Robin Redbreast: A Story for Girls

'I'm sure her ladyship will be quite pleased to do so, miss, if you just mention that you would like it,' said the man, a staid unexceptionable old servant, though many years younger than Thornley.

'Oh well, I will. I may, mayn't I, Jass?' said Frances, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, only damped by Jacinth's grave expression. Did Jass think she was chattering too much already? High spirits were Francie's native air: it was very difficult for her to be quiet and subdued for long together. But Jacinth really loved to see Frances happy, and she knew that Lady Myrtle would feel the same.

'She thinks her such a mere child,' thought the elder girl. So she smiled reassuringly as she replied: 'Of course, dear, you can ask Lady Myrtle. I am sure she won't mind if it keeps fine; and there is no sign of rain, is there?' she said turning to the coachman.

'No indeed, ma'am,' he replied. 'We shall have no rain just yet a bit.'

'It's a perfect day,' said Frances. 'I really sometimes think I like autumn as well as spring.'

'I have always liked it much better,' said Jacinth calmly.

Lady Myrtle was walking up and down the terrace, waiting for them. She was much better – for her, indeed, quite well – she said, and her face lighted up with pleasure as she kissed Jacinth tenderly. Then she turned to the younger ones and kissed them too.

'I must have a good look at you, Frances,' she said. 'No – you are not a Moreland, and yet – yes, there is a slight something– in spite of your blue eyes and shaggy hair,' and she patted Frances's head. 'And you, my boy;' and she examined Eugene in his turn. 'His eyes are more like his grandmother's; nothing approaching your eyes, Jacinth, but still they are more of the colour.'

'Eugene is very like mamma,' said Frances eagerly. 'Everybody says so.'

'And I'm called after her,' added Eugene.

'So that's quite as it should be,' said Lady Myrtle. 'And some day I hope I may have the great pleasure of comparing mamma and her boy together. Now dears, listen to my plan – would you like to go a drive this afternoon, or would you rather play about the garden and the little farm? I mean Frances and Eugene – Jacinth, of course, is quite at home here.'

The two younger ones looked at each other.

'Oh please,' said Frances, 'if we may go home in the open carriage, I think that would be enough driving. And – it's so long since we've had a nice big place to run about in, and – pigs and cows, you know, like at home? Wouldn't you like that best, Eugene?'

'May we see the cows milked?' said Eugene, prudently making his conditions, 'and, oh please, if we find any eggs, might we take one home for breakfast to-morrow?'

Lady Myrtle looked much amused.

'I will put you under Barnes's charge,' she said. 'Barnes is the under-gardener, and whatever he lets you do will be quite right. You and I, Jacinth, will have a long drive to-morrow, as I always go to Elvedon church once a month, and to-morrow is the day. So I daresay you will manage to entertain yourself at home to-day. We can go through the houses in the afternoon.'

'Yes, thank you,' said Jacinth. 'And the house – you said you would show me all over the house, dear Lady Myrtle.'

'Of course; that will amuse Frances and Eugene too, I daresay, when they have had enough running about. Now your sister will go with you to your room to take her things off;' and as the two set off, she added playfully, 'Jacinth has a room of her very own here, you know, Frances.'

The younger girl was breathless with interest and pleasure, and the first sight of the interior of the quaint old house – above all, of the lovely conservatory, past which Jacinth took care to convoy her – impressed her as much as her sister.

'Oh Jass,' she said, when they found themselves in the pleasant, rather 'old-world-looking' bedroom, where a tiny wood-fire sparkling in the grate gave a cheery feeling of welcome as they entered – 'Oh Jass, isn't it like a dream? That we should really be here in this dear old house, treated almost as if we were Lady Myrtle's own grandchildren, and you staying here, and this called your room, and – and' —

She stopped, at a loss for words to express her feelings.

Jacinth smiled, well pleased.

'Yes,' she said, 'it really is like a fairy-tale. And' – She hesitated a little. 'You don't know, Francie, what more may not come. Do you remember our saying that morning to Marmy, how lovely it would be if some day we had a house like this for our home, and how he and we would pay visits to each other?'

Frances's face grew rather pink.

'Do you mean if,' she said, her voice growing lower and lower – 'if Lady Myrtle left it to us, to you? I don't like, Jass, to' —

'Oh, how matter-of-fact you are!' said Jacinth impatiently; 'I don't mean anything but what I say. Lady Myrtle says she is going to invite us all – papa and mamma and us three – to stay with her when they come home, and it's a very big house, and she has no relations she cares for. It might get to be almost like our home. And Lady Myrtle is the sort of person that often speaks of getting old and – and dying. I daresay she makes plans for what she'd like to be done with her things – I know I should – though I hope she'll live twenty years, and I daresay she will, dear old thing.'

Frances would have accepted this simply enough, and after all, Jacinth felt as she said. The thought that 'some day' Robin Redbreast might be her home would be quite enough for her, and she already loved her kind old friend sincerely. But one sentence in her sister's speech startled Frances with a quick sharp stab: 'No relations that she cares for.'

Somehow, in the pleasure and excitement of coming to Robin Redbreast, she had forgotten about the Harpers. Now all her old feelings of chivalry for them, and wishes that she could be the means of helping them, rushed back upon her, and she felt as if she had, in some queer way, been faithless, even though she was debarred from doing anything, debarred even from telling Jacinth all she knew. And Frances was unaccustomed to hide her feelings; her face at once grew grave and almost distressed looking.

'What is the matter, Frances?' said Jacinth. 'You are such a kill-joy. What are you looking so reproachful about?'

'I didn't mean – I'm not looking reproachful,' said Frances; 'it was only – oh, just something of my own I was thinking of.'

'Well then, I wish you would think of something cheerful, and not screw your face up as if you were going to cry. I don't want Lady Myrtle to think we've been quarrelling up here.'

Frances swallowed down a lump in her throat, which was far too apt to come there on small provocation.

'Of course Lady Myrtle would never think such a thing, or if she did, she would only think I was naughty or silly or something. She'd never dream of you being anything but perfect, Jass. I do like her for that,' said Frances.

'You should like her for everything. I'm sure she's as kind as she can possibly be,' said Jacinth.

'Yes,' said Frances, 'she is.'

Then they ran down-stairs again to the library, where Lady Myrtle had told them she would be. They found her improving her acquaintance with Eugene, who was chattering away in a most confiding and friendly fashion, even retailing to her his self-congratulation at having been the first cause of their making friends.

'For you see if I hadn't been so fir —wursty,' with a great effort, 'that day, and made Jacinth let me ask; no,' suddenly recollecting himself, 'she didn't let me, but you heard me over the wall, Lady Myrtle; that was it, wasn't it? So it did come of me being wursty, didn't it?'

'Yes, my dear, of course it did,' the old lady replied, with a smile.

But just then the luncheon gong sounded and they all made their way into the dining-room. All went well till about half-way through the meal, when a sudden thought struck Lady Myrtle.

'Oh Jacinth, my dear,' she said, 'I was forgetting to tell you. Your young friend at school, Honor Falmouth, is the niece of my friend. I was writing to her husband the other day about a business matter – he is one of my trustees – and I asked the question. I thought it would interest you to hear it.'

'Yes,' said Jacinth, 'of course it does. She is a very nice girl indeed, but she is a good deal older than I. She plays beautifully, and next term she is going somewhere – to Germany, I think – for the best music lessons she can have. Did you play the harp, when you were a girl, Lady Myrtle?' she went on rather eagerly. She was vaguely anxious to change the conversation, for she had still a half-nervous fear of Frances's indiscretion should the subject of their school-fellows be entered upon.

'The harp!' repeated Lady Myrtle, half-absently; 'no, my love, I never was very musical. But your grandmother sang charmingly.' And Jacinth, believing she was launched on long-ago reminiscences, began to breathe freely, when suddenly the old lady reverted to the former topic.

'How much older than you is Honor?' she inquired.

'About three years. I think she is eighteen, but I'm not quite sure,' said Jacinth.

'I was wondering,' said Lady Myrtle, 'if she would like to come to luncheon some day when you are with me. Or is there any other among your friends you care more for?'

'No,' said Jacinth, 'I think I like Honor as much as any.'

Frances was listening with the greatest interest; her mouth half-open, her knife and fork suspended in their operations. Lady Myrtle caught sight of her absorbed face and smiled.

'Have you any friend you would like to ask to come here some day?' she said, kindly. 'If it were summer it would be different; we might have a strawberry feast.'

Frances grew crimson, painfully crimson.

'Oh how silly she is!' thought Jacinth.