“I never imagined anything so lovely!” she cried. “But you must put it on—you promised.”
Brenda obeyed. She was gratified by the curious mixture of vanity and greed, envy and admiration which filled poor Fanchon’s face, and she attired herself, not only in the dress, which gave her little figure such a “chic” appearance, but also put on the white hat and the dainty white lace scarf, and drew the long white gloves upon her slender arms. Finally, she slipped into the white serge coat which was to cover the finery, lest the Reverend Josiah should catch sight of it.
“He won’t see me to-morrow morning,” she said, “and when I come back in the evening, he’ll think that I am wearing a cotton dress underneath the serge. There now, Fanchon, you have seen everything, and you may rest satisfied that I shall have plenty to tell you when I return.”
“I am bewildered,” said Fanchon. “Of course you look beautiful; of course the prince or the king, whenever either of them comes along, will fall in love with you, for you look like a princess or a queen yourself! I wish I were beautiful too. I hate—yes—I hate being ugly!” and the poor child gave a sob of pain and disappointment.
“Now listen, Fanchon. You won’t be ugly when you are grown up. It doesn’t matter a bit how you look now, for you are only a little girl. What you have to do now is to help me all you can, and then, when you come to be eighteen or nineteen years of age—I will help you, petite, and get you a good husband, and drew you in the colours that will make you look—oh—marvellous! Keep me as your friend and you will be a wise little girl: do the reverse, and you will rue it.”
Fanchon shed a few more tears, but finally yielded to Brenda’s seductions and clasped her arms round her neck and kissed that young person’s cool cheek with her own hot lips; then went to bed to dream of that wonderful vision in blue silk and the prince who was surely going to find her.
The next morning, at a very early hour, Brenda took her departure, having successfully avoided the Reverend Josiah, who had gone to bed with the full intention of getting up to see his dear young governess off and to tell her that he would assuredly sit up and have something hot for supper when she came back in the evening. He had not yet thanked her for her consideration in buying the jam pots.
“The dear girl must have got them out of her own money,” he said to himself. “She really is a treasure, and I am so fond of gooseberry jam. One can have so few indulgences—what with the sick of the parish and my very small stipend. But when I think of that poor young creature, and of what she is doing for me and my children, I cannot be too thankful. I will certainly thank her in suitable words when she returns, and I will see her off in the morning.”
But, alack and alas! the Reverend Josiah was tired, for he had had a very long and fatiguing day, and Brenda’s footsteps were light as the falling of snow, and she had left the house and gone out to the stables and got the pony put to the cart. She had also awakened Jock—universally known as “the boy,” and had given him fourpence to drive her to Harroway station. All these things had been done, and Brenda was away—yes, away for her day’s holiday before the Reverend Josiah opened his eyes on that summer morning.