A nicely spread tea-table, on which there were plenty of cakes, smoothed down the ruffled temper of the spoilt boy; yet he did not forget what had all along been uppermost in his mind, namely, that he was to go and see the chickens as soon as tea was over. Had Mr. Ellis not been afraid of creating a disturbance at Oak Villa, he would certainly have prevented Fred's going into the garden, after his display of temper in his sister's room. He, however, made no opposition when the impatient boy, having despatched his tea and cake, made the announcement to his cousin Clara, that he was ready to go with her to see the fowls; and she good-naturedly rose from the table to attend him—not, however, without asking her aunt's leave.
Freddy of course was delighted with all he saw, though he said he thought the chickens were very large ones, and inquired after those he had seen a month ago, being very difficult to be persuaded that those he was now looking at were really the very identical chickens.
Like his sister Mabel, Freddy wanted to nurse one of the chickens; nor did he ask if he might do so, but while Clara went for the corn he opened the wire door and boldly thrust his hand in: only, however, to receive, as she had done, a severe peck from the hen, which sent him stamping and screaming up and down, no doubt to the great astonishment of the cock and hens, and the immediate disarrangement of the family party, who all rushed out to know what was the matter. It certainly was a severe peck that the old hen had given, and a very great fright that the household had been put into by the screams and the roaring of the cowardly boy, which continued as he clung to his mamma's dress, until he accidentally caught sight of his papa, and then the storm ceased as if by magic; and so much of sham had there been in the affair, that the tempest calmed down without leaving trace of sob or tear.
Mr. Ellis saw that his presence had been effectual, so he only said a few words to the young rebel, but he cast a half-sorrowful, half-angry glance at his wife; and Aunt Mary could not help whispering, 'Ada, what troubles you are making for yourself!'
CHAPTER XIX.
MAY DAY.
It was months before Mabel could really be said to have regained her health and strength. The dreary winter had passed away, and the tender leaves, and blossoms of April, had put forth their signs of returning spring.
It must not however be supposed that the cold and dark season had been an unprofitable one; far from it. Though Mabel had been an occasional sufferer, during all that time, she and Clara had diligently attended to their studies, and had, Aunt Mary said, made rapid advance; while the inward change which had been experienced by the invalid left no room for regret either to herself or her friends.
Mabel knew and felt that she had been healed of a far worse malady than any bodily one, and though, as in the case of rheumatic pains, hidden evils still gave occasional inward spasms, she had learned at whose hands she was to receive the healing draught, and she never failed to apply for it in the hour of need.