Part 7 (1/2)
Just then, raising her eyes, she saw a little girl walking down one of the side-paths which led round to the kitchens. She was a girl scarcely as tall as herself, neatly dressed in a pink cotton frock and white sun-bonnet. Her legs were encased in nice black stockings, and her small dainty feet wore s.h.i.+ning shoes with buckles. Ermengarde instantly dropped her book, leaned half out of the window, and called in a loud voice, ”Susy--Susy--Susan Collins! come here!”
Little Susan raised an extremely pretty face, blushed, laughed, and ran gayly forward.
”Is that you, Miss Ermengarde?” she said. ”I thought you were away with the others. Father has helped to take them up to Pearl Island, better than two hours ago now.”
”Did they look happy, Susy? Tell me about them. Did you see them go?”
”Yes, miss, I was standing behind the rose-hedge. Miss Maggie, she did laugh wonderful, and Master Eric, he just dashed in to give us his ferrets to take care of for him, miss.”
”And was Basil there, Susy?”
”No, miss, they went off without him. I heard father say he'd bring back the boat for Master Basil, and I thought for sure you'd be going with him, miss. I hope, Miss Ermengarde, you ain't ill.”
”I'm not ill in body, Susan. But I've been most basely treated. I've been betrayed.”
”Oh, my word!” said Susan Collins. She pushed back her sun-bonnet, and revealed her whole charming curly golden head. She was a beautiful little girl, and Ermengarde had long ago made a secret friend of her.
”I've been betrayed, Susy,” continued Ermie. ”But I can't tell you by whom. Only _some one_ has told tales about me, and so I have been punished, and have been locked up in this room. I'm locked up now; I can't get out. I'm a prisoner!”
Ermengarde felt her woes all the more keenly as she related them.
Susy's blue eyes grew bright with pity.
”Ain't it cruel?” she said. ”I call it base to punish a lady like you, Miss Ermengarde, and you one of the best of created mortals.”
”It's Miss Nelson,” said Ermengarde. ”She's dreadfully prejudiced; I find it almost impossible to endure her.”
”I never did think nothing of that governess,” said Susan with vigor.
”It ain't for me to say it, but she don't seem fit company for the like of you, Miss Ermengarde. If I was you, I'd pay her out, that I would.”
”Oh, I have more than her to pay out,” said Ermengarde. ”I have been very unkindly treated.”
”That you have, miss, I'm sure.”
Susy's sympathy was very sweet to Ermengarde. She leaned farther out of the window, and looked down at the pretty little girl.
”I'm glad you were pa.s.sing, Susy,” she said.
”I'll stay for a bit, if you like, miss. I'm in no sort of a hurry.”
”I wish you could come and sit with me, Susy; I can't shout to you from the window. People who are pa.s.sing may hear us.”
”That they may, miss. There never was a truer saying than that trees have ears.”
Ermengarde looked round her apprehensively. She had been many times forbidden to have any intercourse with Susan Collins, whose father, although he retained his post as gamekeeper, was regarded by Mr.
Wilton as a somewhat shady character. Ermengarde fancied she liked Susy because of the little girl's remarkable beauty, but the real reason why her fancy was captivated was because Susy was an adroit flatterer.
When she spoke about trees having ears, Ermengarde glanced to right and left.
”Perhaps you had better go,” she said. ”I have got into one sc.r.a.pe. I don't want to get into a second.”