Part 21 (2/2)

”Thou'st laate,” the girl grumbled.

”Ah bin waatin' ower yon'er this good bit,” he answered, putting his arm round her, and drawing her to the wall, on which they sat, leaning against each other, and whispering happily. The moon was low, and her great golden disk illumined the sky, against which the two dark figures stood out, silhouetted distinctly. The effect gave Beth a sensation of pleasure, and she racked her brains for words in which to express it. Presently the lovers rose and strolled away together. Then for a little it was lonely, and Beth thought of getting down; but before she had made up her mind, two other people appeared, strolling in the moonlight, whom Beth instantly recognised as Uncle James and the beautiful princess Blue-eyes-and-golden-hair. The princess had both her hands clasped round Uncle James's arm, and every now and then she nestled her face against his shoulder lovingly.

”What will Jimmie-wimmie give his Jenny-penny?” she was saying as they approached.

”First what will Jenny-penny give her Jimmie-wimmie?” Uncle James cooed.

”First, a nice--sweet--kiss!”

”Duckie-dearie!” Jimmie-wimmie gurgled ecstatically, taking the kiss with the playful grace of an elephant gambolling.

Beth on the haystack writhed with suppressed merriment until her sides ached.

But Jimmie-wimmie and Jenny-penny pa.s.sed out of sight like Harriet and Russell before them. The moon was sinking rapidly. A sudden gust of air blew chill upon Beth. She was extremely sensitive to sudden changes of temperature, and as the night grew dull and heavy, so did her mood, and she began to be as anxious to be indoors again as she had been to come out. The fairy-folk had all vanished now, and ghosts and goblins would come in their stead, and pounce upon her as she pa.s.sed, if she were not quick. Beth scrambled down from the haystack, and made for the side-door in hot haste, and was half-way upstairs, when it suddenly occurred to her that if she locked the door, Jimmie-wimmie and Jenny-penny would not be able to get in. So she retraced her steps, accomplished her purpose, slipped back to bed, and slept until she was roused in the morning by a shrill cry from Bernadine--”See, mummy! see, mummy! lazy Beth is in bed with all her clothes on!”

Beth sat up, and slapped Bernadine promptly; whereupon Mrs. Caldwell slapped Beth.

”Such is life,” said Beth, in imitation of Aunt Grace Mary; and Mrs.

Caldwell smiled in spite of herself.

Later in the day Beth complained to Mildred of a bad cold in her head.

”Oh dear!” Mildred exclaimed, ”I expect Uncle James will talk at that cold as long as it lasts.”

”I know,” Beth said. ”Grace Mary, dear--or Aunt Victoria--have you observed that children always have colds and never have pocket-handkerchiefs?”

Uncle James, however, had a bad cold himself that morning, and described himself as very much indisposed.

”I went out of doors last night before retiring,” he explained at luncheon, ”tempted by the glorious moonlight and the balmy air; but before I returned the night had changed and become chilly, and unfortunately the side-door had shut itself, and every one was in bed, so I could not get in. I threw pebbles up at Grace Mary's window, but failed to rouse her, she being somewhat deaf. I also knocked and rang, but no one answered, so I was obliged to shelter in the barn. Harriet, however, appeared finally. She--er--gets the men's breakfasts, and--er--the kitchen-window--” But here Uncle James was seized with a sudden fit of sneezing, and the connection between the men's breakfasts and the kitchen-window was never explained. ”She is an extremely good girl, is Harriet,” he proceeded as soon as he could speak; ”up at four o'clock every morning.”

”I wish to goodness _my_ trollop was,” said Lady Benyon. ”She gets later every day. Where did you go last night?”

”Oh--I had been loitering among the tombs, so to speak,” he answered largely.

Beth was eating cold beef stolidly, but without much appet.i.te because of her cold, and also because there was hot chicken, and Uncle James had not given her her choice. Uncle James kept looking at her. He found it hard to let her alone, but she gave him no cause of offence for some time. Her little nose was troublesome, however, and at last she sniffed. Uncle James looked at Lady Benyon.

”Have you observed,” he said, ”that when a child has a cold she never has a pocket-handkerchief?”

Beth produced a clean one with a flourish, and burst out laughing.

”What's the matter, Puck?” Lady Benyon asked, beaming already in antic.i.p.ation.

”Oh, nothing. Only I said Uncle James would say that if I sniffed.

Didn't I, Mildred?”

But Mildred, too wary to support her, looked down demurely.

”Puck,” said Lady Benyon, ”you're a character.”

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