“I will tell you, however, papa. I ran away when nurse was going to say something I did not wish to hear. I saw she looked vexed, and I am afraid little Kitty saw it too; and perhaps I have put it into her head to do the same.”
“You must put a better behaviour into her head as soon as you can, then. Now try and recollect if you have done any good to-day.”
Anna thought some time, and looked sad when she owned she could recollect nothing.
“I am afraid you are hardly fit for building an hospital yet, Anna,” said Mr. Byerley. “However, to comfort you, I can assure you that you have done me some good to-day.”
“You mean, by making you forget your headache. But that was accident, so it does not suit what we were talking about; but I will try to make it better another time, for fear you should be the first person to go into my hospital, when I build it.”
Mr. Byerley smiled as he kissed her and sent her to bed.
CHAPTER II.
Preparation.
The next morning, Mr. Byerley, who was a bad sleeper, was wakened very early by the murmur of voices from the next room, which was occupied by his daughters. Though the partition between the chambers was very slight, he was not usually disturbed by noise; for the girls were asleep before he retired to rest, and he arose as early as they in the morning. Now, however, he heard the never-ceasing sound of low tones from four o’clock till six; but not a single word could he distinguish of all that was said. The girls could not be learning lessons, for it was Sunday morning; and, as he heard no tread, he thought they could not have left their beds. They were evidently stirring, however, as soon as he had rung his bell; and from behind his blind he saw them afterwards in the garden, not running or gathering flowers, as usual, but in earnest consultation. They stood before a certain balcony, looking at it from all sides, and presently from all distances; for Mary would have walked backwards into the fishpond, if her sister had not caught hold of her. Then, with each a bough, they attempted to disperse the chickweed which had overspread the pond; and then they repaired to the arbour where the honeysuckle trailed on the ground, and a film of gossamer overspread the entrance. When they met their father at breakfast, they looked heated and exhausted. He told them there was no occasion to toil so hard, as he should give direction to John, the gardener, to put the garden and court in good order before the arrival of their expected guests. Part of their weighty business was taken off the girls’ hands, but apparently no great deal; for they were found, more than once that day, in the little parlour which opened upon the balcony, as eager in consultation as they had been before breakfast. This parlour was so small that it might almost have been called a closet; but the balcony was larger than the room, and communicated so easily with it, by means of a French window, that the deficiency of size was a small objection. The parlour would just contain Mr. Byerley, his daughters, and a tea-table; and when they had guests with them, the balcony held the visitors and their host, and the green parlour the young tea-maker and her apparatus. It was a favourite place, the view from it being particularly pretty, and its retirement complete. The simple ornaments of the dwelling were all collected there; Mary’s harp-lute, Anna’s flower stands, and the precious picture of their mother. The room was so darkened by the colour of its furniture, by the roof of the balcony, and the creepers which hung thickly about it, that the picture conveyed no very distinct impression to strangers. Mr. Byerley, however, liked it better in this obscurity than in a fuller light: the girls had long been too familiar with its features not to feel as if they had been equally familiar with the original.
While they were drinking tea in this place on the Sunday evening of which I speak, Mr. Byerley told the girls that he was going, in the morning, to London, to attend a public meeting, and that he should not return till the Tuesday night, or perhaps the Wednesday morning; but that he would take care to be at home when their guests arrived. Mary asked what should be done for their entertainment; for she thought the house must be very dull to strangers. Her father thought not, as their friends came to see and talk with friends, and not to see sights and be entertained as they might be in the house of any stranger. Mary knew her father’s dislike of bustle, and of any interruption of his daily plans which was not caused by public business; but she felt quite sure that Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher and their daughters would enjoy seeing more of the pretty country near, than could be brought within the limits of a walk; and she therefore pressed the point. “You shall have no trouble, papa, but just to get on your horse and go with us.”
“Where, my dear? I will go to the world’s end if you show me that it will do any good; but you know I dislike frolicking.”