THE CHILDREN'S DANCE.
One day during these Christmas holidays a lady came to visit at Wavertree Hall, bringing her two little girls. Phyllis and Nell had gone with Miss Davis to see some other young friends in the neighbourhood, and Hetty, who was spending one of her lonely afternoons in the school-room with her books and work, was sent for to take the little visitors for a walk in the grounds, while their mother had tea with Mrs. Enderby.
Hetty was pleased at being wanted, and soon felt at home with the strange little girls, who at once took a great fancy to her. Seeing she could give pleasure her spirits rose high, and she became exceedingly merry, and said some very amusing things.
"I think," said Edith, the elder of the young visitors, "that you must be the girl who told such funny stories one evening when mamma dined here. She said it was as good as going to the theatre."
"That was a long time ago," said Hetty; "I am not funny now. At least, very seldom."
"I think you are funny to-day," said Grace, the second sister; "I wish you would come to our house and act for us, as you did then."
"I don't go to houses," said Hetty, shaking her head; "I belonged to Mrs. Rushton then, and she meant me to be a lady. But now she is dead, and it is settled that I am not to be a lady when I am grown up. I am only to be a governess, and work for myself."
"But governesses are ladies," said Edith; "a dear friend of ours is a governess, and there never was a nicer lady."
"Oh, I know," said Hetty; "Miss Davis is quite the same. But I mean, I am not to be the kind of lady that goes out to parties."
"Well, I will try and get you leave to come to our party," said Edith. "We are going to have one before the holidays are over."
"I don't think you will get leave from Mrs. Enderby," said Hetty; "and then I have no frock."
"They must get you a frock somewhere," said Grace; "I could send you one of mine."
"That would give offence, I am sure," said Hetty smiling. "It is not for the trouble of getting the frock that Mrs. Enderby would keep me from going. She does not wish me to get accustomed to such things."
"Then she is horrid," cried Edith; "making you just like Cinderella."
"No, no," said Hetty, "you must not say that. Cinderella was a daughter of the house, and I am nobody's child. That is what the village people say. And only think if they had sent me to a charity school!"
Edith and Grace gazed at her gravely. Hetty stood with her hands behind her back, looking them in the eyes as she stated her own case.
"And you have nobody belonging to you, really, in the whole world?" said Edith.
"Nobody," said Hetty, "and nothing. At least nothing but a tiny linen chemise."
"Did you drop down out of the clouds in that?" asked Grace with widening eyes.
"No," said Hetty laughing; "but I came out of the sea in it. I was washed up as a baby on the Long Sands. There were great storms at the time and a great many shipwrecks. And nobody ever asked about me. They must have been all drowned. John Kane, one of Mr Enderby's carters, picked me up. So you see I am not the kind of girl to be going out to parties."
"You will have to be very learned if you are going to be a governess," said Grace; "I suppose you are always studying."
"I work pretty hard at my books," said Hetty; "but I am not clever. And how I am ever to be as well informed as Miss Davis I don't know. Some things I remember quite well, and other things I am always forgetting. I am sure if I ever get any pupils they will laugh at me. I wish I could live in a little cottage in the fields, and work in a garden and sell my flowers."
"I should always come and buy from you," said Grace; "what kind of flowers would you keep?"
"Oh, roses," said Hetty; "roses and violets. When I was in London I saw people selling them in the streets. I would send them to London and get money back."
"I think I will come and live with you," said Grace eagerly.
"Grace, don't be a goose," saith Edith; "Hetty has not got a cottage, and she is going to be a governess."
"Yes," sighed Hetty; "but I shall never remember my dates."
A few days after this conversation occurred, an invitation to a children's party came from Edith and Grace to all the children at Wavertree Hall, including Hetty Gray. Mrs. Enderby did not wish Hetty to know that she had been invited, but Nell whispered the news to her.
"Mamma and Phyllis think you ought not to go," said Nell; "but Mark and I intend to fight for you. Mark says he was so nasty to you lately that he wants to make up."
Hetty's eyes sparkled at the idea of having this pleasant variety.
"I shall never be allowed to go," she said.
"Oh, if it is only a frock, you can have one of mine," said Nell; "I got a new one for the last party, and my one before is not so bad."
"It isn't the frock, I am sure," said Hetty; "it is because I am not to be a lady. At least," she added, remembering Edith's rebuke, "I am not to be a party-lady, not a dancing-and-dressing-lady. I am only to be a book-lady, a penwiper-lady, a needle-and-thread-lady, you know, Nell."
"Oh, Hetty! a penwiper-lady!"
"Yes, haven't you seen them at bazaars?" said Hetty, screwing up her little nose to keep from laughing.
"I never know whether you are in earnest when you begin like that," said Nell pouting; "I suppose you don't want to come with us."
However, when Hetty heard that she had really got leave to go "for this once, because Edith and Grace had made such a point of it," there was no mistake about her gladness to join in the fun.
"How will you ever keep me at home after this?" she said, as Phyllis and Nell stood surveying her dressed in one of their cast-off frocks, of a rose-coloured tint which suited her brunette complexion. "I shall be getting into your pockets the next time, and tumbling out in the ball-room with your pocket-handkerchief."
"No one wants to keep you at home, except for your own good," said Phyllis with an air of wisdom.
"Never mind, Phyllis, it won't be into your pocket that I shall creep," said Hetty gaily.
Phyllis did not feel like herself that evening, and was dissatisfied about she knew not what. She could not admit to herself that she was displeased because another was to enjoy a treat, even though she thought she had a right to her belief that it would have been better if Hetty had been made to stay at home. "Of course, as mother consents, it is all right," she had said; but still she did not feel as much enjoyment as usual in dressing for the party. Half suspecting the cause of this, and willing to restore her good opinion of her own virtue, she brought a pretty fan to Hetty and offered to lend it to her. Hetty took it with a look and exclamation of thanks; but Phyllis thought she hardly expressed her gratitude with sufficient humbleness. However, Phyllis had now soothed away that faint doubt in her own mind as to her own kindness and generosity, and took no further notice of her unwelcome companion.
Arrived at the ball, Hetty was warmly received by Edith and Grace, and was soon in a whirl of delightful excitement. She had "as many partners as she could use," as a tiny girl once expressed it, and she was not, like Cinderella, afraid that her frock would turn to rags, or anxious to run home before the other dancers. Everybody was very kind to her, and if anyone said, "That is the little girl whom Mr. Enderby is bringing up for charity," Hetty did not hear it, and so did not care.
"Oh, Hetty, you do look so nice!" said Nell, dancing up to her. "A gentleman over there asked me if you were my sister. And I did not tell him you were going to be a governess."
"You might have told him," said Hetty. "I don't care. I have been speaking to such a nice governess. She is here in care of some little children. I think she is the prettiest lady in the room; and she looks quite happy. I wish I could turn out something like her. Only I shall never remember the dates."
Hetty sighed, and the next minute was whirled away into the dance again.
Now Phyllis had told herself over and over again in the course of the evening that she was very pleased poor Hetty should be enjoying the pleasure of this party, always adding a reflection, however, that she hoped she might not be spoiled by so foolish an indulgence. "If I were going to be a governess," thought she, "I should try to fit myself for the position. Of course it is father's and mother's affair, but when one has a little brains one can't help thinking, I believe if I were in mother's position I should be wiser; but then, of course, I cannot have any things or people to manage till I am grown up. It is the duty of a girl to do what she is told; afterwards people will have to do what she tells them. When the time comes for me to be a mistress I shall take good care that everybody does what is right."
These reflections occurred to Phyllis while she was sitting out a dance for which Hetty had got a partner.
Soon afterwards, while the breathless flock of young dancers were fanning themselves on the sofas, the lady of the house requested Hetty to recite or act something to amuse the company.
At this proposal Hetty was startled and dismayed. It was a very long time since she had done anything of the kind, except for the amusement of Mark and Nell, and she had forgotten all the old stories and characters that used to be found so entertaining by grown people. She felt a shyness amounting to terror at being obliged to come forward and perform before this company; and, besides, she was very sure that Mrs. Enderby would disapprove of her doing so. She therefore begged earnestly to be excused, and retreated into a corner. The lady of the house desisted for a time from her persuasions, but after another dance was finished she renewed her request. Hetty's distress increased, but she felt quite unable to explain to her hostess the reasons why it was impossible she could comply with her wishes. She could only repeat:
"I forget how to do it; indeed I do. And Mrs. Enderby does not like it."
"Mrs. Enderby would like you to please me," said the hostess. "And I cannot think you forget. My daughters tell me you were most amusing last week when they saw you."
"Was I?" said Hetty, dismayed. "But that was in the garden and came by accident. I could not do anything before all this crowd."
"Well, if you were a shy child I could understand," said the lady; "but you know I heard you long ago when you were much younger. If you were not shy then you cannot be so now."
Hetty could not explain that it was just because she was older now that she was shy. Long ago she had been too small to realize the position she was placed in. She felt ready to weep at being found so disobliging, yet when she thought of the performance required of her, her tongue clove to her mouth with fright.
The hostess now crossed the room to Phyllis, who had been watching what had passed between her and Hetty from a distance.
"I have been trying to persuade little Miss Gray to recite for us, or to do some of her amusing characters, but she has all sorts of reasons why she cannot oblige me. Is she always so obstinate?"
Phyllis hesitated.
"I think she has a pretty strong will of her own," she said. "I am afraid she will not yield."
"Well, my dear, you know her better than I do, and it is nice of you not to be too ready to blame her. But I like little girls who do as their elders bid them. And I confess I expected to find her agreeable when I invited her here this evening."
Now if Phyllis had been as generous as she would have liked to believe herself she would have said, "I know my mother does not approve of Hetty's performances, and Hetty knows it too. Perhaps this is why she refuses." But Phyllis, quite unconsciously to herself, was pleased to hear Hetty blamed, and was willing to think that she ought to have put all her scruples aside in order to oblige Mrs. Enderby's friend. While she considered about what it would be pretty to say, her hostess went on:
"I suppose she is a little conceited and spoiled. She is certainly exceedingly pretty and clever."
It was much more difficult now for Phyllis to make her amiable speech; yet she had not the least idea that she was a jealous or an envious girl. She always felt so good, and everybody said she was so. Jealous people are always making disturbance. Therefore it was quite impossible that Phyllis could be jealous.
"I will go and speak to her," she said to the lady of the house, and crossed the room to where Hetty sat, looking unhappy.
"Hetty," said Phyllis, "I think you ought to do as you are asked. It was exceedingly kind of Mrs. Cartwright to invite you here. Of course she expected you to be obliging."
"You mean that she asked me, thinking I would amuse the company?" said Hetty quickly. "Then I am very sorry you have told me so, Phyllis, for I should never have guessed it. And now I shall feel miserable till I get away."
"Can't you be agreeable?"
"No, I can't. Just think of trying it yourself."
"Of course it would not be suitable for me," said Phyllis. "Our positions are different. However, if you choose to be ungrateful you must."
And she walked away, leaving Hetty sitting alone reflecting sadly on her words. So after all it was not kindness and liking for her that had made these people include her in their invitation. It was only the desire to have their party made more amusing by her performance. She wished she could do what was required of her, so that she need owe them nothing. But she could not; and how hateful she must seem.
All her pleasure was over now, and she was glad when the moment came to get away. Her silence was not noticed during the drive home, for every one else was too sleepy to talk. But Hetty was too unhappy to be sleepy.
The next morning Miss Davis asked at breakfast if the party had been enjoyable.
"It was all very nice," said Phyllis, "until towards the end, when Hetty put on fine airs and refused to be obliging. After that we all felt uncomfortable."
"That is not true, Miss Davis," said Hetty bluntly.
Her temper had suddenly got the better of her.
Phyllis's blue eyes contracted, and her lip curled.
"Please send her out of the room, Miss Davis," she said.
"Hetty, I am sorry for this," said Miss Davis, "I could not have believed you would speak so rudely."
"You have not heard the story, Miss Davis."
"I have heard you put yourself very much in the wrong. Phyllis would not tell an untruth of you, I am sure."
"She said I put on fine airs," said Hetty, trembling with indignation. "I did not put on airs. They wanted me to perform, and I could not do it. If I had done it Phyllis would have been the first to blame me. I remember how she scorned me for doing it long ago."
"I hope you will make her apologize to me, Miss Davis," said Phyllis quietly. The more excited poor Hetty became, the quieter grew the other girl.
"She is ungenerous," continued Hetty, striving valiantly to keep back her tears; "she knew her mother would not approve of my performing; and besides, I told her I was afraid. If I had done it she would have complained to Mrs. Enderby of my doing it."
This passionate accusation hit Phyllis home. She knew it was true—so true that though she had arraigned Hetty before Miss Davis for the pleasure of humbling her, she yet had no intention of carrying the tale to her mother, fearing that Mrs. Enderby would say that Hetty had been right. Had Hetty made "a show of herself" by performing, Phyllis would perhaps have made a grievance of it to her parents. Stung for a moment with the consciousness that this was true, before she had had time to persuade herself of the contrary, Phyllis grew white with anger. The injury she could least forgive was a hurt to her self-complacency.
"She must apologize, Miss Davis, or I will go to papa," said Phyllis, disdaining to glance at Hetty, but looking at her governess.
Miss Davis was troubled.
"This is all very painful," she said. "Hetty, you had better go to your room till you have recovered your composure. Whatever may have been your motives last night you have now put yourself in the wrong by speaking so rudely."
Hetty flashed out of the room, and Phyllis, quiet and triumphant, turned to her lesson-books with a most virtuous expression upon her placid face.
Hetty wept for an hour in her own room. Looking back on her conduct she could not see that she had been more to blame than Phyllis. Oh, how was it that Phyllis was always proved to be so good while she was always forced into the wrong? She remembered a prayer asking for meekness which Mrs. Kane had taught her, and she knelt by her bedside and said it aloud; and just then she heard Miss Davis calling to her to open the door.
"My dear," said the governess, "I have come to tell you that you really must apologize to Phyllis. It was exceedingly rude of you to tell her so flatly that her words were untrue."
Hetty flushed up to the roots of her hair and for a few moments could not speak. She had just been on her knees asking for strength from God to overcome her pride, and here was an opportunity for practising meekness. But it was dreadfully hard, thought Hetty.
"I will try and do it, Miss Davis. But may I write a letter in my own way?"
"Certainly, my dear. I am glad to find you so willing to acknowledge yourself in fault."
Left alone to perform her task Hetty opened her desk and sat biting her pen. At last she wrote:
"Dear Phyllis,—I am very sorry I said so rudely that you did not tell the truth. But oh, why did you not tell it, and then there need not have been any trouble?
"HETTY."
Hetty brought this note herself into the school-room, and in presence of Miss Davis handed it to Phyllis.
"Do you call that an apology?" said Phyllis, handing the note to Miss Davis.
"I don't think you have made things any better, Hetty," said Miss Davis.
"I said what I could, Miss Davis. Phyllis ought to apologize to me now."
Phyllis gave her a look of cold surprise, and took up a book.
"Pray, Miss Davis, do not mind," said she over the edges of her book. "I expect nothing but insolence from Hetty Gray. Mother little knew what she was providing for us when she brought her here."
Hetty turned wildly to the governess. "Miss Davis," she cried, "can I not go away somewhere, away from here? Is there not some place in the world where they would give a girl like me work to do? How can I go on living here, to be treated as Phyllis treats me?"
Miss Davis took her by the hand and led her out of the room and upstairs to her own chamber. Having closed the door she sat down and talked to her.
"Hetty," she said, "when you give way to your pride in passions like this you forget things. You asked me just now, is there any place where people would give work to a girl like you to do? I don't think there is—no place such as you could go to."
"I would go anywhere," moaned Hetty.
"Anywhere is nowhere," said Miss Davis. "Just look round you and see all that is given to you in this house. There is your comfortable bed to sleep in, you have your meals when you are hungry, you have good clothing, you have a warm fireside to sit at, you have the protection of an honourable home. Yet you would fling away all these advantages because of a few wounds to your pride. Phyllis is trying, I admit—I have to suffer from her at times myself—but you and I must bear with something for the sake of what we receive."
Hetty raised her eyes and looked at Miss Davis's worn face and the line of pain that had come out sharply across her brow, and forgot herself for the moment, thinking of the governess's patient life.
"But, Miss Davis, you need not suffer from Phyllis; you are not like me. Any people would be glad to get you, who are so clever and so good. You could complain of her to her mother, and if she did not get better you could go away."
"Should I be any more safe from annoyance in another family? Hetty, my dear, there are always thorns in the path of those who are poor and dependent on others, and our wisest course is to make the best of things. I might say to you, you have no one to think of but yourself. For me, I have a mother to support, and I have to think of my dear young brother, who is not too wise for his own interests, and whose prospects are at the mercy of a rather capricious old uncle."
"Oh that I had a mother and a brother to work for!" cried Hetty passionately.
"Perhaps that would teach you wisdom, my dear. However, profit by my experience and be cheered up. Take no notice if Phyllis is unkind. It is better to be here, even with her unkindness, than straying about the world alone, meeting with such misfortunes as you never dreamed of."
After Miss Davis had left her, Hetty sat a long time pondering over that lady's words. It seemed to her that the governess, good and patient as she was, had no motive for her conduct high enough to carry her through the trials of her life. It was certainly an excellent thing to be prudent for the sake of her mother and brother; to bear with present evils for fear of worse evils that might come. But yet—but yet, was there not a higher motive than all this for learning to be meek and humble of heart? Looking into her own proud and stubborn nature, the little girl assured herself that Miss Davis's motives would never be in themselves enough for her, Hetty—never sufficiently strong to crush the rebellion of self in her stormy young soul. Instinctively her thoughts flew to Mrs. Kane, and seizing her hat and cloak she flew out of the house, and away down the road to the labourer's cottage.
Fortunately it was a good hour for her visit. John had gone out after his dinner. The cottage kitchen was tidied up, the fire shining, the two old straw arm-chairs drawn up by the hearth. Mrs. Kane was just screwing up her eyes, trying to thread a needle, when Hetty dashed in and flung her arms around her neck.
"Oh, Mrs. Kane, the pride has got so bad again; and I have been quarrelling with Phyllis and wanting to run away."
"Run away!" said Mrs. Kane; "oh, no, dearie, never run away from your post."
"What is my post?" said Hetty weeping; "I have no post. I am only a charity girl and in everybody's way. Phyllis hints it to me in every way she can, even when she does not say it outright. Oh, how can I have patience to grow up? Why does it take so long to get old?"
Mrs. Kane sighed. "It doesn't take long to grow old, dear, once you are fairly in the tracks of the years. But it does take a while to grow up. And you must have patience, Hetty. There's nothing else for it but the patience and meekness of God."
Hetty drew a long breath. All that was spiritual within her hung now on Mrs. Kane's words. The patience of God was such a different thing from the prudence of this world. That was the difference between Miss Davis and Mrs. Kane.
"There was something beautiful you said one day," said Hetty in a whisper; "say it again. It was, 'Learn of me—'"
"Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly of heart," said Mrs. Kane. "That is the word you want, my darling, and it was said for such as you."
Hetty's tears fell fast, but they were no longer angry tears. She was crying now with longing to be good.
"There was something else," she said presently, when she could find her voice; "something that was spoken for me too."
"Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven," said Mrs. Kane, stroking her head. And then Hetty cried more wildly, thinking with remorse of her own pride.
"If He is for you, my dear, you needn't care who is against you," continued Mrs. Kane; "take that into your heart and keep it there."
After that they had a long talk about all Hetty's difficulties, and when at last the little girl left the cottage, it was with a lighter step than had brought her there. When she walked into the school-room just in time for tea the signs of woe were gone from her countenance, and she looked even brighter than usual. Without giving herself time to think, or to observe the looks of those in the room, she went straight up to Phyllis and said cheerfully:
"Phyllis, I am sorry I gave you offence. I hope you will forget it and be friends with me"; and then she took her seat at the table as if nothing had happened.
Miss Davis, who had been rather dreading her appearance, fearing a renewal of the quarrel, looked up at her and actually coloured all over her faded face with pleasure and surprise. Hetty had really taken her lessons to heart, and was going to be a wise and prudent girl after all. She little thought that a far higher spirit actuated the girl than had at all entered into her teachings.
Phyllis glanced round with a triumphant air as if saying, "Now I am indeed proved in the right. She herself has acknowledged it!" and then she said gently:
"I accept your apology, Hetty, and I will not say anything of the matter to my mother."
"Is not Phyllis good," whispered Nell afterwards, "not to tell mamma? Because you know, you were very naughty to her, Hetty, and she is papa's daughter and the eldest."
Nell's friendly speeches were sometimes hard to bear, as well as Phyllis's unfriendly ones. Hetty would have been glad if the whole affair could have been laid before Mrs. Enderby, and saw no reason to congratulate herself on Phyllis's silence to her mother as to the quarrel and its cause. But the others judged differently. Miss Davis was pleased that by her own tact she had been able to arrange matters without calling in the aid of Mrs. Enderby, who, she was aware, liked a governess to have judgment and decision sufficient to keep the mistress of the house out of school-room squabbles. Nell was delighted that there was to be no more "fuss." Phyllis above all was pleased, for now she felt no more necessity for questioning her own motives and conduct, no more danger of being told by her mother that Hetty had in the beginning been in the right, while she, by opposing her, had brought on the wrong which had followed.
Falling back upon her own doctrine, that she must be right because her judgment told her so, Phyllis was coldly amiable to Hetty for the rest of the evening; while Hetty, having made her act of humility, rather suffered from a reaction of feeling, and had to struggle hard to keep the moral vantage-ground she had gained.