Part 22 (1/2)
Don't think that in New Zealand we are quite ignorant of the world, Eva.”
The conversation upset the girl sadly. She was vain of her voice and anxious to make the most of it. She went into the kitchen to make a pie, heedless that Jack had found a jar of raisins and was doing his best to empty it as fast as he could, and that Charlie was too quiet to be out of mischief. The paste was made according to her ability, certainly neither light nor digestible, and was ready for the oven, when suddenly a giggle behind her made her turn to behold that wretched boy Charlie dressed in her blue velvet dress, best hat, and parasol.
”You wicked boy, how dare you?” she cried, stamping her foot, but the boy fled, leaving the skirt on the floor. Picking it up, she gave chase to recover the hat, and when at last she returned to her pie, she found that Jack had forestalled her and made cakes for himself out of it and a marble tart for her.
Eva did not trust herself with the boys that morning; she literally hated them. Still, she must master herself before she could master them, and show once and for all that she was able to deal with the situation.
Shutting herself into the parlour, she sat quiet, trying to think and plan, but in vain--she could not calm herself.
She took up a book and attempted to read and forget her annoyances in losing herself in the story, but that, too, failed. Her trials were countless. Not sufficient were to be found in the house, but that interfering Mrs. Meadows must criticise her singing.
She opened the piano, determined to listen to herself and judge what truth there was in the remark. She ran over a few scales, but was interrupted by a rough-looking man shouting, ”Stop that noise, and come here! It'd be better if you looked after the bits of bairns than sit squealing there like a pig getting killed. Don't stare so daft; where's yer father?”
Eva rose in anger, but going up to the man, words died on her lips--her heart seemed to stand still, for in his arms he held Babs, white and limp.
”What has happened--is she dead?”
”Don't know; get her to bed.” But Eva's hands trembled too much to move them, so the old Scotch shepherd pushed her aside, muttering, ”Yer f.e.c.kless as yer bonny; get out of the way.” Tenderly his rough hands cared for the little one, undressing and laying her in her bed.
”She's always after the chickens and things on our place, and I think she's had a kick or a fall, for I found her lying in a paddock.”
”Where were you, Eva? Hadn't you missed Babs? I thought at any rate she would be safe with you,” said her father.
Eva's remorse was real. Her mother dying, perhaps, the children entrusted to her, and she--wrapped up in herself and her own grievances--what use was she in the world? But oh! if Babs were only spared how different she would be! If she died, Eva told herself, she would never be happy again.
She went downstairs wretched and helpless, and once more found Jessie Meadows in possession of the kitchen. ”How is Babs?”
”Conscious, I think--but I don't know,” and the girl buried her face and wept pa.s.sionately.
”There, there, Eva, we've all got to learn lessons, and some are mighty hard. Take life as you find it, and don't make trouble. The change was a big one, I know, but you'll find warm hearts and willing hands wherever men and women are. I just brought over a pie and a few cakes I found in my pantry----”
”I can't accept them after being so rude.”
[Sidenote: A Short Memory]
”Were you rude, dear? A short memory is an advantage sometimes. But we'll kiss and be friends, as the children say, and I will take turns with you in nursing Babs.”
What Eva would have done without the capable woman would be hard to say, for the child lay on the borders of the spirit land for weeks. When the crisis was past her first words were, ”Evie, Evie!” and never before had Eva listened with such joy and thankfulness to her name. The child could not bear her out of sight; ”pretty sister” was doctor, nurse, and mother in one. Unwearied in care, and patient with the whims of the little one, she was a treasure to her father, whose hara.s.sed face began to wear a happier expression.
”I have great news to tell,” he began one evening when, with Babs in his arms and the boys hanging around in their usual fas.h.i.+on, they were sitting together after tea.
”Tell, tell!” shouted the audience; but the doctor shook his head, while his eyes rested on Eva.
”Is it about mother?” she whispered, and he nodded.
”Mother is well, and coming home.”
”Mother's coming back!” was echoed throughout the house to the accompaniment of a war dance of three excited kangaroos until sleep closed all eyes.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. MEADOWS' BROTHER ARRIVED.]