Part 31 (2/2)

”Mamma, mayn't I have breakfast in bed?” said Bernadine in a wheedling tone.

”No, no, my little body,” Mrs. Caldwell answered.

”But, mamma,” whined the little body, ”I've got such a headache!” She very often had when she ought to have been getting up.

”Cry, baby, cry,” sang out Beth. ”Mamma, give me my stockings.”

Mrs. Caldwell picked them up off the floor, and gave them to her. Beth began to put them on in bed, and diverted herself as she did so by making diabolical grimaces at the malingering imp opposite.

”Mamma,” Bernadine whined again, ”Beth's teasing me.”

”Beth, how often am I to tell you that I will not allow you to tease the child?” Mrs. Caldwell exclaimed.

Beth solemnly gartered her stockings. Then she gave Mildred a dig in the ribs with her heel, and growled, ”Get up!”

”Mamma, Beth is teasing _me_, now,” said Mildred promptly.

”Well, I don't see why I should be obliged to do all the getting up for the family,” said Beth.

Her mother turned from the looking-gla.s.s with her hair-brush in her hand, and gazed at her sternly. Beth hummed a tune, but kept at a safe distance until she was dressed, then made her escape, going straight to the kitchen, where Harriet was cutting bread to toast. ”That's all the bread there is,” she said, ”and it won't be enough for breakfast if you eat any.”

”All right, then; I haven't any appet.i.te,” Beth answered casually.

”What did you dream last night?”

”I dreamt about crocodiles,” Harriet averred.

”A crocodile's a reptile,” said Beth, ”and a reptile is trouble and an enemy. You always dream nasty things; I expect it's your inside.”

”What's that to do wi' it?” said Harriet.

”Everything,” said Beth. ”Don't you know the stuff that dreams are made of? Pickles, pork, and plum-cake.”

”Dreams is sent for our guidance,” Harriet answered portentously, shaking her head at Beth's flippancy.

”Well, I'm glad of it,” said Beth, ”for I dreamt I was catching Uncle James's trout in a most unsportsmanlike way, and I guess the dream was sent to show me how to do it. When I have that kind of dream, I notice it nearly always comes true. But where's the 'Dream Book'?”

”'Ook it,” said Harriet. ”'Ere's your ma.”

As the other little bodies had their breakfasts in bed, Beth had to face her lessons alone that morning, and Mrs. Caldwell was not in an amiable mood; but she was absent as well as irritable, so Beth did some old work over again, and as she knew it thoroughly, she got on well until the music began.

Beth had a great talent as well as a great love for music. When they were at Fairholm, Aunt Grace Mary gave her Uncle James's ”Instruction Book for Beginners” one wet day to keep her quiet, and she learnt her notes in the afternoon, and began at once to apply them practically on the piano. She soon knew all the early exercises and little tunes, and was only too eager to do more; but her mother hated the music-lesson more than any of the others, and was so harsh that Beth became nervous, and only ventured on the simplest things for fear of the consequences. When her mother went out, however, she tried what she liked, and, if she had heard the piece before, she could generally make something satisfactory to herself out of it. One day Aunt Victoria found her sitting on the music-stool, solemnly pulling at her fingers, one after the other, as though to stretch them.

”What _are_ you doing, child?” she said.

”O Aunt Victoria,” Beth answered in a despairing way, ”here's such a _lovely_ thing, and my head will play it, only my fingers are not long enough.”

Mildred had brought a quant.i.ty of new music home with her these holidays. She promised to play well also, and her aunt was having her properly taught. Beth listened to her enraptured when she first arrived, and then, to Mildred's surprise and admiration, tried the pieces herself, and in a few weeks knew all that it had taken Mildred six months to learn.

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