Part 26 (2/2)

Harriet led the way, about a dozen people following, all awe-stricken and silent. When they came to the door, they peeped in over each other's shoulders at the two poor children, stretched out stiff and stark, the colour of death, their jaws dropped, their glazed eyes s.h.i.+ning between the half-closed lids, a piteous spectacle.

”Just let's see the candle a moment,” the workman said. He took it from Harriet, and entered stooping--the place was a mere closet just under the roof, and he could not stand upright in it. He peered into the children's faces, then knelt down beside them, and felt their arms and chests. Suddenly he burst out laughing.

”You little devils,” he said, ”what 'a' ye done this for?”

Beth sat up. ”Harriet locked us in to give us a fright, so we thought we'd frighten Harriet,” she said.

The walls were whitewashed, and the children had made themselves ghastly by rubbing their faces all over with the whitening.

”You've getten yer 'ands full wi' them two, I'm thinkin', missis,” the workman remarked to Harriet as he went off chuckling.

”Did you hear, Beth?” Bernadine complained; ”he called us little devils.”

”All right,” Beth answered casually. But Bernadine was disgusted. She was one of those pious children who like to stand high in the estimation of the grown-up people; and she disapproved of Beth's conduct when it got her into trouble. She was like the kind of man who enjoys being vicious so long as he is not found out by any one who will think the less of him for it; when he is found out he excuses himself, and blames his a.s.sociates. Bernadine never resisted Beth's eloquent persuasions, nor the luring fascination of her schemes; but when she had had her full share of the pleasures of naughtiness, and was tired and cross, her conscience smote her, and then she told mamma. This did her good, and got Beth punished, which made Bernadine feel that she had expiated her own naughtiness and been forgiven, and also made her feel sorry for Beth--a nice kind feeling, which she always enjoyed.

Beth despised her for her conscientious treachery, and retaliated by tempting her afresh. One day she lured her out on to the tiles through an attic window in the roof, at the back of the house. It would be such fun to sit astride on the roof-ridge, and look right down into the street, she said, and across Mrs. Davy's orchard to the fields on that side, and out to sea on the other.

”And things will come into our minds up there--such lovely things,”

she proceeded, beguiling Bernadine to distract her attention as she helped her up. When they were securely seated, Bernadine began to grumble.

”Things don't come into my mind,” she whined.

”Don't they? Why, I was just thinking if we were to fall we should certainly be killed,” Beth answered cheerfully. ”We should come down thump, and that would crack our skulls, and our brains would roll out on the pavement. Ough! wouldn't they look nasty, just like a sheep's!

And mamma and Aunt Victoria would rush out, and Harriet and Mrs. Davy, and they'd have to hold mamma up by the arms. Then they'd pick us up, and carry us in, and lay us out on a bed, and say they were beautiful in their lives, and in death they were not divided; and when they shut the house up at night and it was all still, mamma would cry. She'd be always crying, especially for you, Bernadine, because you're not such a trouble as I am. And when you were buried, and the worms were eating you, she would give all the world to have you here again.”

This sad prospect was too much for the sensitive Bernadine. ”Don't, Beth,” she whimpered. ”You frighten me.”

”Oh, you mustn't be frightened,” said Beth encouragingly. ”When people up on a height like this get frightened, they always roll off. Do you feel as if the roof were moving?” she exclaimed, suddenly clutching hold.

Bernadine fell down flat on her face with a dismal howl.

”Let's be cats now,” said Beth. ”I'll say miew-ow-ow, and you oo-oo-owl-hiss-ss-ss.”

”Don't, Beth. I want to go back.”

”Come along then,” said Beth.

”I can't. I daren't move.”

”Oh, nonsense,” said Beth; ”just follow me. I shall go and leave you if you don't. You shouldn't have come up if you were afraid.”

”You made me,” Bernadine whimpered with her eyes shut.

”Of course it was me!” said Beth, on her way back to the skylight.

”You haven't a will of your own, I suppose!”

”You aren't leaving me, Beth!” Bernadine cried in an agony. ”Don't go!

I'm frightened! Help me down! I'll tell mamma!”

”Then there you'll sit, tell-pie-t.i.t,” Beth chanted, as she let herself down through the skylight.

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