“What were you doing with them?” demanded Isabelle, sharply, from the head of the stairs.
“Nothing—that is, ‘I didn’t go for to do nothing’ with them! When I went away to work yesterday morning, there were two pans of milk on that swing-shelf. I could have gone in the dark and found them easily; so I did!” And away went Beatrice into another peal of laughter as infectious as it was ridiculous.
“Mother told you to take a light!”
“I didn’t hear her. Besides, it didn’t seem worth while to go to that trouble. Why did you put custards in the milk’s place? And also, if you have custards, why don’t you feed them to your family instead of laying pitfalls with them to catch unwary maidens? When I was housekeeper I—”
“When you were housekeeper you did exactly as you pleased, and nobody durst interfere!” said Belle, quickly. “You see, Mother! It’s of no use trying. There I worked extra hard to-night, so that I would not have to take my precious morning light to-morrow to prepare dessert. I knew that our dinner was to be a very plain one, and so I thought I would piece it out with a little second course. All for nothing!”
Mrs. Beckwith made no comment upon this exclamation. The damage which Bonny’s thoughtlessness had done was, she feared, far greater than the loss of a little daylight or one day’s dessert. “Gather up your frock as carefully as you can, so that the stuff will not drip upon these clean stairs, then go directly out of doors; that is, if you are not hurt. I will come out on the grass and help you there. Here, Robert! Put this apron about you and follow Bonny. Your unfortunate Sunday clothes! They are ruined, I am afraid.”
Isabelle retreated in a flood of tears, and Roland ran away to compose a sonnet to a “Maiden in Distress;” that being a safety-valve to let off his mirthfulness over the absurd affair. But Beatrice picked herself up stiffly and obeyed her mother without a word. Her fun had quite evaporated, and she felt heartily ashamed of herself.
“It’s that eternal, undying conceit of mine, Motherkin! If I’d had any sense I’d have taken a lamp, even though I did not hear you. But no! I—Bonny Beckwith—could go down cellar in the darkest night and do anything I wished! I wasn’t afraid,—I! But I’m so sorry, so awfully sorry about your pretty cups, Mother. You have had them so long and kept them so carefully. I don’t understand yet how it happened.”
“The explanation is simple enough. After Isabelle had made her custard, she poured it into the cups, and, it being hot, set them in an empty pan to carry the better downstairs. She had used the milk from the pan on the swing-shelf, and it was a convenient place to keep her dessert until to-morrow, safe and high above the reach of the cat or any stray mice.”
“It was high enough, in all conscience! I had to reach above my head to take the pan down, and I thought it felt amazing heavy then; but not until I reached the foot of the stairs and stumbled did I hear the cups rattle and realize that it wasn’t just milk I carried.”