”

The girls opened their eyes very wide. There was indeed a luminary in the house, a star of the first magnitude. A dramatic author! It was enough to make them tremble.

”But why have you left them, Bob?” asked Mrs. Lethbridge.

”I was told to go,” replied Robert. ”They did not want me. They're talking business.”

”Business!” exclaimed Mrs. Lethbridge. ”What business can they have with father?”

”Perhaps,” suggested Robert, ”he is going to take a theatre, and Mr.

Linton is going to write the plays, and Mr. Kiss is going to act in them.”

”What nonsense you talk!” said Mrs. Lethbridge.

”Mother,” said Robert, solemnly, ”my mind's made up.”

”A very small parcel,” remarked f.a.n.n.y, thus paying him off for the s.m.u.t on her nose.

”I'm serious,” said Robert; ”I'm fixed--yes, fixed as the polar star.

That sounds well. I shall go on the stage.”