Part 5 (1/2)
”Do you think not, Mary? But I am afraid you don't understand her. You see, she is so delicate, and you are as strong as a cart-horse.
Clarice said so. And I suppose I am pretty strong, too.”
”I'm much obliged to her,” said Mary. ”Come, Sue, let's push along; she will be all right when we once get there and she has rested a little.”
The Glen was indeed a pleasant place. A clear stream ran along between high, rocky banks, with a green s.p.a.ce on one side, partly shaded by two or three broad oak-trees. Under one of these trees was a bank of moss, as soft and green as if it had been piled by the fairies for their queen. Indeed, this was one of Sue's and Mary's theories, the other being that this special oak was none other than Robin Hood's own greenwood tree, transplanted by magic from the depths of Sherwood Forest. The former theory appealed more to Sue now, as she led the weary Clarice to the bank, and made her sit down in the most comfortable place.
”There, dear,” she cried; ”isn't this lovely? You shall rest here, Clarice, and we will play fairies, and you shall be t.i.tania. You don't mind, do you, Mary, if Clarice is t.i.tania this time? She is so slender, you see, and light; and besides, she is too tired to be anything else.”
Mary nodded, with a smile; she could not trust herself to speak. She had been t.i.tania ever since they first read ”Lamb's Tales”; but it was no matter, and she had promised her mother to do her very best to bring Clarice out, and learn the better side of her.
”Isn't it lovely, Clarice?” she asked, repeating Sue's question as she took her place on the mossy bank.
”Alegant!” was the languid reply; ”perfectly alegant. Isn't it damp, though? Doesn't it come off green on your clothes?”
Mary rea.s.sured her on this point. She examined her challis anxiously, and sank back again, apparently relieved. She looked round her. Sue and Lily had vanished for the moment. The trees met over their heads.
There was no sound save the tinkling of the brook and the faint rustle of the leaves overhead.
”It's real lonesome, isn't it?” said Clarice.
”Yes,” said Mary; ”that's part of the beauty of it. There is never any one here, and we can do just as we like, with no fear of any one coming. I think in the woods it's pleasant to be alone, don't you?”
”Alegant!” said Clarice; ”perfectly alegant! Are there any more people coming, did you say?”
”Only my brothers; they are coming later.”
Clarice brightened, and sat up, arranging her trinkets. ”Are they in college?” she asked, with more interest than she had shown in anything that day.
”Oh, no!” said Mary, laughing. ”They are--”
But at this moment Sue came running up with an armful of ferns and oak-leaves, Lily following with another load. ”I had to go a long way before I found any that were low enough to reach!” cried Sue, panting after her run. ”I mustn't s.h.i.+n to-day, 'cause these are new stockings, and last time I tore them all to pieces.”
”Tore these all to pieces?” asked Mary, laughing.
”Be still, Mary; I won't be quirked at. Now let's all make garlands.
No, not you, Clarice; you must just rest. Do you feel better? Do you think you'll be all right in a little while? Now you shall be t.i.tania and give us orders and things; and then, when we have finished the wreaths, we'll sing you to sleep. I am Oberon, you know, generally; but I'll be one of the common fairies now; and Lily--yes, Lily, you can be Puck. Now, can you say some of it, Clarice?”
”Some of what?” asked Clarice, with an uncomprehending look.
”Why, 'Midsummer-Night's Dream.' We always play that here, except when we play Robin Hood. Perhaps you would rather play Robin, Clarice; perhaps you don't care for 'Midsummer-Night's Dream.' Oh, I hope you do, though. We are _so_ fond of it, Mary and I!”
”I don't know what you mean,” said Clarice, rather peevishly. ”Oh, Shakspere's play? I never read it. I didn't take literature at school.
Puppa thought I was too delicate to study much.”
Sue looked blank for a moment. Not to know ”Midsummer-Night's Dream”--that did seem very strange!
But Clarice opened her eyes at her and smiled and sighed. ”My eyes have never been strong!” she murmured plaintively.
Sue's arms were round her in an instant. ”You poor darling!” she cried. ”Isn't that hard, Mary? isn't it cruel? To think of not having strong eyes! Clarice, I will come and read to you every day; I should just love to do it. We'll begin to-morrow morning. Oh, how splendid that will be! What shall we read first? You have read 'Westward Ho!'
of course, and all Mrs. Ewing, and 'Prince Prigio,' and 'The Gentle Heritage,' and the Alices, and all the Waverleys?”
No; Clarice had read none of these. She had read ”Wilful Pansy, the Bride of an Hour,” she said, last; and she had just begun ”My Pet.i.te Pet” before she came here. It was perfectly sweet, and so was another by the same author, only she couldn't remember the name.