Clarice laughed at this explanation, and seeing that her guardian, to all appearance, was in a healthy sleep, went away. "Tell me when he wakes up, Chalks," said she, at the door.
"Yes, Miss, if Master don't sleep for one hundred years, like the Sleeping Beauty," and Chalks chuckled at his own simple wit. Clarice passed the morning in attending to her domestic duties, and had a consultation with Mrs. Rebson about the Christmas festivities. That cheerful housekeeper remarked that it would be as well to make the house as bright as possible, since The Domestic Prophet declared that something terrible would happen before Christmas. What the event might be, Mrs. Rebson could not tell, as the prophet, after the manner of his kind, was obscure in the wording of his oracles. Nevertheless, Clarice became infected with the vague dread which Mrs. Rebson insisted she felt herself, and the memory of that oddly delivered envelope, containing the stamped picture of the purple fern, did not tend to dissipate her uneasiness. When she left Mrs. Rebson, still prophesying coming woes, like an elderly Cassandra, the girl felt that a walk would do her good, and, putting on her furs, she sallied forth, eager to breathe a less portentous atmosphere.
The day was bright and clear, the snow was hard and clean. In the lucid air lurked the sting of frost. Sitting over a fire, one was apt to shiver; but smart walking brought a colour to the most wan cheeks, and communicated a glow to the whole body. Clarice looked extremely pretty as the exercise tinted her oval face, and sent the warm blood spinning through her youthful veins. She walked in a determined, swinging way, with steadfast eyes and a firmly closed mouth, like a woman who knows her own mind, and who means to have her own way. It needed a very strong man to master this young lady of the new school, and Clarice believed that Ackworth was just the man to exercise authority. Certainly, Dr. Jerce might have mastered her also, as he was stern and strong. But then she did not love Dr. Jerce, and only from the tyrant she loved was Miss Baird ready to take orders.
Finding herself near the vicarage, Clarice determined to enter and see if Ferdy was there. As he had not come back to luncheon, it was probable that he had gone to Prudence Clarke for consolation, a thing Miss Baird quite approved of, as she respected Prudence, and would have been glad to see Ferdy engaged to so sensible a girl. The quarrel at the breakfast table had no doubt left Ferdy fretful and complaining, so it was pretty certain that he would visit Prudence and pour his woes into her sympathetic ears. Ferdy never could keep his troubles to himself, but invariably climbed to the highest house-top to shout out his puny griefs. Clarice wished him to marry Prudence, yet sometimes she doubted if so sensible a girl would tolerate such a baby man as a husband.
The servant who answered the door said that Miss Clarke had gone out skating with Mr. Baird, but that the vicar was in his study. Clarice would have turned away in pursuit of the young people, but that the parson heard her voice and came into the hall. He was an undersized, miserable man, with a head too large for his body, and an awkward, diffident manner, which seemed to continually apologise for the existence of Mr. Nehemiah Clarke. His voice was querulous, and his complaints were incessant. In his rusty black clothes, with his bent frame and untidy hair, he looked a most dismal object, and Clarice, in her then somewhat dejected state of mind, scarcely relished an interview with so cheerless a person. However, she could not help herself, and entered the study with the best grace she could muster.
"There," whimpered Mr. Clarke, waving his hands towards an array of bills, which strewed his desk like autumn leaves, "what do you think of that for Christmas, Clarice? How is a man to preach goodwill towards men, when men won't show any goodwill towards him?"
"But we all get bills at Christmas time," said Miss Baird, consolingly. "I get more than anyone else," moaned the vicar, sinking into the chair before his desk; "why they should come to me, I don't know."
"You should pay as you go, Mr. Clarke."
"I haven't any ready money, Clarice. It's all very well for you, in the lap of luxury; but I have only three hundred a year, and even that small sum comes to me slowly, since people will not pay their tithes without legal threats, and those cost money. I don't eat much, I dress plainly, I never enjoy myself, and keep only one cheap servant, yet the bills will come in. Prudence is responsible for many; she ought to emulate her name, but she won't. Imprudence would suit her better. Oh, dear me, how I can sympathise with Lear."
"I don't think Prudence is extravagant, Mr. Clarke," said Clarice, who resented this placing of burdens on other people's shoulders, "she always seems to me to be a sensible girl."