Mil I in 
 II III Hi 
 
 ii ill! lii! 11 
 
 in 
 
 MABEL BARNE5-GR.VNDY
 
 Hazel of Heatherland
 
 Hazel 
 
 of Heatherland 
 
 By 
 
 Mabel Barnes -Grundy 
 
 New York 
 The Baker & Taylor Co. 
 
 33-37 East Seventeenth Street 
 Union Square North
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BT 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO. 
 
 PUBLISHED, MARCH, 1906 
 
 Pvblisherf Printing Company, New York
 
 in Heatherland 
 
 2229127
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 /. Sammy Imparts Some News 9 
 
 71. On How I Became Acquainted with Mr. Inderwick . 23 
 
 777. Sammy and Rose Gossip on an Unimportant Matter . 31 
 IV. I Receive a Snub from Mr. Inderwick, which Renders 
 
 Me Angry 40 
 
 V. An Encounter with Mr. Inderwick 66 
 
 VI. I Go on a Visit to Aunt Menelophe 65 
 
 F77. 7 Receive a Letter from Mother and Some Good Advice 
 
 on Dress from Aunt Menelophe 81 
 
 '''777. A Dinner Party, Followed by my Seeing the Ghost . 93 
 IX. I Return Home, and Exchange Sentiments with Jerry 
 
 on Autumn 106 
 
 X. An AU-Hattowf E'en Party 116 
 
 XI. We Go to Tea with Mr. Inderwick, and I Describe the 
 
 Dusting of Parian Jugs 132 
 
 Z77. On Wash-Days 145 
 
 XIII. Mr. Inderwick Accompanies me to Gayton to Buy 
 
 Butter 153 
 
 XIV. I Tamper Successfully with a Keyhole and Lunch at 
 
 Piper's Well 170 
 
 XV. On the Repairing of a Lock and my Drive with Mr. 
 
 Inderwick 105 
 
 XVI. lama Little Poorly, and Mr. Inderwick Cattt . . . 213 
 
 17]
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII. I Unfortunately Knock off a Piece of Angela's Hair, 
 
 and She is Extremely Annoyed 225 
 
 XVIII. Mr. Inderwick Asks a Direct Question, and I Reply 237 
 XIX. I Desire to be a Lotus-Eater, and Sammy Brings me 
 
 Rudely to Earth 255 
 
 XX. I Start on a Second Visit to Aunt Menelophe, and 
 
 Robert Inderwick Sees me Off 265 
 
 XXI. Aunt Menelophe Holds Forth on the Subject of Mar- 
 riage 279 
 
 X.XII. I Am Confronted with Another Perplexing Situation 294 
 
 XXIII. I Make My Decision, And Am Not Altogether Happy 302 
 
 XXIV. I Have Some Little Differences with Eustace . . . 313 
 XXV. A Walk in the Rain, and Eustace Talks Ruskin . . 326 
 
 XXVI. Eustace Annoys me, and I Retire to my Room to 
 
 Sew 830 
 
 XXVII. I Receive Some Letters of Congratulation, and Eustace 
 
 Again Annoys me 841 
 
 XXVIII. I Take Decisive Steps 358 
 
 XXIX. Aunt Menelophe Scolds and Afterward Comforts me . 371 
 
 XXX. I Find Happiness 877 
 
 XXXI. The Eve of my Wedding-day 885 
 
 [8]
 
 Hazel of Heatherland
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Sammy Imparts Some News 
 
 WHEN I was a little girl of, say, eight years of 
 age, Sammy gave me a hedgehog. From that 
 day to this he and I have been close friends. 
 I remember the occasion well. I was huddled up on 
 the floor in our small school-room endeavoring to write 
 out the future tense of parler, to speak. My eyes 
 smarted with unshed tears, my throat was swollen with 
 suppressed sobs for outside a summer day reigned su- 
 preme, and it was full of sunshine and flowers and the 
 scent of hay when I heard the familiar sound of 
 Sammy's corduroys beneath the window. 
 
 "It's a little 'edge'og, Miss Hazelt, I have brought 
 you. I found it asleep under the 'edge in the croft," 
 he handed it in as he spoke, a round, prickly ball, 
 " and I have just seen the mistress and Miss Timmins 
 
 and Miss Angela go out, and " his voice dropped 
 
 to a cautious whisper.
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Thank you, Sammy, you needn't help me," was 
 all I said, as I crept through the window and jumped 
 lightly to the ground. 
 
 Sammy tempted me in those days, and I fell; he 
 tempts me now, and I still fall. This afternoon he 
 brought me some strawberries on a shiny rhubarb 
 leaf; they were of a large size and beautiful color. 
 
 "But Miss Angela is making jam to-morrow," I 
 protested weakly. 
 
 <J A few strawberries 'ere and there won't make 
 much difference." 
 
 " No, perhaps not," I said still more weakly. 
 
 I lay back in the wide shade of a sycamore tree and 
 watched him at his mowing. His movements, after 
 the manner of gardeners, were slow and restful. The 
 little pink-tipped daisies and golden buttercups and 
 sweet-scented grass seemed almost to smile as they 
 toppled into the box of the machine; their removal 
 from the sward had been as gentle as a caress. 
 
 Our garden on a June afternoon, when the sun is 
 shining after a soft shower of rain, is the most perfect 
 thing in the world. Its scents are the sweetest the 
 warm, damp earth, the freshly cut grass, the wet roses 
 and honeysuckle, and the whiffs of hay and meadow- 
 sweet which creep through the little gaps in the hedge 
 in the rear from the fields in the distance. Its colors 
 are the loveliest. Could anything be more perfect than 
 the creamy-white of a butterfly poised above the flam- 
 ing scarlet of a poppy? or a purple pansy, with its 
 
 [10]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 eyes full of tears, turning its velvety face upward to the 
 sunshine ? 
 
 I lay and watched the delicate fluttering of the 
 creamy butterfly. I wished that it would leave the 
 poppy, who was a flaunting, boastful sort of fellow, 
 and go and kiss the little velvet pansy and comfort it. 
 Nearer and nearer it fluttered, now pausing to inspect 
 a bed of geraniums, anon hanging above some many- 
 colored petunias. Now it was getting very close to my 
 wet-eyed little flower. Ah ! my wish was gratified ; for 
 one second it laid its lips on the lips of the pansy, and 
 then it was gone. 
 
 Sammy paused in his mowing, and, fetching a bottle 
 of oil and a feather from the far end of the lawn, began 
 to lubricate the machine. 
 
 " Did you speak, Miss Hazelt ? " he inquired. 
 
 "No, Sammy." 
 
 " Miss Angela and the mistress are out ? " 
 
 "Yes, Sammy; that is why you gathered the 
 strawberries and / lie on a deck-chair and do 
 nothing." 
 
 A smile flickered round the comers of his mouth for 
 a second, and then vanished. 
 
 " Miss Angela isn't often out." 
 
 " No, Sammy. Miss Angela belongs to that class of 
 person who always stays in and 'sees to things.'" 
 
 He seated himself on a stump of a tree and settled 
 down for a gossip. 
 
 " It is a pity she doesn't go out more." 
 [US
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAN;D 
 
 "A great pity," I agreed. 
 
 "The fresh air would do her good. She always 
 looks pale-like." 
 
 "Yes; but she is extraordinarily healthy." 
 
 " She is that. Always up and doin'. " 
 
 "Always up and doing," I assented with a sigh. 
 
 "Is it a mothers' meetin' she be gone to this after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 "No, to the consecration of Neston Church. She 
 and mother have driven over with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gates. At the moment they will probably be singing 
 'The Church's One Foundation.'" 
 
 "Fancy, on a thirsty afternoon like this!" ejacu- 
 lated Sammy, as he drew his hand across his mouth. 
 
 "Are you thirsty, Sammy?" I inquired. 
 
 "Not desperate, Miss Hazelt; I've know'd myself 
 worse." 
 
 "Is your inward eye, so to speak, directed toward 
 the foundations of our house to a cool corner, to a 
 corner where a barrel reposes ? " 
 
 "Well, now you mention it, Miss Hazelt, p'r'aps it 
 is, though I shouldn't have thought of it unless my 
 attention had been called to it." 
 
 I rose laughing. 
 
 " Is it raspberry vinegar or beer you are taking ? " 
 
 " Beer on mowing days, Miss Hazelt." 
 
 I walked across the lawn to the house. On my 
 return journey through the hall I met Rose, our house- 
 maid. 
 
 [12]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Sammy has had his beer to-day, Miss Hazel," 
 she volunteered. 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes. The missis never gives him more than one 
 glass." 
 
 "Rose," I remarked gently, "when I require in- 
 formation upon any subject I will ask for it. Kindly 
 open the front door for me." 
 
 It has always been somewhat difficult to keep Rose 
 in her right place. 
 
 With care I carried the foaming glass across the 
 lawn. Angela would have said it was lowering myself 
 to carry drink to a gardener, and extremely common. 
 It was not common; it was unusual, my opportunities 
 for so doing being rare, owing, as I remarked before, 
 to Angela's always being at home and "seeing to 
 things." 
 
 "You should be very grateful to me, Sammy; it is 
 hot in the sun," I observed as I fell back in the chair. 
 
 "I'm more'n grateful, Miss Hazelt," he replied. 
 And he looked it; and I was interested in wondering 
 how much longer he could have held his breath, for 
 the glass was of a fair size. 
 
 He returned to his mowing and I to my day-dream- 
 ing. With half-closed eyes I gazed at the patches of 
 pastel-blue sky peeping through the delicate tracery of 
 the sycamore leaves; at the white chiffon clouds; at 
 the clean, bright, rain-washed green of the oaks; at 
 the hundreds of little flies and midges glancing about in 
 
 [13]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 the sunshine; at the brown plush bees as they lazily 
 crawled in and out of the Canterbury bells and fox- 
 gloves. Again I reflected what a good thing was a 
 garden on an afternoon in June. Angela had said, 
 as she passed me in her neat fawn alpaca dress, that 
 perhaps I had forgotten that the week's mending had 
 not yet been touched. I expressed great surprise. It 
 is so easy to be surprised, and it looked as though I 
 meant to rush off straightway for my work-basket and 
 the stockings. 
 
 I lay and wondered what Angela would do if I were 
 to die. There would be such a blank in her life. For 
 twenty-one out of her thirty years she had devoted 
 herself to reminding me of things like stockings to darn 
 and drawing-rooms to dust. She would be very dull 
 without me. And Heatherland was not a lively place; 
 no, Heatherland-on-the-Dee might be the prettiest 
 village in the Hundred of Wirral, its air might be the 
 purest, its view of the blue Welsh hills might be the 
 loveliest, but it was by no means lively. Mother and 
 Angela would miss me very much. 
 
 Sammy broke in upon my reflections. 
 
 "Not much doin' in Heatherland just now, Miss 
 Hazelt." 
 
 I sat up quickly. Many years of experience have 
 taught me that when Sammy in a casual sort of way 
 says "Not much doin' in Heatherland," that he has 
 news to impart of the utmost importance. 
 
 As quickly I lay back again. Many years of experi- 
 [14]
 
 [ HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 ence have also taught me that to extract that news one 
 must proceed carefully and diplomatically. Sammy 
 must be baited and played with exquisite skill, and this 
 was a pleasant, lazy afternoon on which to angle. I 
 smiled to myself as my fish went down on his somewhat 
 rheumaticky knees and began to weed a geranium bed. 
 
 "No, Sammy," I replied carelessly, "there never is 
 much doing in Heatherland; it is a place singularly 
 devoid of interest." 
 
 "That be so, and yet now and again bits of news 
 crop up like." 
 
 " Yes," I said, closing my eyes, " but we are not in a 
 position to hear it. We lead such quiet lives; and 
 you, of course, not having a wife, are not likely to hear 
 anything of real interest. Now Jonah at the rectory, 
 and Jonah's wife who cleans the church, will know 
 everything " 
 
 A snort interrupted me. It came from the neighbor- 
 hood of the geranium bed. 
 
 " Did you speak, Sammy ? " 
 
 " Jonah ! Jonah Windybag ! " 
 
 " I did not know that was his surname," I remarked 
 politely. 
 
 Another snort. 
 
 " Jonah Claptrap ! Jonah Gaspipes ! " 
 
 "Dear me, what extraordinary names!" I ventured 
 again. 
 
 Sammy bent back on his haunches and spat on his 
 hands. 
 
 [15]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "And the wife of Jonah Windybag, Mrs. Windy- 
 i" 
 
 "Well, what of her? She seems a decent sort of 
 woman," I murmured. 
 
 Sammy indulged in derisive laughter for some 
 seconds. 
 
 " That woman will go to hell ! " he said at length. 
 
 This announcement was of so startling a character 
 that in the stress of the moment I omitted to mention 
 to Sammy the impropriety of his language. 
 
 "Yes," he repeated, "she may clean churches and 
 polish up the brass on the font, but she'll go to hell 
 all the same." 
 
 "What a dreadful prospect for her! Are you sure 
 you are correct in your supposition, Sammy ? " 
 
 " Quite sartin sure. No woman can tell lies like her 
 and keep out of hell-fire." 
 
 " But what has she been telling lies about ? " I asked 
 with curiosity. 
 
 "Everythink. It's enough to make a hangel's wing 
 stop curling to 'ear her. Now, for instance, Miss 
 Hazelt, she actually told Widow Price as 'ow I wanted 
 to marry her before she made the acquaintance of 
 Jonah." 
 
 "Well, perhaps you did," I suggested; "only it's so 
 long ago you have forgotten." 
 
 When I met Sammy's eye I felt sorry I had spoken. 
 
 "Then she 'as told everybody in Heatherland," he 
 went on, ignoring my interruption, "that Jonah was 
 
 [16]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 first with his peas and potaters this year. Jonah 
 first!" (He was fairly spluttering now.) "Jonah 
 before me with peas and taters! Why, Jonah can 
 no more grow peas than I can grow coffee berries. 
 Just as ours is gettin' so old that they are about ready 
 to turn into split peas, Jonah 'as his first lot ready, 
 somewhere about Michaelmas." 
 
 " It seems to me that Jonah requires our sympathy 
 and pity," I said softly. 
 
 " And now, to beat all, she is goin' round and tellin' 
 the whole village a private bit o' news I tells to Jonah 
 in strict confidence the other night. A most himpor- 
 tant bit o' news." 
 
 " May I ask where you imparted this piece of news ? " 
 
 "Why, at the 'Black Horse.' I just stepped in 
 casual-like. I wanted to see Jonah about some gera- 
 nium cuttin's, and he stood me a glass; and, not to be 
 behindhand in friendliness, I up and told 'un what I'd 
 heard. There was just the two of us in a corner; not 
 another blessed soul could 'ear." 
 
 "But don't you think a public-house an unsuitable 
 spot to select for the imparting of information of a 
 momentous character? Jonah would would prob- 
 ably become expansive; you should have thought of 
 that. Jonah's wife, on his return home, would pos- 
 sibly make unnecessary and somewhat pointed remarks 
 about this expansiveness, and to soothe her Jonah 
 would whisper into her ear your secret. But I don't 
 suppose it really matters, Sammy," I continued. 
 2 [17]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Nothing of any real importance happens in Heather- 
 land. I'll be bound that your secret is of no more 
 weighty a character than the fact that Mrs. Oates's 
 tea and coffee service, which has done duty for twenty 
 years, has just been resilvered, or that Mrs. Frederick 
 Moss is engaged to be married, making the fifteenth 
 time in all." 
 
 I again closed my eyes, and dismissed the subject 
 as though finished with. I knew that Sammy's secret 
 would be mine within the next five minutes. I had 
 only to lie with folded hands and await events. You 
 have but to assume that Sammy's news is absolutely 
 worthless, when he will take every step to prove it to 
 the contrary. 
 
 He flung it at my head suddenly. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick be comin' to live at the Old Hall 
 Farm." 
 
 Now I am bound to confess that I was startled; so 
 much so that Dibbs, my wall-eyed fox-terrier, who 
 was curled up on my knee, fell off, and walked away 
 in high dudgeon. 
 
 I recovered myself quickly. It would never do to 
 let Sammy know that he had become, so to speak, 
 master of the situation. His superiority would be in- 
 sufferable; besides, I wanted to know more. I must 
 walk warily. 
 
 "Indeed!" I began in my coolest manner, but 
 Sammy interrupted me. There was triumph in his 
 voice. 
 
 1181
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "I knew you'd be surprised, Miss Hazelt. Why, 
 you've gone quite flushed-like, and poor Dibbs gone 
 away with 'is tail between 'is legs. You jumped so I 
 thought as how you must be took sudden bad. Never 
 saw any one so startled-like, and all about a bit o' news 
 that is quite valueless, and as likely as not may not 'ave 
 a word of truth in it." 
 
 He picked up a rake and made a movement as though 
 to go away. 
 
 " Don't go, Sammy," I said quite humbly. " Your 
 news is almost epoch-making. I admit I am 
 vastly interested. Sit down and tell me all about it. 
 Who told you, and when is he coming ? " 
 
 There are occasions when one must humble one's self 
 even to one's servitors. 
 
 Sammy resumed his seat on the tree stump. There 
 was a look of supreme happiness on his wrinkled, 
 weathered old face, and he rolled his sentences round 
 as though they were toothsome delicacies. 
 
 " It was 'is 'ousekeeper who told me. I was passin' the 
 farm, and she was shooin' some hens to bed, and " 
 
 " Isn't he married, then ? " I broke in. 
 
 Sammy regarded me severely. 
 
 " I can't do with hinterruptions, Miss Hazelt, when 
 I'm tellin' a story." 
 
 I expressed my sorrow, and he continued 
 
 "She was shooin' some hens to bed, and one, like 
 the silly things they is, got through a hole in the 'edge, 
 and comes screechin' down the lane, with the 'ouse- 
 
 [19]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 keeper whose name is Mrs. Egerton after it. She 
 nearly ran into my hopen arms, and the two of us were 
 nigh on ten minutes of the clock persuin' that darned 
 fowl of the air before we persuaded it to go 'ome. 
 Then most civil-like she asks me in for some refresh- 
 ment, which I thought would be unfriendly to refuse, 
 and I follers 'er into the kitchen, wonderin* what on 
 earth could she be doin' there, as the 'ouse, as you 
 know, has stood hempty since auld Crabby died. And 
 the s whole place looked as though a Cheap Jack was 
 goin' to be held in it. Pots and pans, and pianers and 
 pictures, and dolly-tubs and books, all muddled up 
 in most hawf ul confusion ; and when she sees me lookin* 
 at it all, she says, 'You may well look.' ' Is it a jumble 
 sale ? ' I asks. An' she says, ' No. It's Mr. Inderwick 
 who is comin' to live 'ere. And I'm sortin' out some of 
 his old uncle's rubbish. He must have been a rare old 
 miser. Never saw such a collection in my life. Not a 
 good pan or crock in the place. And the master comin' 
 in a fortnight's time, and me got to get the whole place 
 cleaned down and the new furniture in ; it's more than 
 one mortal pair of 'ands can do. And when I writes to 
 'im about it, he just writes back and tells me not to 
 worry, but to be sure and put 'is split cane fishing-rod 
 in a safe place and out of the dust. That's all he cares 
 for, 'is fishin'-rods and books, and not a decent coat to 
 his back.'" 
 
 "Did she say that?" I asked with uncontrolled 
 interest 
 
 |20]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "She did so, Miss Hazelt. Those were 'er very 
 words, ' Not a decent coat to his back.' " 
 
 " Perhaps he's very poor," I suggested. 
 
 But Sammy waved this on one side. 
 
 " Crabby left him every sixpence of 'is money." 
 
 "No! "I said. 
 
 "Yes," said he; "and the farm and all the land and 
 stock, and he's goin' to start farmin'. " 
 
 " But he wasn't a farmer," I objected. " I remember 
 he was going to be a a something in a profession a 
 barrister or a doctor." 
 
 "Can't help that," said Sammy doggedly. "He's 
 goin' to start farmin' now. His own 'ousekeeper says 
 so, and she ought to know." 
 
 "Oh, of course!" I agreed. "Go on, Sammy; and 
 and he's not married, and he must be getting quite 
 old." 
 
 "He may be married," said Sammy cautiously; 
 "there's no tellin'. Mrs. Egerton didn't mention it. 
 I'm only tellin' you what she tells me. I likes to stick 
 to the truth. He may be married and divorced. 
 I 'ave 'eard of divorced 'usbands, and I don't wonder. 
 Wimin are dry hash, Miss Hazelt." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Sammy," I interrupted hastily, "so you 
 have often remarked; but don't you think he might 
 might be a widower ? " 
 
 "No," said Sammy with extreme firmness, "I 
 think it's most himprobable. Wives never dies before 
 their 'usbands, never wunst in their lives." 
 
 [21]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I lay back to consider this startling proposition, 
 racking my brains for one widower among my some- 
 what limited acquaintances to refute this statement, 
 when I caught sight of Angela's parasol on the other 
 side of the white gate. 
 
 "Sammy," I said, "I think I can see mother and 
 Miss Angela. I may be wrong; but don't you think 
 the petunia bed requires a little weeding ? Miss Angela 
 likes the front of the house to be kept tidy." 
 
 [22]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 On How I Became Acquainted With Mr. Inderwick 
 
 AND so Mr. Inderwick was coming to live in 
 Heathland ! The Mr. Inderwick I knew of old, 
 and loved so well. Yes, loved, and I inscribe 
 the word with calm assurance, for I was but seven years 
 of age in the days when I set him up on a pedestal and 
 worshipped him with childlike ardor the big, grave, 
 quiet man with the slow speech and kindly smile; the 
 man who lifted me over the stiles and rough places and 
 called me "little comrade." 
 
 I smile now when I think of the manner in which I 
 scraped acquaintance with him. It was on an after- 
 noon of midsummer, and I was on the shore wading 
 barefooted in a little warm pool of water left by the 
 tide, searching for crabs and mussels and baby eels, 
 and congratulating myself on my escape from the 
 clutches of Miss Timmins, when a big man came along 
 the sands. He was absorbed in a book and was a 
 stranger to me. He appeared to be making straight 
 for my little pool and to have every intention of walk- 
 ing over me. Nearer and nearer he came, and just as 
 he was upon me I said politely 
 
 [23]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Please look where you are going." 
 
 He gave quite a jump, and then began to laugh. 
 
 " Why, where have you sprung from ? " he asked, 
 looking down at me curiously. 
 
 "I think I might ask you that question," I replied 
 with dignity. " I have been here all along." 
 
 "Oh! have you?" he said, becoming quite grave. 
 " I beg your pardon." 
 
 I unbent at once, For any one to beg my pardon 
 was a new experience to me. So far I had spent 
 my life in being made to beg other people's par- 
 dons. 
 
 " Oh, don't mention it," I said graciously, and again 
 he smiled. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " he next inquired. 
 
 " Can't you see ? " I replied. 
 
 He laughed again. 
 
 "Building a fort?" 
 
 " No," I answered in disgust. " I made forts and 
 castles when I was a little girl." 
 
 He apologized once more. 
 
 "You never knew any one of my age make sand 
 castles, did you ? " I asked. 
 
 "No, perhaps not, but then I have not known 
 many ladies." 
 
 This was a singularly sensible man. He clearly 
 grasped the fact that I was not a little girl, and mother 
 and Angela and Miss Timmins had always been so 
 dull on the subject. 
 
 [24]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Well, what are you doing, if it isn't an impertinent 
 question ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am catching crabs and eels for my my supper." 
 His lips twitched. 
 
 "May I see?" 
 
 Carefully I raised the lid of my tin pail and held it 
 up to him for his inspection. 
 
 "There are three crabs and one eel. Eels are most 
 difficult to catch, they are so slippery," I explained 
 apologetically. 
 
 " How do you catch them ? " 
 
 Still more I unbent. Angela and Miss Timmins had 
 never displayed the faintest interest in my eel catching; 
 they had entirely confined their remarks to the state of 
 my legs and feet. 
 
 " Shall I show you ? " I asked. 
 
 "Do," he replied. 
 
 " Well, you see those flat stones lying half -buried in 
 the sand in that shallow pool of water ? " 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
 "Well, will you lift them up suddenly eels gener- 
 ally hide under stones and then as they dart out I 
 will grab at them ? " 
 
 "What with? "said he. 
 
 "With my hands, of course," I said in surprise. 
 
 " And aren't you frightened of touching them ? " 
 
 "Frightened! Of course not. I should never be 
 frightened of teeny little eels!" I retorted with fine 
 scorn.
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Oh! they are only small ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," I said regretfully. "The big ones stay out 
 in the deep water." 
 
 Gravely he set to work, turning over great big stones 
 I had been unable to move. I thrilled with excitement. 
 I might catch a conger! 
 
 " Isn't it exciting ? " I whispered. 
 
 " Rather! " he answered. 
 
 From beneath the ninth stone an eel darted larger 
 than my wildest hopes had imagined. With a yell 
 I was after it, bare hands and feet and even knees 
 were pressed into service as it wriggled across the 
 sands in the direction of a much deeper pool of water. 
 My breath came in gasps. "Help me!" I cried, and 
 the next moment it was in my pail of water. 
 
 " Did 7 catch it our hands seemed to get muddled 
 up ? " I inquired anxiously. 
 
 " Of course you did." 
 
 I drew a sigh of relief. 
 
 " Do you do you think it could be a conger ? " 
 
 " It might be," he said guardedly. 
 
 "But do you think it is?" I persisted, my heart 
 beating. 
 
 He shook his head, and my spirits sank to 
 zero. 
 
 " Are you very disappointed ? " he inquired gently. 
 
 I nodded, not trusting my voice. It had been the 
 dream of my life to catch a conger all by myself and 
 show it to Sammy. He appeared to have caught so 
 
 [26]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 many congers when he was a boy, and all as thick as 
 his wrist. 
 
 "Well, we may get one yet," he suggested cheer- 
 fully, " and that's not a bad size the one you have 
 just caught. Do you ever pick cockles ? I'm told this 
 is a famous place for cockles." 
 
 "No," I said regretfully. "I'm not allowed. The 
 beds are too far out, half-way to Wales, and there are 
 quicksands and deep channels of water." 
 
 " And you are only allowed to go eeling ? " 
 
 "Well not exactly. I just slipped out when they 
 weren't looking and raced all the way. But they are 
 less angry than they would be if I went cockling. I 
 shall probably only get six verses of 'Bingen on the 
 Rhine' to write out, and half a column of spelling. 
 You see, it's head-washing night." 
 
 " Oh, is it ? " he said with interest. 
 
 "Yes," I continued; "and I haven't dirtied my 
 frock much, have I?" 
 
 "No," he said, studying me carefully; "but you've 
 got a big dab of mud on your sun-bonnet." 
 
 "That won't matter," I said carelessly; "it's going 
 to the wash to-morrow." 
 
 And it was just after this he made the most 
 glorious suggestion a suggestion which left me pal- 
 pitating. 
 
 "Would you like to go cockling?" he asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 The blood rushed into my cheeks. 
 127]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Would you ? " he repeated. 
 
 For answer I skipped on my bare toes on the hot 
 sands for some moments. 
 
 " Come along, then," he said, taking my hand in his, 
 and away we went. 
 
 For fourteen years that afternoon has stood out 
 like some beautiful picture from a background of 
 dull grays. The warm, yellow sands, the blue of the 
 sky, the gold of the sunshine as it flooded the hills in 
 Wales, the little brown pools full of wavy, floating 
 seaweed, the bright-colored vetches and sea pinks 
 nodding away on the low, grassy cliffs to the right of 
 us, the cry of the peewits as they circled round and 
 round above our heads, the white seagulls paddling 
 about in the glistening wet sands in the distance, the 
 brown-sailed fishing-boats creeping along the Channel 
 away to the open sea, and the big, quiet man with the 
 kind, humorous eyes and warm hand-clasp and deep- 
 toned laugh. And the cockles! Oh, those cockles! 
 They were sandy and exceedingly small, but they were 
 cockles. No longer would I stoop to common bivalves 
 as mussels, or pick still commoner periwinkles. I had 
 gathered cockles, and life from that moment took on 
 a different aspect. Angela might scold me, Miss Tim- 
 mins might punish me, mother might shake her head 
 at me; but through it all I should be supported by the 
 knowledge that I had picked cockles. 
 
 He took me home afterward. When we reached 
 the white gate of Shady Oak he made as though to 
 
 [28]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 leave me, but there must have been something in my 
 face which caused him to change his mind. 
 
 "Why, I was forgetting," he said cheerfully. "I 
 must go in and explain matters. Poor little comrade, 
 you got quite white." 
 
 Mother was very gracious, and I got off with an extra 
 soaping and scrubbing in my bath that night, accom- 
 panied by a lecture from Miss Timmins, who sat in a 
 corner of the bath room and mentioned all the various 
 places I should go to when I died, none of which greatly 
 impressed me. For had I not picked cockles ? 
 
 Our friendship lasted for one brief fortnight, and 
 then he went away, and my heart was desolated. I 
 saw him nearly every day during his stay in Heather- 
 land, and when I didn't see him I would creep off to 
 the Old Hall Farm, which was quite close to our 
 house, and peep through the big iron gates, my heart 
 palpitating for fear old Crabby, the uncle of my hero, 
 should pounce out on me; and there I would peep and 
 crane and stand on tiptoe, hoping for a glimpse or a 
 word from my big, kind friend. And should I fail to 
 see him, I felt as though the sun had suddenly gone out. 
 
 The morning he left I presented him with a gorgeous 
 bookmarker, upon which was worked in red cotton 
 cross-stitch 
 
 "The Rose is red, 
 
 The Violet's blue; 
 Sugar is sweet, 
 And so are you." 
 [29]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 He expressed great delight with it, and said he should 
 always keep it in his Shakespeare. I wonder if he did ? 
 But no; it is not likely. Men don't remember things. 
 He was an event in my life a big, important event. 
 In his I was an incident, as slight and small and fleeting 
 as thistledown in a wind. The bookmarker will have 
 been lost, and I shall have been forgotten. 
 
 fSO]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Sammy and Rose Gossip of an Unimportant Matter 
 
 A STRANGER to Heatherland, after a brief visit 
 to our pretty village, once remarked that its 
 inhabitantsnever appeared to work only to gos- 
 sip. This was an untrue statement. According to her 
 own showing, Angela works harder than any one in the 
 world. I also work very hard, though mother and 
 Angela won't believe it, and Sammy, Rose, and Eliza- 
 beth work every now and then. I admit they have 
 gossiped lately more than they have worked, and I 
 have done my best to check them in this grievous 
 habit. It was only this morning I remonstrated with 
 Sammy on the subject; but he did not take much no- 
 tice of what I said in fact, he might not have heard 
 me. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick is to arrive at the Old Hall Farm 
 to-day, Miss Hazelt," he volunteered. 
 
 "You said the same thing two months ago," I re- 
 plied, as I reached up for a large Victoria plum with 
 a fascinating dry crack across its middle. (Dry cracks 
 in plums always betoken extreme sweetness.) 
 
 " But this time it 's gospel truth, Miss Hazelt. I 'as 
 [31]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 it from Mrs. Egerton herself. I met 'er 'urryin' 
 through the village this mornin', and she says, 'The 
 lamps is all trimmed and lit and burnin' ready for the 
 master's comin', and I cannot tarry wid you, Samuel 
 Broster,' that is what she says." 
 
 "But isn't that a little extravagant at this time of 
 day?" I suggested. 
 
 Sammy eyed me with some pity. 
 
 "A figger of speech. You mustn't take things said 
 by wimmen too literal, Miss Hazelt." 
 
 "I see," I said gravely, as I helped myself to an- 
 other plum and sat down on a low branch of an apple- 
 tree, motioning Sammy to the wheelbarrow. " And so 
 he's really coming to-day ? " 
 
 " That's so, Miss Hazelt. You'll not be disappointed 
 this time." 
 
 I looked at him coldly. 
 
 "I was unaware of any disappointment in the past, 
 Sammy. Mr. Inderwick is nothing to me." 
 
 " You was great friends wunst." 
 
 "That was many years ago." 
 
 "And you give him a bootiful bookmarker wid 
 poetry on it." 
 
 "I shouldn't give him bookmarkers now." 
 
 "Wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 Sammy looked at me suddenly. 
 
 " Of course, you've grown up now, Miss Hazelt ? " 
 
 There was a note of interrogation in his voice. 
 [32]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " I've been grown up for years, Sammy. I feel like 
 that old hen mentioned in cookery books as 'Take an 
 old fowl, tie it in muslin, and boil slowly for six 
 hours.' " 
 
 Sammy looked at me narrowly. 
 
 "You don't look quite as old as that, Miss 
 Hazelt." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 "You are very encouraging, Sammy." 
 
 " Now Miss Angela, she do ; she's always looked the 
 same ever since I first know'd 'er so neat-like and 
 old-fashioned; an' she couldn't 'ave been much more'n 
 ten when the master and missis first comes to Heather- 
 land." 
 
 "She was nine," I corrected, "and I was born the 
 year after." 
 
 " Eh, and the master did make a fuss of you ! You 
 couldn't do wrong." 
 
 " I have made up for it since he died, according to 
 Miss Angela," I sighed. 
 
 " Miss Angela's a bit strict-like," remarked Sammy, 
 "and sayin' that cafls to mind she wants the plums 
 gathered to-day for presarvin'." 
 
 He got up stiffly and fetched a basket from the 
 apple-room. 
 
 " I'll help you," I said. " I ought to be dusting the 
 drawing-room, but perhaps they won't notice. Any 
 more news?" I inquired indifferently after we had 
 been picking for some time. 
 3 [33]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Sammy reflected. 
 
 " Nothin' of much interest, Miss Hazelt only about 
 Mr. Inderwick, and you'll be tired of 'im." 
 
 "Of course, if you have nothing of any greater im- 
 portance to impart I must put up with him," I said 
 graciously. " What's he been doing now ? " 
 
 "Fishin'." 
 
 " That's not much." 
 
 "You wouldn't say so if you could jus' hear Mrs. 
 Egerton's views on the subjec'." 
 
 '* What does she say ? " 
 
 "She says as how he doesn't do much 'imself when 
 'e gets the fever badly, as 'e just sits on a bank or in a 
 boat as though he 'ad taken root there; it's she who 
 does the work." 
 
 "What does she do?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, she keeps 'is meals hot for one thing; she 
 says 'is dinner will stand for four hours, and then 
 'e'll come in in quite a dazed sort of way and ask if 
 it's ready, and never listens to what she says about it, 
 and will hinterrupt 'er in the middle of a sentence and 
 say, 'Well, never mind, Mrs. Egerton, if the dinner's 
 not ready; I don't mind waiting a bit. You're pretty 
 punctual as a rule; I'll just be makin' a gut cast.' 
 And then 'e empties everythink out of a case on to the 
 floor 'ooks and lines and gut which yer catches your 
 feet in, till your life's in constant jeopardy those was 
 Mrs. Egerton's very words. She says as 'ow glad 
 she is 'e has had this last bout away from 'ome up in 
 
 [34]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Norway, and that other folks 'as 'ad the takin' care of 
 him, as she was fairly done the last time." 
 
 "Mrs. Egerton appears to have a somewhat wear- 
 ing time one way or another," I observed. 
 
 " She do that, but she says she puts up with 'im be- 
 cause Vs a kind master in spite of his contrairy ways; 
 and she 'as known him since 'e was a baby in long 
 clothes, and so she stands by 'im." 
 
 " It's very kind of her." 
 
 "Yes, she's a kindly sort of body," agreed Sammy, 
 "and a rare worker." 
 
 " What time is he expected to-day ? " 
 
 Sammy considered for some moments. His memory 
 is defective, but his imagination is great. 
 
 "Perhaps Jonah would know," I said softly. 
 
 Sammy hit at a wasp somewhat viciously. 
 
 " Between four and five this afternoon. Can't say 
 exactly to a minute; trains is unpunctuai, and then 
 'e's to drive from Neston, and you never knows 'ow a 
 horse will travel." 
 
 " No, of course you don't," I assented; " and I think 
 I must go now, as I shall be wanted in the house. Miss 
 Angela is never really happy when I am out of her 
 sight. Good-by, Sammy." 
 
 I sauntered down the garden slowly with Dibbs lead- 
 ing the way. Dibbs always likes to be in front. 
 
 At the back door I met mother. She was studying 
 the butcher's book. 
 
 "Have you heard the news?" she asked, pausing 
 [35]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 with a finger on a column of figures. " Mr. Inderwick 
 is to arrive to-day." 
 
 " I have heard that before," I answered. 
 
 " But I think it must be true this time, as the butcher 
 told Elizabeth that Mrs. Egerton had ordered five 
 sheep's kidneys and a sirloin of beef." 
 
 "They might be for herself," I suggested. 
 
 "Most improbable," said mother. "It is hardly 
 likely a housekeeper would dare to order sheep's kid- 
 neys for herself at fourpence a piece, and the best cut 
 of the sirloin when beef is up." 
 
 " But she must eat something," I argued. 
 
 Mother shook her head. 
 
 "Not kidneys and sirloin," she said decidedly; 
 "liver and topside of the round, if she knows her 
 place." 
 
 I passed on upstairs to my bedroom. I thought I 
 would take a peep at the Old Hall Farm. Rose was 
 there engaged in cleaning the four brass knobs on the 
 bedstead. 
 
 "Do you spend your entire existence, Rose, in clean- 
 ing the knobs on my bedstead ? " I inquired. 
 
 She looked at me in surprise. 
 
 "Only once a week, Miss Hazel." 
 
 "It seems much oftener to me," I said, "but I may 
 be wrong." 
 
 "No; only once a week," she repeated. "Am I in 
 your way, Miss Hazel ? " 
 
 "No, thanks, Rose. I was merely reflecting that I 
 [36]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 never seem to enter my room without finding you en- 
 gaged in placing everything off the dressing-table on 
 to the bed preparatory to its cleaning, or polishing the 
 knobs." 
 
 "Once a week each, Miss Hazel," said Rose in a 
 voice that would brook no argument. 
 
 I strolled to the window. By leaning out I knew 
 that through a break in the dense foliage of the oak 
 trees which encircle our front garden I should be able 
 to get a good view of the Old Hall Farm; but, of 
 course, Rose was there, and she was only on the second 
 knob. I glanced at her furtively and found she was 
 staring at me hard. Dropping on to a chair, I took up 
 a piece of work. 
 
 " Never knew you to sew in a morning before, Miss 
 Hazel," she observed cheerfully. 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick's comin' to the Old Hall Farm to- 
 day," she volunteered next. 
 
 I began to feel a deep pity for Mr. Inderwick. Had 
 he realized what living in a small country village in a 
 remote corner of Cheshire would mean ? Was he 
 prepared for the moral and mental dissection which 
 he would be bound to undergo? Poor, wretched 
 man! 
 
 "Indeed!" I replied coldly. 
 
 " Yes ; his luggage came yesterday. Only one port- 
 manteau, no trunk, and six wooden cases. Father 
 helped to carry 'em in, and he says they were that 
 
 [37]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 'eavy he shouldn't be surprised as they turned out to 
 be books." 
 
 I began to be interested, but Angela says it is undig- 
 nified to gossip with a housemaid. My talks with 
 Sammy are on a different basis he is an old and 
 valued retainer. 
 
 "A servant's engaged, too; fancy, a servant as well 
 as a 'ousekeeper for one gentleman! And she's got a 
 fringe." 
 
 There was a note of envy and soreness in Rose's 
 voice which touched me. Angela will not permit 
 fringes to the servants; she says they are common. 
 Her own fringeless forehead reminds one of a round, 
 polished dome. 
 
 "Never mind, Rose," I said gently. "Your hair is 
 very pretty and wavy. I wish mine were as nice." 
 
 Rose peeped at herself in the looking-glass and then 
 blushed. 
 
 "It must be nice living with a single gentleman; 
 don't you think so, Miss Hazel ? " 
 
 " I've never tried it," I replied guardedly. 
 
 " I don't suppose they'd go holding all the tumblers 
 to the light after you had washed them to see as they 
 was clean, or go scrattlin' under the mats lookin' for 
 crumbs, or drawing their fingers along the top of the 
 balisters searchin' for dust." 
 
 There was real grievance in Rose's tones now, and 
 she attacked the third knob with alarming energy. 
 
 A sound of wheels came up from the cobble-paved 
 [38]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 village; it was too self-contained and superior for a 
 cart; it was much too early for Mrs. Moss or Mrs. 
 Hawthorn to be taking their daily drive. I glanced at 
 Rose; her back was to me, and she was still taken up 
 with her grievance. With stealth I crept to the open 
 window and leaned out. A smart dog-cart flashed by; 
 it contained two men, but I could not see their faces. 
 Still further I leaned out, craning my neck. 
 
 "That must be Mr. Inderwick." 
 
 The voice came from the small of my back, and I 
 started so violently that I nearly lost my balance. 
 
 "Rose," I said severely, "I wish you would get on 
 with your work. It is simply disgraceful the way you 
 waste your time. You have been over half an hour in 
 cleaning three small bed-knobs. It is nothing to you 
 whether it is Mr. Inderwick or not Mr. Inderwick. 
 Try and check this spirit of curiosity." And I swept 
 from the room, leaving Rose with a most astonished 
 countenance. 
 
 [39]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 / Receive a Snub from Mr. Inderwick Which 
 Renders Me Angry 
 
 NO one likes to be snubbed. Least of all a woman 
 by a man, especially when the snub is unwar- 
 ranted. Mr. Inderwick has snubbed me, and I 
 can never forgive him. I smiled at him last Sunday in 
 church. The smile was one of pure friendship, of 
 good fellowship. It came from me suddenly, before I 
 could stop it. It was not premeditated; it came like 
 a flash when I caught sight of him. And in return 
 my cheeks still flame when I think of it he just stared 
 at me, a surprised, prolonged, superior, raised-eye- 
 brows sort of stare; a stare that first seemed to turn 
 me to stone, and then sent me down on my knees for 
 the Litany as though I had been shot; a stare that has 
 burnt into my brain, into my being. Shall I ever for- 
 get it ? Shall I ever forget that the entire congregation 
 of Heatherland witnessed my discomfiture (for it 
 seemed to me that the eye of every woman of the vil- 
 lage was fixed upon me unflinchingly) ? and shall I 
 always be shut up inside our own garden gate for the 
 remainder of my natural life? I dare not go out; I 
 
 [40]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 simply dare not run the risk of again encountering that 
 petrified gaze. 
 
 Now, / should have behaved so differently under 
 the circumstances had I been a man. Were nice girls 
 to smile at me in church, I should just smile back at 
 them whether they were known to me or not, and 
 enjoy myself immensely. I should certainly not assume 
 that exclusive, monarch-of-all-I-survey air; I should 
 accept with gratitude any kindliness shown to me. 
 
 Miss Timmins used to say men were a snare and a 
 delusion. She invariably giggled when she said this, 
 and scratched her left shoulder-blade with her right 
 hand. Angela said men were untidy, unpunctual, and 
 unreliable. And I, from a spirit of opposition, said 
 they were much nicer than women and I loved them. 
 None of our opinions were of the slightest value to the 
 world, for men, with the exception of dear father, were 
 a genus unknown to us. Country villages do not pro- 
 duce men; they only run to women and cows and 
 crops. Of course there are a few fathers with nicely 
 combed beards who give half a crown to the collection 
 on Sunday, and drive in nicely appointed carriages to 
 the city each day to do something in cotton or shipping, 
 but they don't count. Fathers naturally don't count 
 as ordinary men, neither does Frederick Moss, for he 
 is half a poet and plays the organ in church. And now 
 I withdraw all that I said about men in the past I 
 don't think they are nicer than women, and I hate 
 them.
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I might have known everything would go wrong last 
 Sunday. Things always do on a Sunday. Perhaps it 
 is through wearing your best frock, or having kidney 
 with your bacon for breakfast. The Lord may think 
 you are self-indulgent, and send trouble to balance 
 things up. 
 
 The sun and clematis together woke me that was 
 the only nice bit in the day. The sun was so cheerful 
 and expansive, and the clematis tapped its velvety cups 
 against the window-pane, and they peeped in and said 
 
 "Get up; it's grand out here." 
 
 They only whispered it, but I heard them. 
 
 " Not just yet," I murmured sleepily. " Rose hasn't 
 been to call me. I never get up till I'm called." 
 
 " Lazybones ! " they laughed. " Do you know this is 
 just the kind of morning you love best in the world 
 sunny, hazy, dewy September, and the drenched dahlias 
 and grass and bushes are drying their garments in the 
 sunshine." 
 
 I opened one eye, but the lid of the other was too 
 heavy to lift. Then they began again 
 
 "I should get up if I were you. Away on Oldfield 
 Common is a most exquisite carpet of purple and gold 
 it is only heather and gorse, but the scent is some- 
 thing divine. All the bees and bumble-bees of Heath- 
 erland are assembled there, and are humming and 
 buzzing as though they had struck a gold mine." 
 
 "I have smelt heather and gorse and seen bees be- 
 fore," I said firmly. 
 
 [42]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Then they became artful. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick will probably be in church to-day; 
 he used to go to church in the old days, and " 
 
 In a twinkling my bare feet were standing on a 
 warm patch of sunlight which hovered about the faded 
 pink rhododendrons on the carpet. 
 
 "I don't believe it," I remarked casually. "I am 
 only getting up because it is time. I am sure Mr. 
 Inderwick won't be at church. Men don't go much to 
 church unless they are married, mother says, and then 
 they go for peace and quietness, as their wives worry 
 them so." 
 
 I sat down by the window and fell to thinking 
 what should I wear. I would like to look nice this 
 particular Sunday, because why, because it is a duty 
 a girl owes to herself and her friends to look her best. 
 Dowdy women are an eyesore. 
 
 I walked across to the wardrobe. It was quite un- 
 necessary. I knew every garment I possessed off by 
 heart. There was the old brown merino in which I 
 do spring cleaning; Heatherland at one time knew it 
 well, though a lapse of years might have caused it to 
 be forgotten; that wouldn't do. There was a blue 
 print frock which had shrunk in washing; a tuck had 
 been let down, and people who might have forgotten 
 the original color of the print could now refresh their 
 memories by gazing at the place where the tuck had 
 been. Angela says it doesn't matter, as it looks like a 
 trimming. Angela has more faith in the imaginative- 
 
 [43]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 ness of people than I. A pink cashmere I condemned 
 at once mother and Angela always insist on my buy- 
 ing the "good old materials," as they call them, like 
 merino and cashmere I look like an orphaned shrimp 
 in it, about to be picked, and it has a gooseberry stain 
 on the sleeve. It is supposed to be my best summer 
 frock, but if I can wriggle out of wearing it, and get into 
 an old, black grenadine I have had for years, I do. 
 There was only a white muslin left, the prettiest of the 
 lot, frilly and fluffy, with lots of tucks ; it caused me to 
 be bankrupt for months, and I was obliged to sell some 
 old clothes to Mrs. Flutterby, the washerwoman, to pay 
 for the making. I recollect Angela came in while I 
 was transacting this little business, and I had to whisk 
 the clothes into an empty dolly-tub and then stand in 
 front of it. I thought she never would leave the wash- 
 house, and she eyed me in the same way as she does 
 tramps when they are out of work. 
 
 I fingered the muslin for some little time; I patted 
 the frills and tucks, and stroked the soft fichu. How 
 pretty it was! Would Angela say it was out of place 
 in church, and ridiculous to wear in September ? And 
 if she did, why should I mind ? It was my body and 
 not hers I proposed to clothe in it. It was a pity never 
 to wear it, and it would soon be old-fashioned. 
 
 A knock came at the door. 
 
 "Are you up, Hazel?" 
 
 My sister* never omits to ask this question each 
 morning. 
 
 144]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 "You are very quiet." 
 
 "Would you have me make a noise like a battering- 
 ram when I am dressing?" 
 
 "But you have not had your bath. I have finished 
 mine." 
 
 This is another little peculiarity of Angela's. She 
 always tells you when she has had a bath, just as though 
 she were the only clean person in the world. But then 
 I think she is no different from any other woman in this 
 respect. They all tell you when they have had cold 
 baths, perhaps not directly, but it comes in somehow: 
 "When I was having my cold tub this morning the 
 thought struck me," etc. ; or, " Wasn't the water cold 
 this morning?" 
 
 I opened the door suddenly and nearly upset Angela. 
 
 "Why, you are still in your nightgown !" she ejacu- 
 lated. 
 
 " Would you wish me to walk about the house with- 
 out one? " I said politely as I passed into the bath- 
 room. 
 
 "You will be late as usual," she shouted above the 
 noise of the running water. 
 
 She may have said other things as well, but I was 
 splashing vigorously, and her voice was drowned. I 
 admit it was a little impolite of me, but then it does get 
 monotonous hearing the same old thing morning after 
 morning, that I shall be late; Angela varies her con- 
 versation so little. Besides, I wanted to finish thinking 
 
 [45]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 out my costume for the day. Should it be the white, 
 and risk the dropping out of my sister's eyes, or should 
 it be the shrimpy pink, as the grenadine had a hole hi 
 the elbow? Slowly and thoughtfully I got into my 
 clothes and did my hair. It would be delicious to 
 walk down the aisle with a white train sweeping after 
 me. How Rosabel Hawthorn would stare! She al- 
 ways wears a train on Sunday, but I have never been 
 allowed. Mother and Angela say a true lady dresses 
 in a quiet and modest way on the Sabbath. I cannot 
 see why a train should be considered immodest; I 
 should have thought it was the other way about. I 
 kept glancing at the interior of the wardrobe, and then 
 out at the sunshine. It was certainly warm enough, 
 and so bright. There might be just one wee cloud on 
 the horizon, but it was no bigger than a man's hand, 
 and was probably caused by smoke from a steamer 
 on its way to the Irish Sea. I would wear the white. 
 Firmly I advanced to the wardrobe, deliberately I 
 slipped the skirt over my head, carefully I fastened the 
 fichu of the bodice with a pearl brooch, and with 
 pleasure I gazed at my slim, white reflection in the 
 mirror. It was nice to feel well dressed. I felt brave 
 enough to have given notice to a servant in that skirt. 
 The cut of a garment will send up your self-confi- 
 dence in a wonderful way. 
 
 "Hazel," Angela's voice came down the passage, 
 "mother says you are not to wear your old, black 
 grenadine to-day, as the sleeve wants mending." 
 
 [46]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 In a panic, I was at the door and quickly turned 
 the key in the lock. 
 
 "Very well," I called. 
 
 "What are you locking your door for? Are you 
 going to read your Scripture portion ? " 
 
 My sister's voice was full of curiosity as she turned 
 the handle. 
 
 "Angela," I said, "go away, or I shall say something 
 rude." 
 
 I listened to her retreating footsteps, and then began 
 to unfasten my frock. I simply dare not wear it. 
 Half-way through the hooks I stopped. My eyes had 
 caught sight of a text over the washstand " Be strong 
 and of a good courage," but that surely referred to 
 being good, and not to the wearing of white gowns. 
 I went on with the unfastening of the hooks, and 
 reached out the shrimpy pink. I would not glance at 
 myself in the mirror, I knew so exactly how I looked 
 in that pink a Sunday-school teacher out for a picnic. 
 I wandered to the open window, and my gaze fell upon 
 the Old Hall Farm and the two fir-trees standing like 
 sentinels in front of it. In a flash I saw myself in 
 church, and Mr. Inderwick staring at my wrinkly pink 
 back and skimpy skirt. It could not be endured. 
 Five minutes later I was running down the stairs, 
 holding up my white train, as the gong went for the 
 third time. 
 
 Angela had got as far as her second helping of bacon 
 and bread and drip. She was in the act of raising a 
 
 [47]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 comfortable-sized piece on the end of her fork to her 
 mouth as I entered the room. Her fork stopped half- 
 way, and her mouth remained open as I kissed mother, 
 patted Dibbs, and took my place. 
 
 " Do I look as nice as all that ? " I inquired amiably 
 as I helped myself to a piece of toast. " Should you 
 mind giving me some bacon and kidney ? " I next sug- 
 gested mildly, as my sister's eyes remained rooted on 
 my person. 
 
 Mechanically her jaws closed on the bread and drip 
 as she removed the dish cover, but her eyes never left 
 me for a single moment. 
 
 "What have you got your garden party frock on 
 for?" she breathed at length. 
 
 "Angela," I said, "you should never end a sentence 
 with a preposition; it is a bad style." 
 
 Sunday is the only day on which I am courageous 
 in my dealings with Angela. It would be so wrong of 
 her to lose her temper when she goes to church twice 
 and Sunday-school once. 
 
 "Mother, why is Hazel wearing her garden party 
 dress?" 
 
 Dear mother looked worried, and shuffled behind 
 the tea-cosy. She felt that Angela for some reason 
 was annoyed, and she does not like Angela to be an- 
 noyed. She looked at me appealingly, and her cap 
 slipped a little to one side. 
 
 "Angela," I said, " I am quite capable of answering 
 for myself. I am wearing this gown because it suits 
 
 [48]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 me to do so. And please do not speak of it as my 
 garden party dress. I don't go to garden parties, as 
 you are aware. People in Heatherland don't give 
 them." 
 
 Angela breathed hard. 
 
 "Are you going to church in it ? " 
 
 "Certainly," I replied. 
 
 She lifted her hands in horror. 
 
 "And after all your training! to go decked out like 
 a common village girl on a Whit-Sunday ! I should be 
 ashamed to be seen with you. It's disgraceful. What 
 will Mrs. Gates think ? " 
 
 With an effort I fought down my rising anger. 
 
 " It does not trouble me what Mrs. Gates may think. 
 She will probably be envious that she is not young 
 enough to wear white, and will wish that her waist was 
 of more normal proportions. And if you object to 
 being seen with me I will go to another seat. I have 
 always had a desire to sit in the gallery." 
 
 Mother shook her head at me. 
 
 "Perhaps your sister is right. You had better 
 change it after breakfast, Hazel." 
 
 "But do you think white simple white muslin is 
 out of place in a church, mother? You know you 
 used to wear colored muslins when you were a girl. 
 You know you did; you have told me so." 
 
 She looked at Angela. 
 
 "I don't think white matters so much," she began 
 
 hesitatingly. " But " 
 
 4 [49]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Well, that settles it," I broke in. " So long as you 
 don't object I shall wear it." 
 
 I was amazed at my own temerity, and hurried out 
 of the room. I rarely fight Angela. Few things are 
 worth the trouble; and besides, mother always takes 
 her part, and two are more than I can combat. 
 
 Before going to church I fastened some yellow roses 
 into my fichu. Again Angela got me wild by remark- 
 ing that I might be going to a wedding. She said it 
 under her breath, but of course she meant me to hear. 
 I crunched down the gravel walk in front of her to the 
 gate, not daring to let myself speak if I once let my- 
 self go there would be a row. And for mother's sake 
 well, for mother's sake, I didn't call her a common, 
 yellow, kitchen cat, though I repeated it to myself 
 several times over as we walked down the lane to the 
 church "Angela is a common, yellow, kitchen cat" 
 and it brought me some relief. I was still repeating it 
 as I passed down the aisle and along the seat to my 
 place in the corner and knelt on a hard hassock. 
 Angela is High Church, and she bowed low before 
 entering the pew. Suddenly the thought came to me 
 how comical for a yellow, kitchen cat to be High 
 Church. I stifled a laugh, and Angela eyed me with 
 extreme disapproval. With an effort I pulled myself 
 together, and looking up at the east window, tried to 
 pray; nothing would come but "Angela is a common, 
 yellow, kitchen cat." I ought to have been over- 
 whelmed at my wickedness, at my irreverence, but 
 
 [50]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHEBLAND 
 
 strangely enough I wasn't. I felt somehow that God 
 would be understanding. He had created Angela, so 
 would know all about her. He would know how try- 
 ing she was, what a thorn in the flesh. I am convinced 
 St. Paul's " thorn in the flesh " was an Angela, or why 
 was he so down upon women ? 
 
 Mr. Oates's stentorian "Dearly beloved brethren" 
 called me to attention. I felt a little tired of Mr. 
 Oates; he is so noisy, and uses his handkerchief so 
 frequently, which he waves like a flag. I was tired, 
 too, of Mrs. Oates's boat-shaped hat, which is kept on 
 by a shabby, stringy piece of elastic and a jet button. I 
 wished she would get a new one ; boat-shaped hats are 
 not pretty, and she would look much better in a bonnet. 
 
 My eyes wandered to mother. She wore an ab- 
 sorbed, happy, uplifted expression. Mother is really 
 religious; prayer is a true pleasure to her, and her 
 Sunday reading of the Church Times one of her pleas- 
 antest relaxations. The mauve bow in her best bonnet 
 looked reverent and Sundayfied, her mantle reminded 
 one of saints' days, and her very gloves were black kid 
 and devout. She had forgotten her housekeeping and 
 account books, and Angela's and my " little differences," 
 as she calls them. Her soul and mind and spirit were, 
 for the moment, above the things of this world. Dear 
 old mother, how perfect she would be but for her short- 
 sightedness in loving her elder daughter better than 
 her younger! She is so very nice when you get her 
 quite alone to yourself! 
 
 [51]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I passed on to Angela. Her face beneath its fawn 
 velvet hat was inscrutable. She bowed low in the 
 Creed and never raised her eyes from her vellum- 
 backed Prayer-book. 
 
 The Misses Trimmington I regarded with friendly 
 eye, and admired their pretty, gray, bobbing curls. 
 I shall begin curls when I am fifty; they are such a 
 soft frame to little, old faces. 
 
 From the Misses Trimmington I wandered on to 
 Sammy away in the north aisle. I felt fearful of his 
 expending so much energy on "Onward, Christian 
 Soldiers." His cheeks were quite purple and the day 
 was hot. I glanced round to see if the door were open, 
 and fell right upon Mr. Inderwick. The encounter 
 was so sudden, so unexpected I had completely for- 
 gotten him that for a moment my heart seemed to 
 stand still. And then I smiled that wide, friendly, 
 intimate smile. As in the twinkling of an eye fourteen 
 years slipped away from me. I was no longer Hazel 
 Wycherley, grown up, but a little, thin, freckled, happy 
 girl standing barefooted in a pool of water, poking 
 about with a stick for crabs and mussels and nimbly 
 darting eels, and skipping along the warm sands at the 
 side of a big, grave, kind man. The church faded 
 from view, the congregation vanished, Mr. Oates's 
 voice ceased. I was alone with my dear old friend, 
 quite alone in the sunshine, and in the gladness of my 
 heart I smiled, smiled happily, smiled a welcome, and 
 he did not return it. Shall I ever forget it ? Not a 
 
 [52]
 
 flicker of recognition, of interest, even just that petri- 
 fied stare of surprise. 
 
 Have I ever loved the Litany so much as I buried 
 my burning face in my hands ? ever been so grateful 
 to it for its length ? ever loved the King and Queen 
 and all the Royal Family, and the bishops and priests 
 and the different people for whom we intercede, more 
 devoutly? At its close Angela had to nudge me 
 to get up. I longed for that Litany to go on for- 
 ever. 
 
 How did I get through the rest of the service and the 
 long, dreary sermon? One thing supported me: I 
 had decided to feel faint. As the last hymn was given 
 out I would be seized with a sudden faintness and slip 
 out of the church. Or perhaps it would be better dur- 
 ing the prayer after the collection, when mother and 
 Angela were not looking. Of one thing I was certain, 
 I could not and would not run the risk of being banged 
 up against that man at the end of the service. It 
 was just the sort of thing Fate would glory in doing. 
 The collection was over, the congregation was down 
 on its knees, and swiftly and stealthily I crept from 
 the church. 
 
 Jonah, full of solicitude, bore down upon me in 
 the porch; but I waved him aside, and taking to my 
 heels, I flew flew as I had never flown before, and 
 never drawing breath till I lay on the grass beneath the 
 friendly shade of the sycamore tree. 
 
 Five minutes later mother and Angela crossed the 
 [53]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 lawn, their faces full of burning interest and anxiety. 
 In her haste mother was holding her skirt too high, 
 and I felt obliged to refer to this. 
 
 "What is it? What is the matter?" they cried to- 
 gether. 
 
 With a little inward gasp I realized I should have to 
 tell lies. I dislike lying exceedingly. Mother herself 
 is the soul of honor, and has brought us up to regard 
 lying in the same light as committing murder or steal- 
 ing loaves of bread. But there was Angela! How 
 could I tell Angela of my humiliation ? It was impos- 
 sible, insupportable. I would sooner a thousand times 
 over break every one of the commandments. 
 
 "I was not well; the church was hot," I replied, 
 looking into space. 
 
 "Not well!" 
 
 Their astonishment was excessive. 
 
 "No," I said, closing my eyes. 
 
 " Dear me," observed mother. 
 
 "How extraordinary!" ejaculated Angela. 
 
 They stood and stared at me; my eyes were closed, 
 but I knew they were staring. 
 
 "Your color is good," remarked Angela at length. 
 
 "It may be the heat," said mother. 
 
 I wanted to get up and kiss her, but desisted. 
 
 "I never before knew people who were not well 
 have a good color," persisted my sister. 
 
 " What about apoplexy ? " I said, opening my eyes. 
 
 Mother jumped. 
 
 [54]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You have not got apoplexy," said Angela with 
 decision. 
 
 "Whatever be the matter," interrupted mother, "I 
 consider it is most foolish to lie on the grass. You 
 had better go to the drawing-room sofa, and we will 
 bring you your dinner there, and you shall have my 
 salts and a fan. Your dear father used to be taken in 
 this way." 
 
 " I am feeling better now," I murmured, as I got up. 
 
 The prospect of the hard drawing-room sofa was 
 anything but attractive. 
 
 "Take my arm," said mother; "it is a blessing you 
 did not faint on your way home. Why did you not 
 whisper to Angela ? " 
 
 "Angela doesn't like whispering in church," I said. 
 
 " It would not have mattered for once," said mother, 
 as she placed a woolwork cushion at the back of my 
 head and held some pungent salts to my nose. 
 
 I was kept on the sofa for the remainder of the day, 
 and I think my punishment was greater than I deserved, 
 for all I had done was to smile at a man and tell one 
 lie to mother and Angela. One smile plus one lie 
 equals one day spent on a hard sofa without springs 
 listening to mother and Angela discuss our identity 
 with the " ten lost tribes of Israel." 
 
 [55]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 An Encounter With Mr. Inderwick 
 
 ON Tuesday afternoon I was engaged in picking 
 earwigs out of the dahlias, when mother came 
 out and requested me to go to Gayton for sau- 
 sages, as she had heard that Eliza Slightfoot had killed 
 a pig. 
 
 I told her I was tired, and she looked surprised. 
 
 "What with?" said she; and I had nothing to say, 
 for catching earwigs is not laborious work. 
 
 "Don't you think it is rather early for sausages?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Not at all," said mother with decision. "Eliza 
 Slightfoot knows her business, and September is the 
 correct month in which to kill small porkers. Don't 
 you want to go ? " she finished, looking at me curiously. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" I replied hastily, which made my hun- 
 dred-and-seventh fib in nine days. 
 
 " Take Dibbs," called out mother; and I took Dibbs, 
 and he was the cause of my running up against the 
 man whom I have been avoiding as I would one 
 afflicted with the plague. 
 
 Dibbs scented a rabbit. Dibbs is always scenting a 
 rabbit. It would be impossible to state the number of 
 
 [56J
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 days on which he has not scented rabbits and been shot 
 at by irate gamekeepers. Some day I shall let him be 
 shot and then it will teach him a lesson. 
 
 It was round by Gayton Hall that his nostrils first 
 began to quiver and dilate and his body to tremble. 
 I knew the symptoms well. 
 
 "Dibbs," I said sternly, "get to heel." 
 
 He took not the faintest notice of my command, and 
 his whole body vibrated and trembled as with an 
 ague. 
 
 " Dibbs," I repeated still more sternly. 
 
 More vibrations, then a sudden dart across a field 
 and the vanishing of a white tail into a thicket the 
 same thicket into which it has been vanishing for many 
 years, and whose geographical position I am always 
 hoping he may chance to forget. 
 
 Guns were popping in the distance from the far end 
 of the stubbly field. Dibbs would be shot this time; 
 my little wall-eyed fox-terrier would creep under a 
 bush and bleed to death. 
 
 "Dibbs!" I entreated, cajoled, commanded, yelled, 
 till my throat was hoarse and my temper shocking. 
 No response. Rapidly the different forms of punish- 
 ment I would meet out to him when I did catch him 
 passed through my mind a good whipping, I would 
 put him on the leash, no bones for two days, no walk 
 for a week. Full of stern resolve, I was just preparing 
 to scale a five-barred gate to go after him, when an 
 exceedingly large and somewhat soiled-looking man 
 
 [57]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 turned the corner of the lane and bore down upon me. 
 It was Mr. Indenvick. Of course it was Mr. Inder- 
 wick. Have I not ever observed that should you be 
 desirous of avoiding the Mr. Inderwicks of this world 
 you are bound to tumble across them. It is Fate's 
 playful little way of giving you a good time. The 
 population of Heatherland is seven hundred, the village 
 straggles, it contains many lanes and field-paths, and 
 out of the whole of that population Mr. Inderwick 
 Should chance to be the man to select the particular 
 lane in which I was standing to prowl about like a 
 tramp. 
 
 All my shame and nervousness of him had vanished. 
 I had forgotten my wide, friendly smile; I had for- 
 gotten his snub. I simply felt angry angry that he 
 should be there. 
 
 Climbing the gate slowly, and seating myself on the 
 topmost bar, I deliberately turned my back on the 
 advancing figure and fell to admiring the sunset. 
 
 He would pass, of course. He did not know me; 
 and even if, by the remotest chance, he were to recog- 
 nize my aggressive back, he would understand I was 
 "doing" sunsets, and would naturally resent an inter- 
 ruption. No one likes to be disturbed when commun- 
 ing with Nature. He would appreciate this. The 
 footsteps came nearer and nearer, paused, and then 
 stopped just behind me. My back became as a ram- 
 rod and my neck and head stiffened as in a vise. What 
 impertinence! What did he mean by daring to stop? 
 
 [58]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 He stood for a moment in silence, then he said very 
 politely and very pleasantly 
 
 " Good afternoon, Miss Hazel." 
 
 It must have been about the fraction of an inch that I 
 permitted my head to turn in his direction, then " Sir," 
 said I in tones of ice, "you have the advantage of me." 
 
 I could feel his little start of surprise. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said he, "but are you not 
 are you not my old friend Miss Hazel Wycherley? 
 Surely I cannot be mistaken ? " 
 
 His voice was deep, almost gruff, but there was a 
 friendly ring in it. Momentarily I relaxed; I turned 
 my head round a shade further. Then my smile and 
 his stare thrust themselves before my vision. If he 
 knew me now, why not on Sunday ? 
 
 "Certainly, I am Hazel Wycherley. You are not 
 mistaken in my name, but at the moment I regret 
 to say that I am unable to claim the honor of your 
 friendship. You have made a mistake in that respect. 
 I must bid you good afternoon," and once again I 
 turned my face to the sunset 
 
 Now of course he would go away. No man would 
 dare to stay after such a rebuff. But nothing of the 
 kind; he simply came a little closer to me, leaned the 
 gun he was carrying against the gate, and studied my 
 profile carefully and critically. Never have I experi- 
 enced anything more trying than that prolonged 
 scrutiny. I felt the color rush into my cheeks and my 
 hands trembled. Presently he said calmly 
 
 [59]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Yes, you are Hazel Wycherley. I thought I could 
 not be mistaken. Excuse my persistence; I do not 
 wish to appear rude, but I am Robert Inderwick. 
 You and I were good friends and boon companions in 
 the old days, when you were quite a little girl. We 
 went cockling together, and caught an eel almost as 
 big as a conger, and you gave me a beautiful book- 
 marker. Now don't you remember me ? I hope you 
 do. I should be sorry if you had forgotten me. I 
 have always kept the bookmarker." 
 
 In spite of myself I softened. So he had kept the 
 bookmarker. He had not forgotten. But why why 
 that frozen stare in church? Why had he humili- 
 ated me in the presence of all the women of Heather- 
 land? I whipped up my anger, then I turned round 
 and faced him squarely, studying him with seeming 
 interest. 
 
 " Oh, is it Mr. Inderwick ? " I spoke lightly and 
 with some surprise " the Mr. Inderwick who has come 
 to live at the Old Hall Farm, and about whose move- 
 ments Heatherland is all agog ? How remiss of me to 
 have forgotten you! But but childish friendships 
 rarely withstand the lapse of years. I should not 
 have known you. I am sorry, and I will bid you 
 good-day, sir; I am in a hurry." 
 
 I climbed down from the gate. Gravely he offered 
 me his hand, but I refused his help. Suddenly I felt 
 small, babyish, futile, ineffectual. There was a look 
 of quiet amusement in the corners of his eyes and the 
 
 [60]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 flicker of his firm, clean-shaven lips as, picking up his 
 gun, he said 
 
 "I won't detain you longer. I must apologize for 
 thrusting myself upon you. I should have waited for 
 a re-introduction; but well, you were such a jolly 
 little girl in the old days, and I thought you might not 
 have forgotten me. I am sorry." 
 
 He raised his cap, and the next moment he had 
 gone. 
 
 I stamped my foot with temper as I watched his 
 square figure retreating down the lane, looking for all 
 the world like a solid Rock of Gibraltar which had 
 been bombarded by a small popgun. I realized that 
 I had not only been extremely rude, but a fool. And 
 that Mr. Inderwick thought me such had showed only 
 too plainly in his amused smile. 
 
 Why did he go away so quickly ? Why do men take 
 girls so literally ? He might if he had had one grain 
 of perception have seen I was beginning to unbend 
 and wanted him to stay. Men are so dense. It is 
 pitiful. And now he thinks me rude, ungracious, and 
 ill-bred; and so I am, all three, and an idiot into the 
 bargain. Here have I been simply longing for a man 
 friend for months. I am so tired of women even our 
 oil stove is feminine it is called Consuela; and I am 
 weary of Frederick Moss and his love-making and silly 
 poems which always begin 
 
 " Oh, Hazel, of the deep blue eyes 
 
 And hair of raven hue." 
 
 [61]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 And then the first nice man (I can see he is nice) who 
 comes along and offers his hand to me in friendship, 
 if I don't go and thrust it rudely aside without offering 
 any explanation for so doing, and altogether behave 
 like a rude, gauche schoolgirl miss. And all because 
 my vanity had been assailed, because my pride was up 
 in arms, because I imagined I had been intentionally 
 snubbed by a man, when when I don't suppose he 
 even saw me, and if he did would probably think I was 
 smiling at some one else, at some one beyond him, some 
 one I knew well. He would never dream I ccruld be 
 smiling at him a comparative stranger; and his look 
 of surprise was purely a trick of my own imagination. 
 I was a narrow, self-centred, stuck-up, country-bred 
 creature, attaching vital importance to the most trifling 
 events, imagining myself the hub of the universe, with 
 no power of seeing beyond my own nose or getting out- 
 side my own environment; the product of a village, 
 and the smallest thing in it. 
 
 I climbed over the gate, tore across the stubbly field, 
 and came across Dibbs just as he was careering out of 
 the thicket with a flushed look of victory about him. 
 With canine instinct he instantly appreciated my frame 
 of mind and temper. His tail dropped and clung to his 
 Mnd legs, he fell flat on his stomach, and like an abject 
 worm crawled across the rough stubble to meet me. 
 
 "Yes, Dibbs," I said, "you are going to be thrashed. 
 You have got me into a fine mess, and you must suffer 
 for it." 
 
 [62]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 And then I thrashed him. I hit harder than usual, 
 and Dibbs seemed very surprised. He turned his poor 
 wall eye upon me reproachfully, and gave a little 
 whine. 
 
 As soon as I had finished I felt remorseful, and tak- 
 ing him up in my arms I kissed his poor, sore back. 
 This seemed to surprise him still more, and he fell to 
 licking my face. 
 
 Then I wept over him, and this seemed to surprise 
 him most, for, sitting up on his hind legs, he gave vent 
 to a doleful howl. 
 
 "Oh, Dibbs," I moaned, putting my arms round 
 his neck, "I am the most wretched girl in the world. 
 I am sick of everything. I am sick of my life, I am 
 sick of housework, I am sick of Heatherland, and, 
 above all, I am most sick of myself," and again dear 
 old Dibbs gave a little howl of sympathy. Then I 
 wiped away my tears, gathered myself up, and went in 
 quest of sausages. 
 
 When I arrived home it was quite dark. The lamps 
 were lit, and Angela was singing Home, Sweet Home 
 to an accompaniment of arpeggios. I fled to my room, 
 and, kneeling down, I said, " Lord, may I be something 
 male in the next life. I don't care what it is, a weazel 
 even, so long as it is not female." Then I went down 
 to tea, and afterwards hemmed a new dust sheet, while 
 mother read aloud extracts from a report of the Church 
 Congress, in which Angela was greatly interested. 
 
 Just before prayers my sister said 
 [63]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " We hear Mr. Inderwick was in church last Sunday 
 week, Hazel. It was unfortunate you should have been 
 taken ill that morning, as we might have spoken to him 
 coming out, and as it was we didn't even see him. 
 Mrs. Moss and Mrs. Hawthorn and Mrs. Gates all 
 spoke to him." 
 
 "Indeed," I said. 
 
 " Yes. They have been making some inquiries about 
 his antecedents and they are quite satisfactory, and he 
 himself has been to a university, I don't know which, 
 but we shall be able to know him." 
 
 There was a ring of patronage in Angela's voice 
 which exasperated me. 
 
 "How nice for him," I said gently. 
 
 She raised her eyes from her sewing. 
 
 "Yes, it is a great advantage to a young man to be 
 received into good families," she answered. 
 
 " Is ours good ? We have a cousin who is a draper," 
 I observed. 
 
 Angela looked shocked. 
 
 "Only by marriage," she said quickly. "He is no 
 blood relation, and we have never even seen him." 
 
 " I should like to know him. A draper in the family 
 would be very useful," I said softly. 
 
 She did not answer, and, reaching out the Bible and 
 Prayer-book, rang the bell for the servants with un- 
 usual strength. 
 
 [64J
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 I Go on a Visit to Aunt Menelophe 
 
 I AM visiting Step-aunt Menelophe, and am seated 
 before a bright little wood fire as the evenings 
 are chilly in a lovely, romantic bedroom called 
 "The Ghost Room." Aunt Menelophe thought I 
 should be nervous to sleep here alone, as it is down 
 a winding sort of corridor, quite a good way from all 
 the other bedrooms; but as soon as ever she told me 
 about it I begged to be put here. I said, " It's not often 
 that one gets a chance of sleeping in a real ghost room 
 at an old hall, and it would be a shame to allow such 
 an opportunity for romance to be wasted." 
 
 And Aunt Menelophe smiled, and ordered a fire to 
 be lit each evening to keep me company. So far noth- 
 ing has happened, and I really don't know what I 
 ought to expect, as everybody in the house seems 
 divided as to the real legend of the room. The butler 
 says a goat with two tails should clank through the 
 place in chains at twelve o'clock at night. He does not 
 give any reason for its doing this. Aunt Menelophe 
 says it should be a woman dressed in white (I often 
 think what an expensive item a ghost's laundry must 
 be, as it is always composed of white), who takes up 
 5 [65]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 a position at the foot of the bed and then groans three 
 times. And Butterby who is aunt's youngest son 
 says it should be an enormous toad with a man's head, 
 three hundred years old, which crawls on to your 
 bed and spits three times, and then vanishes through the 
 bed and floor. I must say I like the sound of the toad 
 the least, especially as it appears to have vulgar habits. 
 
 Up to the present and I have been here for four 
 days nothing spectral, bogey, repulsive, uncanny, 
 cadaverous, or grewsome has appeared. I fasten my 
 eyes on all the little, dim, ghostly corners of the room, 
 rendered more uncanny by the flickering light of the 
 dying fire, but I see nothing. My eyes begin to get tired 
 and heavy; I nod and doze, and blink and nod, and 
 dream little funny dreams, till sleep overpowers me, 
 and I know nothing more till Parkins rouses me with 
 morning tea. 
 
 If any one had told me ten days ago that I should be 
 staying with Aunt Menelophe and sitting up here in 
 the famous ghost room writing to-night, I should have 
 said that person had a most powerful imagination. 
 
 It happened this way. One morning last week 
 mother received a letter from Aunt Menelophe, who 
 is father's eldest step-sister. This was the letter 
 
 "THE HALL, BLONGTON, STAFFS., 
 
 "September 23d, . 
 
 "Mr DEAR ELIZABETH: 
 
 "It is many years since we met, and you and I 
 are now widows, and I trust are each bearing our loss 
 
 [66]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 with fortitude. My husband was a martyr to gout. 
 It was a happy release when he was taken. Yours 
 was one of those rare men whose language was 
 as controlled as his temper. John Wycherley was 
 God's eighth creation. Your loss was heaven's 
 gain. 
 
 "I believe you have two nice daughters. I have 
 three moderately satisfactory sons. The eldest 
 Wellesley is in London on a paper. The second 
 Dick is supposed to be living at home. I see him 
 when he is ill and occasionally on Sundays. I rise 
 late and go to bed early. The youngest Butterby, a 
 family name is a naturalist. In his spare time he 
 manages the Swedgwood Pottery Works, and often 
 expresses his surprise at the manner in which the 
 Americans forge ahead. Possibly America does not 
 grow moths and butterflies. 
 
 "You will gather from this I am somewhat lone- 
 ly. The Lord thought fit to remove my only daugh- 
 ter. I do not question His ways. Just now I am de- 
 pressed after a long illness. Will you lend me one of 
 your daughters for three weeks the livelier of the two 
 for choice ? I will return her at the expiration of that 
 period. I will do the best I can to render her visit 
 pleasant. Blongton is not a gay place. It makes pots, 
 and exists beneath a heavy pall of smoke. All our 
 energies are concentrated in removing the dirt from 
 our persons and houses, so we have no superfluous 
 strength for festivities. An occasional dinner party is 
 our only relaxation, and that is very occasional. I feel 
 I must tell you this, so that if one of your daughters 
 
 [67]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 should take pity on a lonely old woman she will be 
 under no misapprehension. 
 
 "Your affectionate step-sister-in-law, 
 
 "MENELOPHE MENZIES." 
 
 "P.S. Next Tuesday would suit me. There is a 
 good train from Birkenhead at one o'clock. Change 
 at Crewe. The dog-cart shall meet her. Only one 
 dinner gown necessary. I wonder if you wear caps. 
 M. M." 
 
 We read this letter through three times, and then 
 Angela said, " What a calm person!" 
 
 "Yes," said mother, "she was always peculiar, and 
 fond of your father " (mother didn't know she had said 
 anything in the least funny). "She was very clever 
 and extraordinarily handsome as a young woman." 
 
 " And," said I," I like her. Any one who said such 
 a thing about father must be nice." 
 
 "Very well, then," said mother, "you shall be the 
 one to go." 
 
 This rapid decision on mother's part, without con- 
 sulting Angela, astonished and delighted me. I could 
 have jumped for joy. I panted to get away from 
 Heatherland and that objectionable, horrid man. 
 Could anything have been more opportune ? But I 
 mustn't appear too keen, or Angela, as the elder, might 
 think it was her duty to go and cheer up Aunt Menel- 
 ophe, and Angela is faithful to duty. I must dissemble. 
 
 "But I am not lively, mother, and I don't think I 
 want to go," I asserted. 
 
 [68]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Yes, you are; you are very lively boisterous, 
 almost, at times. We should be very dull without you. 
 But lately you have seemed depressed, and have not 
 even gone blackberrying. You evidently want a 
 change," finished mother conclusively, and she looked 
 toward Angela for support. 
 
 " But, mother," I cried, " it will be too awful to go 
 and feel I must be a drawing-room entertainment, a 
 clown at a pantomime, and a performing dog at a fair 
 rolled in one, just for Aunt Menelophe's amusement. 
 I should be worn to a shadow in three weeks." 
 
 "No, you wouldn't. Just be your natural, bright, 
 happy self, and Aunt Menelophe will be quite satis- 
 fied." (There are times when I love mother much 
 more than at others.) 
 
 "But wouldn't Angela like to go?" I inquired 
 politely. 
 
 "No, thank you," replied my elder sister. "Life is 
 too serious, to my thinking, to be spent in laughing 
 and giggling and being funny. Besides, too, I couldn't 
 be spared. There are my old women and Sunday- 
 school class, and the walnuts to pickle they are just 
 ripe." 
 
 "Well, that settles it," said mother. "Hazel must 
 be ready to start by Tuesday morning at eight o'clock. 
 She will have some time to wait at Birkenhead for the 
 train, but that can't be helped. I couldn't afford cabs, 
 even if there were any; but she shall have a new dinner 
 gown as Aunt Menelophe calls it, though I like the 
 
 [69]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 old-fashioned word ' dress ' better out of the sundries 
 money tin box, and Reas, of Basnett Street, shall make 
 it." 
 
 Then mother got out her three purses and four tin 
 boxes and plunged into a labyrinth of ways and means, 
 and I could see that she thought that gown would 
 land us in the bankruptcy court before we could look 
 round. 
 
 "But you shall have it, Hazel," she said, with an 
 effort at cheerfulness; "you shan't disgrace your 
 father's family." 
 
 And I was ready at eight o'clock on Tuesday morn- 
 ing. Wild horses would not have prevented my being 
 ready. I was up at six, and when I went to the window 
 to feast my eyes, as usual, on my dear Dee and blue 
 Welsh hills, they were nowhere to be seen. There had 
 been a sharp frost in the night, and now great banks 
 of white mist blotted out the entire landscape; the 
 fields, the Old Hall Farm, the river, and the hills 
 all had gone. The lawn lay dimly in front of me, and 
 the brilliant-colored flowers of autumn dahlias, holly- 
 hocks, snapdragons, and phlox stood out from the 
 mist like spectres, and the love-lies-bleeding, lying in 
 the soaking- wet grass, looked as though it had had a 
 night out. I went to the bath room, and then the sun 
 rose and gleamed redly through the whiteness. And 
 it gleamed and turned from red to gold and from gold 
 to silver, and quickened and sprang into life, and 
 glowed and burned and threw out level rays of heat 
 
 [70]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 upon the mist. And the mist, instead of evaporating 
 slowly, seemed to solidify and build itself up into great 
 banks and mountains of cloud, which rolled and swept 
 and rolled away along the valley and lost themselves 
 in space. And the beauty of the world stood forth re- 
 vealed, and the sun shone upon millions of mist-drops 
 which lay sparkling upon tree and bush and flower 
 and grass. 
 
 When I was dressed I looked across at the Old Hall 
 Farm and the two fir-trees and shook my fist at 
 them. And I chuckled and chorted from sheer joy. 
 " I don't care a fig what you think of me," I cried. " I 
 am going away for three whole weeks; so there! I 
 don't care a button about you!" Then I read my 
 Scripture portion, and went down and devoured two 
 eggs and a rasher of bacon. 
 
 Mother waved to me from the gate as I and my 
 trunk containing the new gown climbed on to the 
 box seat of the 'bus which runs daily between Heath- 
 erland and Birkenhead by Jerry the driver, and 
 Sammy flapped a red handkerchief at me as we spanked 
 along past the grassy dell and apple-trees at the further 
 end of the garden. 
 
 We always spank at first the horses are fresh, and 
 the guard Billy Rutter, aged twelve blows a horn 
 as big as himself; but by the time we have mounted 
 our third hill, the horses which are really very weedy 
 rats, though I shouldn't like to say so to Jerry are 
 blowing like bassoons. We picked up two or three 
 
 [71]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 passengers mostly market women on Heatherland 
 Hill, a business man in a bowler hat not one of " the 
 families " by the old mill, and two more at Barnston. 
 But our load was not heavy, and it was not necessary 
 to get off and push the 'bus up the last hill, as is some- 
 times our custom. 
 
 It was pleasant swinging through the still, leafy 
 lanes, with the scent of early autumn one of the most 
 delicious scents in the world greeting our nostrils on 
 every side; with beech-nuts and acorns pattering like 
 raindrops on to the moist ground, and little yellow 
 birch leaves fluttering through the air; with scarlet- 
 berried briony, and flaming hips and haws, and crim- 
 son-leaved brambles and shining blackberries, and a 
 tangle of traveller's joy peeping at you from every 
 hedgerow. 
 
 I thought of Aunt Menelophe's remark, "We live 
 beneath a heavy pall of smoke." Should I see a tree 
 in the Potteries? Not that I should have cared if it 
 had been treeless and grassless and flowerless within 
 a ten-mile radius. I always lived with these things, 
 and to be without them for three weeks would be a 
 change. If Aunt Menelophe had suggested my visiting 
 her in the Sahara Desert, I should have assented with 
 avidity. I was just in the mood to go away. Two 
 years had elapsed since I had stepped from home. 
 I knew the look of every stick and stone on the place. 
 If one of Elizabeth's saucepan lids had been on the 
 nail where the potato-masher usually hangs, I should 
 
 [72]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 have noticed it. It was time I got away for a bit. I 
 was becoming groovy, and, above all, I wanted to 
 avoid the possibility of meeting a large, extremely dis- 
 agreeable man, till I felt less bad about him. 
 
 The dog-cart met me at Blongton Station. It has 
 lovely yellow wheels and is as high as a house. The 
 coachman touched his hat to me as though I had 
 been an empress. I reflected that Sammy never 
 touched his hat to anybody, and that I must speak 
 to him about it on my return. I don't know how my 
 trunk was conveyed to the house, but I found it waiting 
 in my room all unstrapped as though it had been 
 there for years. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe met me at the door, and taking 
 my two hands in hers, kissed me on both cheeks. 
 Then she led me beneath the light and studied me 
 carefully and critically. I wriggled a bit under this 
 long scrutiny. I felt as an insect must feel beneath a 
 microscope, and longed to get away from the vicinity 
 of James the butler, who was pretending not to look, 
 but was all the time peeping at me through a mirror. 
 
 "You'll do," said Aunt Menelophe at last. "Your 
 eyes are a treat I never saw such a color seem to 
 have caught up all the blue of sky and sea, and forget- 
 me-nots and harebells, and sapphires and 
 
 " Blue-bottles." I am almost certain I heard James 
 mutter, and I drew quickly away from aunt's grasp. 
 I turned and looked at him searchingly, but his face 
 was as the face of the Sphinx. 
 
 [73]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Yes, your eyes are wonderful and your skin is 
 perfect, but your hat's a fright a perfect fright, my 
 dear child; let me implore of you to hide it away in 
 your trunk and never wear it again in my presence. 
 It makes me positively ill." 
 
 I giggled from pure enjoyment. I began to like 
 Aunt Menelophe tremendously. 
 
 "I am sorry, Aunt Menelophe," I began gravely, 
 " but I have only one other hat, which is my best one, 
 for calls and Sundays; and I couldn't think of wearing 
 it every d " 
 
 "Very well, then," interrupted Aunt Menelophe, 
 "we will buy another to-morrow. I couldn't live 
 with that atrocity. Now come in to tea." 
 
 She led the way to a room bright with firelight, and 
 warm with lovely colors on walls and floor and furni- 
 ture. An oak bookcase ran the entire length of the 
 room, and the pictures were all soft red pastels and 
 beautiful sepias. 
 
 She handed me tea in the daintiest of Crown Derby 
 cups, remarking I must want it badly. "Tea is a 
 woman's greatest solace," said she. "I am convinced 
 one of the most completely satisfying things in life is 
 a freshly made cup of tea China and Ceylon in equal 
 proportions with plenty of good cream, taken at four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, in a comfortable chair, before 
 a bright fire. But perhaps you are too young to appre- 
 ciate luxuries. At your age I didn't want luxuries. I 
 only wanted young men, pretty frocks, and plenty of 
 
 [74]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 dancing. They were necessities, not luxuries. Now 
 I like well-cooked food, freshly made tea, a warm, 
 comfortable bed with good springs, a bright fire, well- 
 trained servants" (I thought of James), "a good novel, 
 and a young, interesting person with whom to talk 
 when I am so disposed. I believe I could talk to you, 
 as you appear to be a good listener." 
 
 I smiled vacuously, and reflected that so far I had 
 not had an opportunity of being anything else. Aunt 
 Menelophe pounced on my thought immediately. 
 
 " You shall talk to-morrow," said she. "I never 
 talk in a morning, or up till four o'clock. I am too 
 depressed. I only exist. But as soon as ever I have 
 had one cup of tea I begin to live." 
 
 " Why not have it for breakfast, then ? " I queried. 
 
 "No," she said quickly. "Don't suggest such a 
 thing. Coffee is the correct drink for breakfast. I 
 couldn't think of altering it at my time of life. But 
 what was I saying? I was talking of luxuries and 
 comfort, wasn't I? I never go out now. I gave up 
 society when I became a looker-on and ceased to be 
 admired. Women become lookers-on when they have 
 turned forty. As soon as a woman who has once been 
 beautiful becomes conscious of wrinkles, and wants 
 to sit with her back to the light, she is better at home, 
 and much happier. There is no occasion for her then 
 to worry about getting stout, or her complexion going, 
 or crow's-feet coming. Her children don't notice these 
 things, and if her husband does he is too wise to say so." 
 
 [75]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 She paused to give me some more tea and hot toast. 
 I sat and gasped quietly. Never had I heard such 
 sentiments. I pictured mother and Angela discussing 
 pickled walnuts at home. How infinitely more inter- 
 esting were the delightful things Aunt Menelophe was 
 saying! I had never enjoyed myself so much in my 
 life. And what a beautiful person she was, with her 
 white hair piled high on her head, and her dark eyes, 
 and the lovely old lace on her soft, gray gown, and her 
 pinky cheeks. I wanted to get up and hug her, but I 
 thought she might not like it, as I had only known her 
 about three-quarters of an hour. I lay back in the 
 deep arm-chair, which was drawn up by the bright 
 little wood fire, and absorbed the beauty of the room. 
 Had money only achieved it, or was it the result of 
 good taste ? I reflected there must be an inch at least 
 of padding beneath the thick Turkey carpet to give one 
 such a sensation as I had experienced in walking over 
 it. It had felt like compressed moss, one foot in depth. 
 I thought of the worn Brussels at home, covered over 
 with faded patches of magenta roses; and our mottled 
 marble mantelpieces all got up and hit me in the face 
 as I marvelled at the carving of the old oak mantel- 
 shelf in front of me. I noted the form and color of the 
 old blue bowls and pots, and the richness of the big 
 copper candlesticks and three-handled jars. Where 
 were the bronze horses and spill pots, and candelabra 
 and glass lustres, and Parian jugs ? Perhaps I should 
 find some of them later on in the drawing-room. I 
 
 [76]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 should feel lonely without a Parian jug, and should 
 almost forget what a white bunch of grapes set about 
 with white roses would look like. And where was the 
 vast mahogany sideboard, with its gorgeous, shiny 
 mirror? Surely this quaint, fantastic, carven oak sort 
 of dresser arrangement was not supposed to be a side- 
 board. Why, proper, well-conducted, heavy, impor- 
 tant, made-to-last-a-century sideboards would blush to 
 be in the company of such an impostor ! I gave a little 
 sigh as I looked at the delicious, soft, plain, rich 
 blue walls around me and thought of the crimson 
 and pink and gold flowery papers at home, and felt 
 very depressed. Then I gave myself a big mental 
 shake. 
 
 "Hazel Wycherley, you are a cad, a low-down 
 cad!" I said. "Here the very best and kindest and 
 most unselfish mother in the world allows you to come 
 and stay with Aunt Menelophe, and gives you all the 
 money out of the 'sundries box' for a new evening 
 frock, which money she had been saving for weeks 
 toward having the drawing-room chairs and couch 
 re-covered the rose-red damask of same being faded 
 almost white and you just sit and grumble, and moan 
 and pity yourself, because your home is plain and 
 ordinary and comfortable, and doesn't run to velvet- 
 piled carpets and blue bowls. You ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself, and you want a good beating." 
 
 I felt that I must go straightway upstairs to my 
 room and write and tell mother that she was the very 
 
 [77]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 sweetest and best mother an ungrateful, selfish girl 
 ever possessed, and sprang to my feet, when 
 
 "Of whom are you thinking so earnestly, Hazel?" 
 said Aunt Menelophe, taking my hand; "and where 
 are you going ? Your face has been as grave as a 
 judge's for the last five minutes, and you are very 
 like your father. You sat there with your eyes fixed on 
 the fire, and I could see all your thoughts chasing each 
 other across your face. And then up you jumped 
 just in the old impulsive way of John Wycherley 
 bent upon doing something straightway at the moment. 
 What was it ? " 
 
 "I was going up to write to mother," I said awk- 
 wardly. "Do you remember mother, Aunt Menel- 
 ophe ? " I added with a jerk. 
 
 "Yes," said Aunt Menelophe. "She was a singu- 
 larly honorable woman, and very unselfish. She might 
 have possessed other virtues and vices, but her honesty 
 was so pronounced that it dwarfed everything else in 
 her character, and she believed that it was right to give 
 the tenth part of her income to the poor. Does she 
 still believe it?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "and does it, and the poor are not 
 in the least grateful." 
 
 "They never are," pronounced Aunt Menelophe 
 emphatically. "They are a lying, drinking, ungrate- 
 ful, thriftless set of impostors, who are educated free, 
 hospitalled free, vaccinated free; who have no rates 
 and taxes to pay, no income tax, no appearances to 
 
 [78]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 keep up, and who spend I have forgotten how much 
 they spend, but I know it's something colossal per 
 head per year on drink. And not a thing, not a single 
 thing is done for the poor little hard-working govern- 
 ess, who for her old age has the workhouse staring her 
 in the face, or or for delicate, decayed gentlewomen, 
 who through no fault of their own owing to their 
 
 numerical superiority over men have not married; 
 
 , 
 
 Aunt Menelophe stopped for breath, and I broke 
 in 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe, what you are saying is quite 
 wrong and out of date. I am a great Liberal of John 
 Bright's and Gladstone's following, and a Free Trad- 
 er." (I swelled with pride, though I didn't know what 
 it meant. Father had told me I must be one, and I 
 always intended obeying him.) "Reform and Progress 
 are our two great watchwords. I cannot agree with 
 what you say. Help the poor little governess, but do 
 not do less for the workingman. The workingman 
 is the backbone of our great empire, and he must be 
 fed and educated and physicked." 
 
 I sat down, and felt that if I had been a man I 
 should have been a great politician and probably an 
 orator; and all Aunt Menelophe did was to break 
 into fits of laughter. 
 
 "Child," she cried, "you are a treat!" Then she 
 went off into more fits, and I was just trying to decide 
 whether I would be annoyed or pleased, when a young, 
 
 [79]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 stoopy man walked into the room and crossed to the 
 bookcase without seeing me. Aunt Menelophe, still 
 chuckling, said, " Hazel, this is your Cousin Butterby. 
 Butterby, come and speak to your step-cousin, Miss 
 Hazel Wycherley, who is a great Liberal and Free 
 Trader." 
 
 Butterby came very close to me, and peered into my 
 face as though he half expected to find a new kind of 
 moth. He wears glasses, and his hair is endy. 
 
 " How do you do ? " said he. 
 
 And when I had given him the desired information 
 he stood first on one foot and then on the other, and 
 looked exceedingly unhappy. Then an inspiration 
 came. 
 
 " Are you interested in entomology, or have you any 
 special hobby?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied gravely; "I am fond of crochet 
 work, and have made a lot of antimacassars." 
 
 He regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, and 
 then with a sigh left the room. 
 
 "Poor Butterby," said Aunt Menelophe; "he is 
 very eccentric, but has a good heart. I never could 
 understand how he came to be my child." 
 
 And she, too, sighed heavily, and then sent me to 
 my room, where I wrote a letter to mother four pages 
 long. 
 
 [80]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 / Receive a Letter from Mother and Some Good Advice 
 on Dress from Aunt Menelophe 
 
 I HAVE been here a fortnight, and the days have 
 simply flown. Aunt Menelophe is a perfect pet. 
 And the old house with its rambling corridors 
 and wide stone staircase and twenty-two bedrooms 
 is simply delightful. And when you are in the large 
 old garden and shady avenue it is hard to believe you 
 are within a stone's-throw of the Potteries. 
 
 With the Potteries I have fallen in love. They are 
 ugly and smoky and filthy, but they fascinate me. 
 When the gentle hand of night has cast a darkness 
 over "the five towns" and covered up the squalor, I 
 love to gaze at the lurid, bright eyes of the furnaces, 
 the fires of which are never allowed to die out. They 
 seem to gleam and wink at you from the darkness, and 
 make you think of the infernal regions and Mephis- 
 topheles and the river Styx, and all sorts of shudder- 
 ingly awful things. And I shiver over the poor man 
 who was accidentally shut up in one of the big ovens 
 and baked with the china. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe and I go somewhere every day in 
 6 [81]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 the carriage. We have "done" Trentham and In- 
 gestre, which are lovely; and one day we went to 
 Rudyard Lake, where Kipling was born. I feel tre- 
 mendously braced-up for the change, and regard with 
 equanimity the meeting of that man. 
 
 I had a letter from mother this morning. They are 
 having an autumn cleaning, and have seen Mr. Inder- 
 wick twice. They called on him the day after I left. 
 Personally, I think it is a little forward for two women 
 one a widow and the other a spinster to go calling 
 on a bachelor; and at least they might have waited till 
 my return not that I should have thought of calling 
 with them, but, well, I should have been there to look 
 after the house, and restrict the servants in their gos- 
 siping. Mother says 
 
 "We were pleased to have your long, interesting 
 letter, in which you made two spelling mistakes. 
 Walnut is spelled with one 1 and parallel with two. 
 Your composition is so good that it seems a pity you 
 cannot overcome your weakness in spelling. 
 
 "We have seized the opportunity during your ab- 
 sence to have the autumn cleaning done. Sammy, 
 Rose, Elizabeth, and old Williams are engaged in shak- 
 ing the carpets, and I got in a barrel of beer for the 
 occasion. Williams is such an excellent worker that, 
 though I greatly disapprove of his craving for beer, I 
 am obliged to yield to it, otherwise I know he would 
 not beat properly. 
 
 " The pickled walnuts have turned out well. Angela 
 [82]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 is now engaged on eschalots, and when they are 
 finished she will begin the cauliflowers and gherkins. 
 
 "She insists upon all the cornices and picture-rails 
 being lightly washed over with vinegar to-morrow, 
 which I think is a little unnecessary, as they were done 
 so recently. But she says there will be fly-marks upon 
 them, and she may be right. 
 
 "It appears somewhat unseemly to me that your 
 Aunt Menelophe should not wear caps at her time of 
 life. I began them ten years ago, and she is twelve 
 years my senior. However, she was always rather 
 outre in her style of dressing her hair. She would not 
 part it down the middle, neither would she wear a 
 comb, which I remember was much commented upon. 
 
 " My accounts have been worrying me a little. Some 
 new sort of tax paper has come in. The money will go 
 to the schools. I do not grudge it at all ; but it is diffi- 
 cult to know under which column in the debit account 
 to place it; and it also means another tin box to be 
 kept, and the lock-up drawer is already full to the 
 bursting-point. 
 
 "Your sister and I called upon Mr. Inderwick yes- 
 terday. We had heard that Mrs. Gates and several of 
 the residents intended doing so this week, so Angela 
 said we would be first in the field. Why, I don't know; 
 but she seemed to wish it, so I consented. I wore my 
 new winter bonnet, which was inclined to slip a little 
 to the back of my head, giving me a somewhat jaunty 
 air, so I must have the shape altered. Although it had 
 struck four o'clock when we called, the maidservant 
 was not dressed, which we thought disgraceful. She 
 
 [83]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 had on her dirty, coarse apron and print dress and no 
 cap, and I reflected upon Rose's appearance with 
 pleasure. When we asked if Mr. Inderwick were at 
 home she hesitated for a moment, and then led us to a 
 bare room I mean it contained very little furniture 
 where Mr. Inderwick stood in his shirt-sleeves putting 
 up a bookcase. He did not seem in the least discon- 
 certed, which I thought showed good breeding, and he 
 gave us a very kind welcome. After asking us to sit 
 down, and not observing there were no chairs upon 
 which to sit, he asked me what I thought of his new 
 bookcase. Privately I thought it was extremely ugly; 
 it was so high and ran round the entire room, so I said 
 it appeared commodious. He laughed and said it was 
 made of solid oak. He appeared very proud of it, and 
 kept forgetting we were there. When we made a move 
 to go he said we must have some tea, and when we de- 
 clined and said we were afraid our call had been a little 
 premature, he said * nonsense ' in such a loud tone that 
 it quite startled us. He took us to another room, 
 where presently an old woman Mrs. Egerton 
 brought in tea. She seemed a respectable sort of 
 person. He forgot to give me any cream and Angela 
 sugar, and when we passed up our cups he gave me 
 the sugar and Angela the cream, but we did not like to 
 draw his attention to the fact. Just as we were leaving 
 he suddenly said, 'Where is Miss Hazel?' and when 
 I told him, he asked how long you would be away. 
 Angela says she doesn't think it's good form to ask 
 such abrupt questions. But probably he has lived a 
 good deal alone, and so missed the refining influence of 
 
 [84]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 women. He has a cultured voice and a singularly fine 
 appearance, but his manners are not polished. He sat 
 for quite half an hour in his shirt-sleeves, and then 
 when he became cognizant of this I will give him 
 credit that he seemed quite overcome and hastened out 
 of the room for his coat, which had a big paint-mark 
 on the sleeve. He said he hoped to have the pleasure 
 of returning our call at an early date. Perhaps you 
 will be at home then. It seems funny you should 
 have not yet met, when you were such friends some 
 years ago. Angela desires her love, and 
 
 "I remain 
 
 "YOUR AFFECTIONATE MOTHER." 
 
 I went down to breakfast feeling thoroughly annoyed. 
 If the rest of Heatherland should gush and run after 
 this man, why should mother and Angela do the same ? 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said Aunt Menelophe. 
 
 She has the eye of a hawk and the discernment of a 
 judge. 
 
 " Nothing," I replied. 
 
 "You don't lie well," said she. "People with blue 
 eyes are rarely good fibbers. Have some coffee, and 
 then tell me all about it." 
 
 And I told her. And what I kept back she found 
 out by ferreting. 
 
 " You acted like a little fool," said she. 
 
 "Yes," I replied. "Rub it in." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Poor little girl," and she laid her hand on mine. 
 
 [85]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "But don't attach too much importance to it. Go 
 back and be natural, and speak to him the next time 
 you meet. If he be a decent man he sounds nice 
 he won't let you feel that he once saw you at a disad- 
 vantage, and the inside of your character instead of 
 your out." (I winced.) "Men are really very chival- 
 rous to women. I often wonder how they put up with 
 our petty ways," and she sighed. 
 
 "I have never known any men," I remarked; "only 
 father and Sammy and Frederick Moss." 
 
 "No," said she, "so I should imagine." 
 
 " What do you think of them ? " I ventured. 
 
 "As a class," said Aunt Menelophe, "men are 
 better than women, with larger minds, and more gen- 
 erous instincts. But women are decidedly more 
 interesting." 
 
 I opened my mouth wide at such a proposition. 
 
 " Women more interesting ? " 
 
 "Yes," said my aunt, "a woman is the most inter- 
 esting, complex, unexpected sort of creature God has 
 created. She has a weakish body, an intellect not too 
 brilliant, sound judgment, a great capacity for imbib- 
 ing " I giggled, and Aunt Menelophe fixed me sternly 
 "I mean great receptive powers, no constructive 
 ability, a character with one hundred and fifty sides to 
 it, and her moods and whims are beyond counting, for 
 they are legion." 
 
 "I see," I remarked meekly, and handed some 
 bacon to Butterby, who was peering round the table 
 
 [86]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 for jam. And he ate it in a dream, making his third 
 helping. 
 
 " What do you think of women, Butterby ? " I asked. 
 
 " Eh ? I ? Why, I think women are mostly fools," 
 he said, with the greatest show of promptitude I have 
 yet seen him display. And he then returned to the 
 insect book he was reading. 
 
 I don't think I care overmuch for Butterby, and 
 Dick I have scarcely seen. He is engaged. His 
 fiancee is sweetly pretty and amiable, and her voice 
 is so gentle that when she speaks you feel as though 
 you were in church. They are a very devoted couple, 
 and Aunt Menelophe says she is the type of woman 
 who will have fifteen children and sob her eyes out 
 the first evening her husband is late home. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe is quite the nicest and cleverest 
 and most beautiful of the lot. She has a sharp tongue, 
 which only conceals the kindest, biggest heart. She 
 is always helping "lame dogs over stiles," and has 
 given me the loveliest pale blue, soft beaver hat, with 
 a glorious long black feather, and a creamy, fluffy, silk 
 tea-gown. I picture myself floating round Heather- 
 land in a tea-gown, and chuckle. The entire parish 
 would climb on front seats to stare at me, and Angela 
 would have a fit on the spot. Aunt Menelophe says 
 I should live in blue. She tells me this quite once a 
 day. 
 
 " Dress to the color of your eyes and hair," said she, 
 when I was trying on the hat at Rookfield's in Stafford. 
 
 [87]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " It is a safe rule to go by. You look dreadful in that 
 pink." 
 
 It was the shrimpy frock. 
 
 "I see. And as my eyes are blue and my hair is 
 nearly black, I suppose a blue and black check would 
 do for my new winter costume a nice big check?" 
 said I. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe simply snorted. 
 
 " Checks were an invention not] of the devil, but of 
 some grasping, economical cloth manufacturer who 
 wanted to use up his odds and ends of wool. He 
 should have been strung up. Imagine a woman in 
 ancient Greece wearing a check chess-board robe with 
 a girdle round it ! And people say we have progressed ! 
 No, never wear checks if you desire to be known as 
 a well-dressed woman. Cultivate flowing lines, sim- 
 plicity in form, and really good colors. Don't heap 
 things on your person; don't look like an escaped 
 bazaar. When I see women dangling chains and 
 trinkets and chatelaines and ribbons and velvets, and 
 dabbing rosettes and bows and ruchings on every spare 
 place, I yearn to pluck them as you would a fowl. And 
 when you get to my age wear soft tones of gray. Gray 
 blends and harmonizes with faded faces and eyes. It 
 softens the lines and gives an effect of mellowness. 
 Whatever women may say to you, don't pass your 
 entire existence in black. Black should be an elderly 
 woman's bugbear. It accentuates wrinkles and sal- 
 lowness and flabby chins. It shows up sunken cheeks 
 
 [88]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and knobbly jaw-bones, and forms a striking back- 
 ground for the stout chin of the three-decker character. 
 But put her in soft mauves and grays, with rich, old, 
 champagne-colored lace at her throat, and you will 
 forget she is old. Her younger women friends will be 
 bound to say she dresses in much too juvenile a style 
 and is aping to be young. There has scarcely been a 
 woman in this world who has not said that some other 
 woman dresses too young. It is a way she has." 
 
 Then Aunt Menelophe floated, in an atmosphere of 
 soft, gray cloth and chinchilla and velvet, crowned by 
 her lovely gray hair, to the waiting cab, and as she said 
 " The station, driver," I felt proud to belong to her. 
 
 "What a time it must have taken you to learn all 
 this, Aunt Menelophe ! " I remarked. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, with a little sigh, "it has. I am 
 sixty-five. And the trouble is that just as your accu- 
 mulated experience and knowledge are becoming use- 
 ful to you, somebody comes along and measures you 
 for your coffin. Then there is a funeral, flowers on 
 your grave for about five anniversaries, and then you 
 are forgotten. Let me see, I didn't show you Stafford, 
 did I ? But there is nothing to show. Stafford is noted 
 for boots, and you wouldn't want to see boots, would 
 you ? And I fancy Izaak Walton did something here 
 once, but I can't remember what it was till we have 
 had some tea. I ordered tea to be ready at the works ; 
 at least, I told Butterby to order it. I arranged with a 
 confectioner always to send in tea to the office when I 
 
 [89]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 am there. You see," she went on, "Butterby is sup- 
 posed to explain things to visitors, but he never does. 
 In fact, he generally wanders off when we are about 
 half-way through, and so 7 have to instruct them in the 
 making of china, and must have tea to brace me up. 
 What I don't know about the manufacture I make up, 
 and it's most interesting to see their faces. The women 
 always sigh over the dippers. They think it is the right 
 and humane thing to do. They have read somewhere 
 that a dipper's work is unhealthy and dangerous, and 
 even shortens life; and they always seem to be under 
 the impression that a dipper will turn into a corpse 
 before their eyes. They say sympathetic things and 
 talk of the dangers of glass-blowing and match-making 
 all in the same breath. And when I say, 'My dear 
 ladies, if they die it is generally their own faults, through 
 not observing the precautions laid down for them,' they 
 think I am very heartless and a brute. Really, I am 
 awfully sorry for some of the working people of Eng- 
 land not so much for the men as for the women. 
 What a grind some of the women have ! One round of 
 babies and incessant hard work which never ends. A 
 man comes in at the end of the day; he is tired, but his 
 work is finished. The wife is tired, too, only more so; 
 but she is not finished, and never will be. No wonder 
 women take to drink. I should too I should soak in 
 it!" 
 
 As Aunt Menelophe gives vent to this awful state- 
 ment her face is wrinkled up in the kindest, sweetest 
 
 [90]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 smile imaginable, and one could picture her doing 
 many kind deeds for those women and babies. 
 
 "Dear me," she cried as we were driving from the 
 station to the works, "we nearly ran over Butterby. 
 That boy gives me such shocks. He caused me to 
 break one of the old Wedgwood cups one day by 
 suddenly grabbing at my arm with great violence, 
 because he imagined there was some sort of rare but- 
 terfly seated on my sleeve. It turned out to be a bit of 
 silk. I was very angry, and ordered some stronger 
 glasses for him. I wonder what he is doing loitering in 
 the road ? Probably in search of some insect. And I 
 told him we should be there at four. Perhaps he has 
 been called out on some special business, and will turn 
 up later." 
 
 " He did not look like business," I ventured. 
 
 " No," snapped Aunt Menelophe, " he looked like a 
 tramp who is afraid he may find work." Then she 
 closed her lips tightly and stared at the landscape, 
 which consisted of chimneys, furnaces, and dirt. 
 
 When we arrived at the works there was no Butterby 
 and no tea. I looked fearfully at Aunt Menelophe, 
 and at the sight of her the small clerk in the office 
 shrivelled up. 
 
 "Stop the cab," she said with composure, and the 
 clerk and I collided with violence at the door and 
 yelled "Hi!" The cab "hied," and we drove home. 
 
 "I will try and get up sufficient energy to att^cl; 
 them another day," she said when we were seated ill 
 
 [91]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 the morning-room waiting for tea. "In the mean 
 time I will lend you a book on the manufacture of 
 Staffordshire china, and Josiah Wedgwood. It will 
 teach you a good deal, and should we never get to 
 the works it won't matter so much. I never talked 
 so much in my life before four o'clock, and I am per- 
 fectly exhausted." Then she fell back in her armchair 
 and lay with closed eyes till James appeared with the 
 tea.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A Dinner Party, Followed by My Seeing the Ghost 
 
 LAST evening Aunt Menelophe gave a dinner party, 
 and at two o'clock in the morning I saw the 
 ghost. One on the top of the other has been 
 too much for me, for I feel a perfect wreck, and have 
 great, black rims under my eyes. When Parkins 
 brought me my morning tea I asked her for some 
 soda-water instead. She seemed very surprised, and I 
 said 
 
 "Parkins, you would want soda-water if you had a 
 thirst like mine. My mouth feels like a sawdust bin." 
 
 At breakfast, after we had finished discussing the 
 ghost and the dinner, I remarked, tentatively, that I 
 had felt very plain the previous evening, and that I did 
 not think the new gown suited me. I looked inter- 
 rogatively at Aunt Menelophe. 
 
 " You look plainer this morning," she said. 
 
 It was not what I had expected, and I felt annoyed. 
 How could any one look their best after such an awful 
 night and such a shock to the system ? 
 
 "You had better go to your room and lie down," 
 Aunt Menelophe remarked after lunch, "and I will 
 send up your tea." 
 
 [93]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I accepted with alacrity. I have had a most delicious 
 sleep, and feel ready for anything. I have a cosy fire, 
 and am seated in a low chair in my new tea-gown, and 
 feel exactly like a heroine in a novel. I look scornfully 
 at my old, red dressing-gown hanging up behind the 
 door; I note with disdain its embroidered, old-fash- 
 ioned, scalloped frills. I scalloped them myself and 
 used a penny to draw out the design, and spent the 
 last of my pocket-money on silk for the button -holing. 
 Now I don't like scallops. I prefer soft, fluffety, chiffon 
 frills billowing up all round my neck, and an empire 
 train. I am tired of old-fashioned, made-to-wear-for- 
 ever clothes. 
 
 To-morrow I am going home, and must wear my 
 old, brown, stuff dress once more. I can quite see it 
 will never wear out, so one day I shall upset a bottle 
 of ink down it, and not let mother and Angela see it till 
 it is dry. It will be then too late for Angela to get out 
 the stain with milk, so it will be consigned to the 
 rag-bag. 
 
 I feel in the mood to-day to marry a prince. Why 
 can't I meet a Russian prince, like a girl in a novel, 
 who will shower sables, and white cloth gowns trimmed 
 with ermine, and diamonds upon me ? Perhaps I am 
 not innocent or religious enough. I couldn't sit for 
 hours with large blue, dreamy eyes, or kneel before a 
 little altar in my bedroom, or babble to the night at 
 my open window. And I couldn't be always blushing. 
 It must be so trying for a "wave of scarlet to mantle 
 
 [94]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 your cheek and brow" on the slightest provocation, 
 and for your bosom to keep heaving and your eyes 
 flashing. No, I am afraid a Russian prince wouldn't 
 care about me. 
 
 A man last night seemed a little interested in me, 
 but I felt a little nervous of him, for some reason; 
 and of course we shall never meet again. He is only 
 visiting down here. He lives in London, and London 
 is not a place I haunt. 
 
 But I must begin at the beginning. The dinner was 
 gorgeous. I have forgotten how many courses, but 
 they all seemed to be served topsy-turvy, and in the 
 order the servants liked. For instance, we had hot 
 shrimps rolled up in white paper after the sweets, which 
 seemed funny. Anchovies at one end of the dinner 
 and shrimps at the other! Perhaps Aunt Menelophe 
 thought they would fight inside if they were served too 
 near together. 
 
 The flowers were exquisite, and lovely, scarlet Vir- 
 ginian creeper leaves floated about in the finger bowls, 
 and long sprays of it crawled about the table and kept 
 getting mixed up in things. I saw a man drinking 
 claret with a spray hanging from his moustache. It 
 was so funny the way he dashed it from him, as though 
 he were very angry with it. The finger bowls were 
 solid silver, and silver cupids with chubby faces held 
 the chrysanthemums. 
 
 The man who took me in to dinner rather alarmed 
 me at first, but I presently found he was much more 
 
 [95]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 interested in his food than in me, and he snored heavily 
 as he ate. I began to feel a little annoyed, but perhaps 
 it was my fault. I noticed all the other women were 
 chattering away like jays and sending forth peals of 
 laughter, and the men were guffawing. Why didn't 
 my man guffaw ? I racked my brains for something to 
 say, but nothing came. I could only think of idiotic 
 questions, such as: "Do you like grouse? Are you 
 fond of Dickens? Are you married? Do you belong 
 to ^the Church of England ? " None of them seemed 
 suitable, and all much too familiar to put to a perfect 
 stranger. 
 
 Presently I saw Aunt Menelophe's eye upon me. 
 I could see she thought me dull. I felt desperate. 
 
 "Do you shoot?" I flung it at him suddenly, and 
 he started. 
 
 "Eh, what's that you say?" and he put down his 
 knife and fork. 
 
 " Do you shoot ? " I repeated in a louder voice. 
 
 " Do what ? " and he inclined his right ear to me. 
 
 "He's deaf," the man on my right whispered. 
 
 " Do you shoot ? " I shouted at the top of my voice, 
 my cheeks scarlet, and conscious that the whole table 
 was listening. 
 
 " Shoot what ? " said this great, deaf, prize idiot. 
 
 I heard a titter. 
 
 "Cats!" I said with sudden, deadly calmness, and 
 there was a roar of laughter. 
 
 "Ha!"
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 He had heard at last, and was very pleased with 
 himself, and wasn't going to let the subject drop. He 
 was also a little mystified. He was a detective kind of 
 man, a man who runs things to earth, and I would 
 willingly have sent a shot through him. 
 
 "Do I shoot cats?" said he. "Why, what sort of 
 cats?" 
 
 " Manx," I said with illumination. 
 
 I felt he must be humored. Then he appeared to 
 think I had said something extremely funny, and went 
 off into fits of laughter, and laughed and spluttered 
 till he choked. 
 
 Why had Aunt Menelophe sent me in with such a 
 creature? And the man to my right looked so inter- 
 esting. I gave a little sigh, and turning to glance at 
 him, our eyes met. He smiled, and showed the whitest 
 set of teeth imaginable. 
 
 "It's awfully trying, shouting at a person before a 
 whole dinner-table," said he sympathetically. 
 
 "Yes," I replied, still feeling hot; "I never felt 
 such a fool in my life. I am sorry for deaf people, 
 but they are so persistent." 
 
 Then he turned half his back on his partner, and I 
 turned the whole of mine on mine which was rude 
 of me, but pardonable, I thought, under the circum- 
 stances and we fell to talking. I fancy he enjoyed 
 himself, and I think I must have enjoyed myself, for I 
 became oblivious to my surroundings, till unexpectedly 
 he struck a jarring note. He had been talking of art, 
 7 [97]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 of music, of literature, of science of a thousand and 
 one things of which I had never even heard, and of 
 which he appeared to think I knew as much as he. I 
 hate to assume a knowledge of a subject for one 
 thing, you never know when you will be found out ; for 
 another, it doesn't seem aboveboard, and Aunt Menel- 
 ophe says women are so deceitful so suddenly I ob- 
 served : " I am afraid I don't understand or appreciate 
 half of what you are saying, though I am vastly inter- 
 ested. But I am wofully ignorant. I was educated at 
 home by a governess, and I have lived in a village, with 
 women, the whole of my life." 
 
 It was a relief to get it out, and when he laughed softly 
 and said, "How delightfully refreshing to meet such 
 candor! My instinct has not played me false; I knew 
 you were a little country girl when you were so upset by 
 your partner's deafness. You became so flushed and 
 agitated that I said to myself, 'This girl is from the 
 country; she is fresh and worth cultivating.'" I felt 
 piqued and annoyed. So he had been drawing me out ! 
 He had been enjoying my gaitcheries! He had been 
 sounding the depths of my ignorance ! 
 
 " And so you have been cultivating me ? You have 
 cast the pearls of your wisdom at the feet of a 'little 
 country girl ! ' How extremely kind of you ! I feel like 
 Esther must have felt when the sceptre was extended 
 to her, and am indeed grateful." 
 
 I laughed, but, try as I would, I could not keep a 
 note of hurt anger from my voice, and when Aunt 
 
 [98]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Menelophe rose at that moment I fairly bolted from 
 the room. 
 
 When the men joined us later he walked across the 
 room negligently and dropped into a seat beside me. 
 
 " That was a nasty cut," he said. " I don't think I 
 deserved it." 
 
 " Don't you ? " I replied, beginning to bristle. " Well, 
 put it down to the want of discrimination on the part 
 of a village miss." 
 
 "I am very sorry if I have offended you by what I 
 said. I did not mean to be patronizing. I always say 
 exactly what I think, and you struck me as being quite 
 the freshest and most straightforward girl I had met 
 for many a long month. It did not seem to me a 
 breach of good manners to tell you so." 
 
 I felt somewhat mollified. 
 
 " But I am not straightforward." 
 
 " Well, nobody is," he said reassuringly. 
 
 "Yes, mother is," I said quickly; and then I could 
 have bitten my tongue out, for he began to laugh 
 again gently. 
 
 " Who is mother ? " he asked. 
 
 "Look here," I replied, my temper again rising, 
 "if we are to continue our conversation please do not 
 laugh at every word I utter in that quizzical, amused 
 sort of way. Perhaps you do not mean it as such, 
 perhaps I am unduly sensitive, but all the time I feel 
 you are making fun of me, and I don't like it." 
 
 He sat up, and became grave at once. 
 [99]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " I am sorry," he said gently. " I have no desire to 
 make fun of you. You must be very sensitive, as you 
 say. We have only known each other three-quarters 
 of an hour, and have already had two quarrels or mis- 
 understandings. I am not usually considered pugilis- 
 tic, and so " 
 
 " And so it must be my fault," I interrupted. " Well, 
 I won't be touchy any more, and you can stay and talk 
 to me if you like." 
 
 " Thanks," he said dryly, and then we both laughed. 
 
 He wasn't in the least patronizing again, and I told 
 him all about Heatherland and mother, and Angela 
 and Sammy, in all of which he expressed himself greatly 
 interested. But I could not get away from the im- 
 pression that he was weighing me up and drawing me 
 out and examining me as Butterby does his moths. I 
 was rather glad when the evening was over. He never 
 once left my side, and I wasn't brave enough to get up 
 and deliberately walk away, for he seemed to fascinate me. 
 
 "Well!" said Aunt Menelophe, when she came to 
 ray room to bid me good-night, "you have made a 
 conquest." 
 
 " Do you mean the deaf man ? " I asked. 
 
 "No," she replied, "I don't. You were extremely 
 rude to him. I mean Mr. Escourt, who is supposed to 
 be brilliantly clever a great literary light. Writes 
 something on everything. Essayist, reviewer, leader- 
 writer, and novelist, I believe. Lives in London. A 
 great friend of my son Wellesley. Unmarried, a pro- 
 
 [100]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 fessed woman-hater, and 5,000 a year. He is useful 
 at parties, but 7 don't much care for him." 
 
 " And I don't like him," I agreed. 
 
 " How do you behave, then, to a man you do like ? 
 I merely ask from a spirit of curiosity. I observed you 
 talked to Mr. Escourt the entire evening," said Aunt 
 Menelophe. 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe," I replied, "you are frequently 
 untruthful, and not exercising a good influence over 
 me. Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night," said she, and went out of the room 
 laughing. 
 
 I was tired and excited, and was a long, long time 
 in getting off to sleep. My feet were cold and my head 
 was hot. I went through each course of the dinner and 
 every item of Mr. Escourt's conversation. How well 
 he had talked! And did he not say Poe's The Whirl- 
 pool was the most emotional thing that had ever been 
 written, or did he say realistic ? Perhaps it was Locks- 
 ley Hall he described as being strongly emotional. 
 What a pity to have forgotten. But what did it matter ? 
 
 "Why, it was Jack and the Beanstalk," came a 
 voice. 
 
 I started, and there were the lobster salad and ice 
 pudding walking down the room hand-in-hand. 
 
 " He didn't," I contradicted, feeling annoyed. 
 
 "He did! he did! he did !" they shouted. 
 
 Then the shrimps began to untie themselves from 
 the paper; and the cheese straws, with pink ribbon 
 
 [101]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 sashes round their waists, capered about wildly; and 
 the grouse began to jump over chairs ; and champagne 
 bottles, dressed in white serviettes, waltzed round the 
 room with the sherries and ports. And then they all 
 joined hands and, bowing, cried, "We will now sit 
 upon Miss Hazel Wycherley's chest," and before I 
 could move they climbed on to the bed and swarmed 
 over me and pressed me flat flatter and flatter. I 
 gasped, I tried to shriek out, I panted, I labored for 
 breath, I was suffocating, I rolled in agony, I was 
 dying. And then, with one terrific effort, I pushed and 
 heaved, and shoved and strained, and woke up. I 
 was clutching the pillows frantically, my forehead was 
 wet, I felt as though I had just emerged from a big 
 prize-fight, when horror upon horror! something 
 was in the room. I sat up in bed wildly straining into 
 the darkness. Something moved ! A scream froze on 
 my lips, my breath came quickly, my heart stopped. 
 It was the ghost! Something hammered in my brain, 
 "It's the toad! It's the toad!" God! how could I 
 bear the horror of it ? Was I dreaming ? Was I mad ? 
 It moved nearer and nearer and nearer. It touched 
 the bed. Slowly it worked up toward me, clawing the 
 air; and, with one frenzied yell, I rose up in bed and 
 grabbed something by the nose. 
 
 "Damn it!" came a voice; "what the devil are you 
 doing, Hazel? Let go." For I was holding on like 
 grim death to some struggling creature. 
 
 "Oh, Butterby!" I sobbed, "is it you? You are 
 
 [10-2]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 sure you are not a toad. You are quite sure you are 
 not the toad. Oh, dear Butterby! say you won't turn 
 into a toad and spit at me ? I couldn't bear it. Oh. ! 
 oh ! oh ! I was never so terrified in my life. Oh, But- 
 terby ! how could you ? It was cruel of you. It was 
 wicked. The shock has nearly killed me. I can feel 
 my hair turning snow-white. Oh, Butterby, the hor- 
 ror of it ! How could you ? How could you ? " I was 
 sobbing bitterly, and great tears were splashing on to 
 the bed. 
 
 Butterby did not reply for a moment. I could feel 
 he was rubbing his injured member, and I cheered up 
 a little. I must have hurt him badly. 
 
 At last he spoke. 
 
 "Look here, Hazel, I am beastly sorry. I never 
 meant to frighten you. I completely forgot you were 
 sleeping here. It is years since this room was occupied. 
 I keep some entomological books in the top drawer of 
 the chest of drawers." (This was true, for I had seen 
 them.) "The bookcase in the library is overflowing, 
 so I stuck them here, as I have no room in my quarters. 
 Do you see ? " 
 
 "Yes," I replied injuredly. "But I can't see what 
 that has to do with your wandering in here in the 
 dead of night and frightening me into blue fits, and 
 causing me to be ill for months from shock." 
 
 He patted my arm soothingly. 
 
 "Don't cry, old girl! It was this way. I couldn r t 
 
 sleep. I think it was the lobster and " 
 
 [103]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Yes," I interrupted. " It was. My lobster wouldn't 
 sleep either, neither would the shrimps; but I didn't 
 wander round the house and play ghosts, and scare 
 people to death and " 
 
 "Wait a moment," said he; "let me finish. Well, 
 I was sick of lying awake, and I thought I would read 
 a bit, so I came here for one of the books ; it was nearer 
 than going downstairs. Now do you understand?" 
 
 " I hear what you say. But why didn't you bring a 
 light with you ? It is not usual to tramp about a house 
 in the pitch dark, is it ? " I inquired scathingly. 
 
 "I forgot. That's a fact. I never thought of it. 
 There was a low light on the landing and in the corri- 
 dor, and I knew the geography of the room so well that 
 I thought I could grope my way to the chest of drawers 
 without 
 
 " Instead of which you lost your bearings and groped 
 your way to the bed and half-killed your poor step- 
 cousin," said I, beginning to gulp again. "Now go. 
 Some day I'll try and forgive you, but I can't to-night. 
 I am too unnerved. So please go away," and I sobbed 
 afresh. 
 
 Butterby stood still for a moment, and then, groping 
 his way to the door, went out without another word. 
 I heard him fall over something in the corridor, which 
 gave me some small satisfaction. 
 
 "Idiot!" I said. "Great idiot! I wish he would 
 turn into an insect himself, and then I would tread 
 on him." 
 
 [104]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 With which vindictive expression I turned over in 
 order to seek sleep, but never was I so wide awake in 
 my life. My brain seemed on fire and my body felt 
 like water. Then I fell to laughing weakly as I pic- 
 tured Butterby's nose, and I went on laughing till I 
 cried again, and then a knock came at the door, and 
 very feebly I said " Come in." 
 
 "Some new development," I thought. "Perhaps 
 this is the goat with two tails," and I raised my head, 
 feebly interested. 
 
 "It's only I, Hazel," and again a shadowy figure 
 moved toward the bed. "I've brought you a rasp- 
 berry tart," and Butterby thrust a large, jammy lump 
 of pastry into my hand, and then fled. 
 
 A raspberry tart when my mouth was like a lime- 
 kiln ! Why couldn't he have brought a bucket of water 
 into which I could thrust my head ? I flung the tart 
 to the other end of the room, where I heard it squelch 
 against the wall. But it was kind of Butterby very 
 kind. He was not such a bad sort. 
 
 When I related my tragic story to Aunt Menelophe 
 this morning all she remarked was 
 
 "And you say that Butterby rapped out a 'damn.' 
 I didn't know the boy had it in him." 
 
 And she looked as pleased as if he had just received 
 the V.C. 
 
 [105]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 I Return Home and Exchange Sentiments with Jerry 
 on Autumn 
 
 ONCE again am I enswathed in my old, work- 
 aday, brown stuff gown, an opportunity not 
 having yet arisen in which to throw ink 
 down the front of the skirt. The silk tea-gown has 
 been consigned to a cupboard in the spare room, and 
 covered up from the dust with an old nightgown. 
 
 " Perhaps you may have a long illness at some future 
 date, and then you could wear it to receive visitors," 
 said mother cheerfully. 
 
 "I should cut it up into an evening dress," sug- 
 gested Angela still more cheerfully. " The chiffon frills 
 would trim the neck of the bodice nicely." 
 
 "It will remain a tea-gown to the end of its days," 
 I answered firmly. 
 
 " When will you wear it ? " asked Angela. 
 
 "Angela," I replied, "you should check that spirit 
 of curiosity before it becomes too deeply rooted. Curi- 
 osity is not a pleasant feature in any one's character, 
 and it once killed a cat. Tradition says it was care, 
 but I am convinced it was curiosity." 
 
 [106]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Then I walked out of the room with dignity and left 
 Angela gaping. I rarely correct my sister; in fact, I 
 dare not. But when I do her breath comes in gasps. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe saw me off at the station yesterday 
 afternoon. She presented me with a five-pound note, 
 a box of chocolates, and Ally Sloper. 
 
 " Good-by, little girl," said she. " Tell your mother 
 I return you exactly three weeks to the day, and many 
 thanks for the loan. I wish I could keep you three 
 months, but I am a woman of my word. You have 
 cheered up an old woman, and almost made her a Free 
 Trader and Liberal. Remember all I have told you 
 about clothes, and wear blue. Never again put on that 
 frightful pink. Give it to the first beggar woman you 
 meet. Come whenever you like to the Hall. You will 
 always find a welcome, And should you ever be in 
 trouble, bring it to me, and we'll see what can be done 
 with it. Value your mother. A good mother is the 
 nearest thing to heaven, and one generally finds this 
 out when she is gone. Your mother must be a good 
 woman to wear such caps as you describe. Good-by." 
 
 Then she kissed me on both cheeks, and I choked 
 and got into the train. 
 
 As it was slowly moving out of the station, Butterby 
 dashed along the platform and thrust a small paper 
 parcel into my hand. 
 
 " It's a beetle," he gasped. " Take very great care of 
 it. It was the rarest beetle in my collection, and is 
 valuable. I I'm sorry I frightened you so. Good-by." 
 
 [107]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Good-by, Butterby. Thanks awfully. I'm all 
 right now," I shouted as we began to get up steam. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe waved a wisp of lace, and Butterby 
 an exceedingly soiled handkerchief after me, and I 
 flapped Ally Sloper till we turned a corner and they 
 were lost to view. 
 
 I opened the parcel gingerly I am a bit suspicious 
 of entomologists; they often seem to run to live crea- 
 tures but there lay the duckiest, little bronze beetle, 
 with heaps of legs, mounted in gold a little lace 
 brooch, on pink cotton wool. 
 
 How kind of Butterby! Poor old Butterby! I was 
 growing quite fond of him. He was a dear old thing, 
 and stupendously clever. As Aunt Menelophe said, 
 he appeared to have every ology in his head but that of 
 business. He had shown me his collection of moths 
 and butterflies and insects the night before. 
 
 '* Butterby," I had said, "I should open a South 
 Kensington Museum in the Potteries, and then when 
 the 'wakes' were on there would be something im- 
 proving for the people to do. Just think what a 
 boon your insects would be on a wet day! and how 
 glorious for them to see a cockroach impaled on a 
 pin!" 
 
 "That isn't a cockroach," said Butterby, following 
 the direction of my eyes, " that is a Tiger beetle. You 
 don't seem to know much about anything. Girls are 
 very ignorant." 
 
 " Well, don't be depressed about it, dear Butterby," 
 
 [108]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I replied. " Girls get on very well, and are almost as 
 useful as entomologists." 
 
 But he did not hear me: Butterby rarely listens to 
 people talking. 
 
 When I arrived at Birkenhead, and made my way 
 to Woodside and the old, familiar 'bus, I somehow felt 
 that Jerry would touch his hat and spring forward to 
 help me in ; but he did nothing of the kind. 
 
 "Evenin' to you, Miss Hazelt," says he. "You're 
 just 'ome in toime, for your pigs is bein' killed this 
 week, and you wouldn't loike to 'ave missed that, I 
 reckon. Your ma's sausages, I'm told, is the best 
 made in 'Eatherland. Now just wait a minute, and 
 I'll put you some clane straw in the bottom o' the 
 'bus." 
 
 " Thank you, Jerry," I replied; " I'm going outside." 
 
 I could see Joey Tomlinson coming along in the dis- 
 tance, and Joey appears to prefer a diet of onions to 
 any other. 
 
 "Eh, but you'll be rare cold, Miss Hazelt; these 
 nights in October 'ave a sharp bit o' frost in 'em nips 
 your fingers. Now you take my ad voice and get insoide 
 among the clane straw." 
 
 He might have been addressing one of mother's pigs, 
 enticing it to a warm bed. 
 
 "No, thank you, Jerry. I shall be all right. I like 
 these crisp nights," I answered, climbing up to the 
 seat beside him. He lent me some of his mackintosh 
 apron and tucked it in well round me. Soon we had 
 
 [109]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 left the town behind us, and were swinging along the 
 sweet-scented country lanes; the horses were fresh and 
 were going home, and the passengers few. The sky 
 was clear, and in the fading light I could just make 
 out the familiar landmarks the waterworks at Pren- 
 ton, the old white mill, and the distant Welsh hills. 
 
 There were no such lanes in Blongton, and I sniffed 
 in the sweet, seductive scent of dying trees and leaves 
 and bracken, and soft, moist earth. 
 
 "Doesn't autumn smell lovely, Jerry?" I said. 
 " Nearly as nice as spring, only not so hopeful." 
 
 Jerry sniffed the air like a rabbit. 
 
 "No," replied he, "I don't smell anythink, only 
 some manure yonder in the fields 'longside o' Prenton." 
 
 " Jerry, you are a Philistine," I cried. " You have 
 no romance in you no sense of beauty. Don't you 
 love the delicious scent of the yellow and red and 
 brown leaves which are dying and rustling and falling 
 falling to earth? Don't you like the smell of the 
 pale, yellowing bracken breathing its last among the 
 brown heather and gorse and beneath the tangled, 
 weeping hedges ? Don't you love the scent of the fungi 
 in the little wet, shady woods, and the fragrance of the 
 pine-needles as they drop one by one to the ground, 
 softer and more silent than raindrops on summer 
 flowers asleep? Doesn't the lush moss at the foot of 
 the trees, and the brown growth which creeps up the 
 gray trunks, fill you with a land of delicious sadness, 
 which is almost akin to pain ? Don't the fading and 
 
 [110]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 drooping autumn flowers the dahlias and hollyhocks 
 with their curious, subtle scent, the Michaelmas daisies 
 and phlox make you think of the autumn of life 
 the gentle sitting down and resting and dreaming after 
 the strenuous, voluptuous life of the spring and sum- 
 mer? Don't they, Jerry? Don't you ever feel these 
 things?" 
 
 Jerry remained silent for a moment and looked 
 gravely into the gathering darkness. Then he flicked 
 up his horses, which had fallen into a walk, and spoke. 
 
 "Nay, Miss Hazelt," he said, "oi never felt loikes 
 what yer descroibes not wonst in my loife. If oi had 
 oi should 'ave thought oi was drunk. Poine-needles 
 makes me think of turpentoin turps and goosegrease 
 is what the auld woman rubs my chest wi' in winter; 
 dead brackin remoinds me it makes a good, dry bed- 
 din' for pigs; the droppin' leaves puts me in moind of 
 leaf mould for the garding; dalies and 'olly'ocks 
 makes me think of 'arvest festivals; an' autumn itself 
 calls to moind things loike Michaelmas geese, rent 
 day, ' duckin' apple ' night, and to tell the auld woman 
 to put an extry blanket on the bed. Oi should be 
 roight miserable if oi felt as yer descroibs at the fallin' 
 of the year. Oi should stop insoide and take hot 
 drinks, indade oi should and all." 
 
 " But I enjoy it, Jerry," I said gently. " I love it." 
 
 "Do yer? Ah, well," he remarked, "wimin seems 
 to 'ave the queerest ways of enjoyin' 'emselves. When 
 my auld woman is extry bad and down in the dumps 
 
 [ill]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 she goes to a saint's-day sarvace. As soon as she goes 
 to saint's-day sarvaces oi knows oi'm in fer a poor 
 supper. She 'asn't the 'eart or strength to see after 
 both. Oi 'ates a saint's-day sarvace more'n oi do Sun- 
 day before Easter, which is so bloomin' long oi falls 
 asleep all over the place," and Jerry sighed heavily and 
 fell into thought. 
 
 It was seven o'clock and quite dark as we swung 
 down the lane and pulled up at our front gate. I could 
 see the lights shining through the trees and shrubs, 
 and Sammy was on the step to receive my trunk. As I 
 walked with him up to the house, Dibbs dashed across 
 the lawn and spun in front of me like a merry-go- 
 round. And mother was waiting at the door with her 
 cap on one side, and Angela was just behind her, and 
 Rose, trim in cap and apron, was just behind Angela, 
 and Elizabeth was peeping through the kitchen door. 
 After all, home was not so bad. I hugged mother, 
 kissed Angela, shook hands with Rose, nodded to 
 Elizabeth, and patted Dibbs, who was still behaving 
 like a thing demented. 
 
 The entire place smelt of soap, furniture polish, and 
 general cleanliness. The linoleum shone and the 
 mahogany table and chairs gleamed in the lamp- 
 light. 
 
 "Angela," I said as I walked into the dining-room, 
 "this is the cleanest house in Great Britain. A Dutch 
 house might give it odds. One cannot say. But noth- 
 ing in Great Britain could touch it." 
 
 [112]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Is it cleaner than Aunt Menelophe's ? " inquired 
 my sister eagerly. 
 
 " Much," I replied with emphasis as I sat down. 
 
 "And she has five women servants and one man, 
 you say?" continued Angela. 
 
 "Yes," said I. "And I am convinced that they 
 never clean the picture-rods with vinegar once a year, let 
 alone twice," and my eyes rested on the top of the walls. 
 
 Angela's eyes followed mine with quiet pleasure. 
 
 " Yes," she remarked with a little sigh of satisfaction, 
 " they do look nice." 
 
 Presently she suggested I should take off my things, 
 as tea was ready and the chicken would be spoilt. 
 
 "And don't spill any candle-grease on the stairs," 
 she called after me, " as they have just been done with 
 brown paper and an iron." 
 
 Then I became wicked. I was quite cheerful and 
 contented till Angela mentioned the word grease and 
 told me to mind. I hate being told to mind. I walked 
 slowly up the stairs, and as soon as I had turned the 
 corner I bent down and spilt one nice, fat spot of 
 grease on a red flower in the carpet on the top stair. 
 Then I felt happier and passed on to my room. 
 
 It looked cheerless and excessively clean. Where 
 was the bright wood fire ? Where were the soft, yellow 
 walls and frilly, silk curtains ? The fuchsias on the 
 paper looked stiff and chilly. And why did Angela 
 insist on having the Nottingham lace curtains starched 
 so aggressively? They might have been wearing 
 8 [113]
 
 crinolines. I gave them a vicious prod, and they 
 merely crackled and sprang back again. I walked to 
 the bed and gave the stiff, staring white counterpane 
 a tweak. Why couldn't it be soft and lacy and frilly 
 like Aunt Menelophe's? I stared at the six prim 
 crochet mats on the dressing-table, all matching, and 
 exactly opposite to one another. On one rested a can- 
 dlestick; on another rested a candlestick both white 
 china with pink bands. On a third rested a ring-stand 
 I have one ring. On a fourth lay a trinket-jar, also 
 white china with a pink band. A fifth would support 
 a small Bible, and the sixth Jeremy Taylor when I had 
 unpacked them. I passed to the washstand. Four 
 more crochet mats reposed there, but these were red 
 and white. I mixed them all up with the dressing- 
 table mats, and chuckled as I pictured Rose sorting 
 them out in the morning. Afterward I opened the 
 window, and leaned out into the night. The evening was 
 very still. Across the river, in Wales, the lights twin- 
 kled at me as I thought sympathetically. More 
 lights twinkled in the blue above. Then the moon rose 
 in splendor, and sent a shimmering band of light across 
 the waters of the Dee. The little waves turned into 
 silver, and rippled and tumbled and laughed. And a 
 tiny breeze came along and caught up the laugh, and 
 carried it to the trees and leaves close to my window. 
 And the leaves laughed, too, and rustled and tumbled 
 one over another to the soft grass below ; and one little 
 yellow one blew against my lips as though to kiss me, 
 
 [114]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and I held it in my hand and stroked its damp, fading 
 face. Bit by bit the soft stillness of the night entered 
 my being, and a peace fell upon me. 
 
 What did it all matter ? How could I care about the 
 little worries and jars of life when I was still young and 
 strong, and had the trees and river and hills and dear 
 Mother Earth to love and to comfort me ? And there 
 was my own mother. There was always mother, who, 
 when I could get her away from Angela, was the very 
 nicest of mothers. I would 
 
 " Hazel, are you coming ? " said mother's voice sud- 
 denly behind me. 
 
 I started. 
 
 " Yes, mother, I'm coming." 
 
 " What were you doing ? " she asked, looking at me 
 suspiciously. "You've been crying." 
 
 "No, I haven't," I lied. "My eyes are watering 
 after the wind in my face." 
 
 Then I took her arm in mine, and we walked down 
 the stairs together. When we reached the bottom 
 stair, I said 
 
 "Mother, will you give me another kiss?" and I 
 put my arms round her tightly. 
 
 She did so, and looked at me wonderingly. 
 
 "Aren't you well ?" she asked. 
 
 "Quite," I replied, forcing a laugh. "So well that 
 I feel equal to eating two whole chickens myself." 
 
 " There is only one," said mother practically, " Gray 
 Legs she was killed yesterday." 
 
 [115]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 An All-Hallows' E'en Party 
 
 THE last fortnight had been so chock-full of 
 events and things happening and things about 
 to happen, that I have decided Heatherland 
 is not half so dull a place as I imagined. Even pig- 
 killing day was not so sad as usual. It is generally a 
 day I look upon with horror a sanguinary, odious 
 sort of day; a day upon which I efface myself as 
 much as Angela will permit; a day upon which I stuff 
 my fingers into my ears and fly to the most remote 
 corner of the garden anywhere and anything to es- 
 cape those terrible screams. This time I put on my 
 hat and jacket and rushed off to the shore. I met Bill 
 the pig-killer in his blue coat just as I was leaving the 
 front gate. 
 
 "Oh, Bill!" I cried, "hurt Sukey as little as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 Bill has such nice feelings, considering his vocation. 
 
 "Ay, ay! Miss Hazelt," he replied. "Sukey will 
 feel it no more than if it was a fleabite. One mo- 
 ment she's 'ere and the next she's sausages, so to 
 speak." 
 
 [116]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Don't, Bill," I said; "I can't bear it. Nobody 
 knows what Sukey has been to me." And I hurried 
 on, trying not to think or see things too vividly. 
 
 Sukey was such a nice, adaptable, happy-go-lucky 
 sort of pig. She would eat anything that was put 
 before her and appear to enjoy it. Once she ate up an 
 old sponge of mine that had been thrown by accident 
 into the sty. Another time she devoured one of Eliza- 
 beth's dish-cloths. Nothing seemed to come amiss 
 with her. She never carped at life, and now now it 
 was to be ended. 
 
 I threw stones into the water for Dibbs. I made 
 ducks and drakes with the little flat ones. I watched 
 the shadows racing each other up the hills in the sunlit 
 fields. I wandered into Dick Manner's lane and 
 picked some red-leaved bramble. I noted that winter 
 was very near, that the grass on the banks was rank 
 and sodden, and the sedges and reeds by the little 
 streams were brown and bent and lay low in the run- 
 ning water. Yes, winter was corning. The long hours 
 in the soft, cool wind and warm sunshine, and fragrant 
 lanes and fields were at an end. The hawthorn hedges 
 were bare of leaf, and the branches of the oak and 
 mountain ash the longest-lived of the big trees 
 were naked and forlorn. I sighed and went home. 
 Why was summer so short and winter so long? It 
 would have been quite as easy so arrange it the other 
 way about. I paused when I reached Sandy Lane. I 
 would go straight into the house; mother would be 
 
 [117]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 wanting me. But I didn't. My feet carried me to the 
 yard and the wash-house, from whence the sound 
 of voices proceeded. There lay Sukey white in death 
 on the floor. Bill was pouring boiling water over her, 
 and Sammy was scraping her. She looked resigned 
 and peaceful. 
 
 " Twenty score if she's an ounce, Miss Hazelt," said 
 Sammy with pride. 
 
 "Yes, she digested her food well," I replied. 
 
 "An' she came along as quiet as a dog on a string, 
 and she was ttiat fat she couldn't screech," remarked 
 Bill comfortingly. 
 
 But I had no craving for details, and went into the 
 house reflecting what a curious and sad thing is life for 
 some of God's creatures. 
 
 The next two days were filled with curing and pick- 
 ling and boiling, and sausage-making and pork pies, 
 and I never once gave way to irritability ; in fact, I am 
 so amiable and gentle that I am becoming nervous 
 that something may happen. Perhaps I am growing 
 good! Perhaps I am braced and strengthened and 
 invigorated both in mind and body for my change. 
 Or perhaps mother and Angela discovered in my ab- 
 sence that after all I am not so bad. Angela has ceased 
 to watch me warily out of the corner of her eye each 
 time I enter the room, which always gave the impres- 
 sion that she was a detective on the track of a base 
 criminal. She does not adopt those martyred, injured 
 tones of old when she requests me to dust the drawing- 
 
 [118]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 room or help brush the mattresses on bedroom-cleaning 
 day. She does not keep reminding me that she, mother, 
 Elizabeth, and Rose are simply run off their legs with 
 work, while I look on and do nothing. 
 
 Or does she do these things? After all, she may, 
 and perhaps it is only I who am changed. I am so 
 bright and happy and unselfish, as I said before, and 
 so filled with a desire to do kind things for others, that 
 I feel like Ministering Children, and am quite nervous 
 of being caught up to heaven like Elijah without dying. 
 I am not yet ready to go. I am invited to tea, with 
 mother and Angela, to Mr. Inderwick's, and I want to 
 wear my new, blue, beaver hat. 
 
 At last I have met that man. It was at Mrs. Moss's 
 party on "All-Hallows' E'en," and I like him 
 rather. 
 
 I remembered what Aunt Menelophe advised, and I 
 behaved toward him as though nothing had happened; 
 and he was so magnanimous. 
 
 He was not there the first part of the evening, and 
 it was a little dull. It is difficult to make Mr. and 
 Mrs. Moss realize that we are grown up. 
 
 Angela and I wore our white, embroidered muslins, 
 which were freshly got-up by Mrs. Flutterby for the 
 occasion, and were as starchy as our curtains. 
 
 I thought it would be a pleasant change for Heath- 
 erland to see my new silk from Rea's in Basnett Street; 
 but Angela said " Ridiculous ! Think what it would be 
 like when we play games ! " 
 [119]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I had forgotten the games. 
 
 It was a pitch-dark night, and Rose accompanied 
 us to the Moss's with a lantern. Mother always sends 
 Rose with us. She says it is safer along these lonely 
 roads. This generalization I have never been able to 
 follow. Rose is considerably younger than Angela, and 
 much smaller in stature than I. Then, too, she has to 
 return alone, which I think far from safe. But mother 
 says it is quite different for her, as she is not in the 
 sajne social position. Surely blackguards and thieves 
 and evil men bent on dark deeds do not worry about 
 class distinctions! Some day I know Rose will be 
 murdered in Sandy Lane, and then mother will be 
 sorry. 
 
 We were the first to arrive, Angela is so punctual. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Moss, Frederick, and four daughters 
 received us in the drawing-room with cups of coffee. 
 Frederick was looking tragic. He stared at the ceiling 
 and gnawed his moustache. I guessed an epic poem 
 was simmering. 
 
 Rosabel and Alicia Hawthorn were the next to be 
 announced. Rosabel had on a new blue frock, which 
 annoyed me excessively. She had risked the games. 
 Why hadn't I ? Then Mr. Gates bulked large in the 
 doorway, followed by the Honorable Horatio Stanhope 
 a nephew. Mrs. Gates was removing her hat. The 
 Honorable Horatio caused a flutter, but unfortunately 
 he is a little bow-legged. 
 
 Then one by one the young members of the Heath- 
 [120]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 erland "families" trooped in. Mr. and Mrs. Gates 
 were the only grown-ups. They are invited to all 
 functions, otherwise they would invite themselves. 
 Mr. Gates says the cloth should be represented at all 
 times and all seasons; it lends a restraining influence. 
 Perhaps he thinks we should become too uncontrolled 
 over "Turn the Trencher" if he were not present. 
 Mrs. Moss's parties always open with "Turn the 
 Trencher." 
 
 We filed into the organ-room, which has a polished 
 floor, and took up our positions. 
 
 Is there any one in this world who has not met that 
 fascinating game, " Turn the Trencher " ? 
 
 Whenever I am specially dull and depressed I just 
 think of "Turn the Trencher." I fancy I hear the 
 twirl of the little, wooden tray on the polished floor. 
 I hear some one call " Poppy," and I dash forward in 
 wild haste. Am I too late ? Shall I catch it ? 
 
 We are all loyal to each other we Heatherlandites 
 in the matter of names. We never poach each 
 other's. I have been " Poppy " from time immemorial, 
 and Angela is "Camelia," which seems to suit her so 
 admirably. For is not a camelia the neatest and 
 primmest and most composed of flowers ? Angela 
 slides down the room with an undulating movement 
 when "Camelia" is called. She doesn't bustle, and 
 she is always in time. I would give much to see Angela 
 once miss the trencher, but she never will. Angela 
 never misses things. 
 
 [121]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 After "Turn the Trencher" we played "General 
 Post." In this again we invariably stick to our own 
 names. I should be really angry if any one claimed 
 Timbuctoo. I should feel like a parson who has been 
 done out of his tithes by some stupid parliamentary 
 bill. 
 
 "The post runs between Timbuctoo and the North 
 Pole, " calls out Mrs. Moss in dulcet tones. It is a fren- 
 zied moment. The blindfolded one is close on my 
 heels. Shall I dodge her? With lithe, snake-like 
 movements I creep along the floor. I coil and uncoil, 
 I dodge, I double, I feint, and glide breathless into the 
 North Pole's chair. The North Pole is Frederick 
 Moss. He has allowed himself to be caught deliber- 
 ately. He looks well posing in the middle of the room, 
 with his sprouting red moustache peeping below the 
 handkerchief; and he is so long in catching another 
 town that we become tired. 
 
 " Hands up for ' Clumps,' " calls Mrs. Moss in an 
 inspiriting voice. Up go our hands, for "Clumps" is 
 an instructive game, an education in itself. I think 
 after "Turn the Trencher" I like "Clumps" next 
 best. 
 
 "You go out, Hazel." 
 
 I bow with surprised pleasure, and the Honorable 
 Horatio accompanies me to the hall. We select the 
 wart on Oliver Cromwell's nose. 
 
 "Is it animal?" whispers the Hon. Horatio as we 
 enter the room. 
 
 [122]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Of course," I reply. " Did you think it was vege- 
 table?" 
 
 We each sit down in the middle of our respective 
 "Clump." Questions in whispers fly about the room 
 like greased lightning. I parry, I dissemble, but they 
 are hot on the scent, and in a moment a wild clapping 
 of hands announces that my " Clump " has won. 
 
 The other " Clump " looks aggrieved. " But he said 
 it was ornamental," and accusing fingers are pointed 
 at the Hon. Horatio. The Hon. Horatio twirls and 
 fidgets on his music-stool, and looks unhappy. 
 
 "Now for refreshments. But perhaps nobody 
 wants refreshments," says Mr. Moss. 
 
 He makes the same little joke every year, and we 
 all laugh. We like Mr. Moss; he is a dear, and so 
 kind to young people, and has such a beautiful white 
 beard. 
 
 We scatter ourselves about the dining-room and 
 devour oyster pafes and chicken creams. I can see 
 Angela counting up the cost of the pates and wonder- 
 ing if the cases are home-made. I eat six. "Turn 
 the Trencher" is hungry work. Then we pass on to 
 jellies and sweets, and I raise a large spoonful of my 
 favorite apple snow cream to my mouth. How de- 
 licious it is! When I am a rich woman I shall have 
 apple snow every Sunday for dinner, and always on 
 Bank Holidays. 
 
 Then the most exciting moment of the evening 
 arrives. We are led to a small breakfast-room, where 
 
 [123]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 on the floor rests a large tub full of water and apples. 
 "Ducking-apple" night must be observed. Each per- 
 son ducks in turn, and he or she who catches the 
 most apples in his or her mouth receives a prize. 
 
 Mrs. Moss remarks it is only for quite young peo- 
 ple, and the elder ones may look on if they like. Some 
 of them range themselves in chairs round the room. I 
 don't care if I'm young or old, I mean to duck for 
 apples till I'm fifty. It is the only real bit of fun in 
 the evening. 
 
 My turn has come. I fasten the big, Turkish towel 
 round my bare neck and shoulders in case of accident ; 
 I push back my hair; I kneel on a woolly mat; I take 
 a deep, long breath, and the next minute I am chivying 
 a small, foolish apple round and round the tub. It 
 bobs under as my teeth are about to close on it; it 
 shoots up like a cork and turns somersaults; it dances 
 and dives and spins round. I am getting angry and 
 very wet. Slowly and surely I manoeuvre it to the side 
 of the tub. I press it closely, and my teeth fasten 
 upon it like a hungry wolf's. With a dripping face 
 I emerge from the tub and drop the apple upon the 
 floor. 
 
 Cheer upon cheer greet my triumph, and, turning 
 round, I espy Mr. Inderwick smiling broadly in the 
 doorway. Hastily I gather myself up. Why does 
 Fate always put me into the most ridiculous attitudes 
 every time that man darkens my path? It is too 
 bad. He walks across the room with his slow, heavy 
 
 [124]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 gait, and, shaking hands with Mrs. Moss, apologizes 
 for being late. 
 
 "I was detained by business," I hear him explain, 
 "and afterward well, Sandy Lane is very sandy, 
 and Rocky Lane is horribly rocky." 
 
 Mrs. Moss laughs, and out of the corner of my 
 eye I see him glancing round the room for a chair. 
 The only vacant seat is by me. Its late occupant is 
 now ducking for apples in his turn the Hon. Horatio 
 Stanhope and is causing much laughter thereby. 
 He looks at the chair for a moment, then at me, and 
 hesitates. I feel my cheeks growing hot, and try to 
 mop my wet face and hair unconcernedly. Then he 
 deliberately crosses the room to Angela, and I hear him 
 ask her for an introduction to me. Angela looks aston- 
 ished, and well she may. 
 
 "But don't you know Hazel?" I hear my sister 
 say. "She is the girl in white with dark hair who 
 has just been ducking for apples." 
 
 I cannot catch his reply above the splashings of 
 the Hon. Horatio and the general laughter. But 
 Angela rises and brings him to me, and says 
 
 "This is Mr. Inderwick." 
 
 He bows gravely, and takes the seat beside me 
 without offering his hand. His calmness takes my 
 breath away. Has he forgotten my rudeness in the 
 stubbly field? or does he simply regard me in the 
 light of a spoiled child? Then Aunt Menelophe's 
 advice flashes across my mind, "Be natural, and 
 
 [125]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 behave just as though nothing had happened." I 
 feel, too, that it is impossible to be dignified when 
 he has just seen me with my head in a tub. So, as 
 quick as lightning, I turn round and offer him my 
 hand in friendly fashion. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Inderwick? I am glad 
 to renew our acquaintance," I say lightly. "It is 
 many years since we met. I should hardly have 
 known you." 
 
 N My heart is beating thickly; I am dreadfully ner- 
 vous, in spite of my airiness. How will he take it ? 
 A puzzled look steals across his countenance for a 
 moment, and he knits his brows. Then I begin to 
 enjoy myself, and have some difficulty in suppress- 
 ing a giggle. He glances at me swiftly for a 
 second, but my face is inscrutable at least, so 
 I imagine. His gaze returns to the apple-ducker with 
 interest. 
 
 "Yes," he says at length, "it is many years since 
 we met. I shouldn't have known you either." 
 
 It is my turn to start now, but he doesn't observe 
 it. He is laughing with the others, and is certainly 
 very indifferent. I wish he would pay more attention 
 to me. 
 
 " How long ago is it since you saw me ? " I inquire. 
 " Am I as much changed as that ? " 
 
 "Yes, you are very much altered. It is about three 
 wee I mean fourteen years," he says, without looking 
 at me. 
 
 [126]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Oh, of course. How time flies!" I remark bril- 
 liantly. 
 
 " Yes," he says, equally brilliantly. 
 
 Then a silence falls between us, and I study the 
 soles of the Hon. Horatio's patent shoes, which are 
 turned toward me from the mat upon which he kneels. 
 
 "I was quite a tiny girl in those days," I presently 
 remark, "and we went cockling together." 
 
 "Yes," he replies. 
 
 "And I got myself very dirty." 
 
 " Yes," he says again. 
 
 I begin to feel irritated. I wish he were not quite 
 so monosyllabic. I hate men who invariably reply 
 as though each word were worth its weight in gold. 
 
 " But perhaps you have forgotten it all ? " I inquire, 
 the least shade tartly. 
 
 "Perhaps I have," he says; and then he turns 
 round suddenly and smiles at me. 
 
 The smile might mean anything. It is quizzical 
 and kind, and amused and sarcastic and whimsical 
 all in the same breath, and is altogether so irresistible 
 that before I know what I am doing I am smiling 
 back at him like an easily-pleased infant. 
 
 " Ah ! " he says, and the smile broadens into a laugh, 
 "now I know you." 
 
 And just at this exceedingly interesting moment 
 Mrs. Moss announces it is my turn to duck. How 
 much longer is this foolish game to continue? My 
 interest in it has gone, and my luck has vanished. I 
 
 [127]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 chase a hard, green apple round the tub till I am 
 dizzy. It is as elusive as a shadow. I give it a final 
 vicious snap, and it merely shoots below like a torpedo 
 boat. I surrender amid roars of laughter, and I 
 emerge soaked, and vanish upstairs to dry myself and 
 brush my hair. 
 
 When I descended, they had all returned to the 
 drawing-room, and Mr. and Mrs. Moss were whisper- 
 ing in a corner. 
 
 " We are going to finish up the evening wrth a little 
 dance," announces Mrs. Moss. "Will you all help to 
 move the furniture ? " 
 
 The doors of the organ-room are thrown open, and 
 Mrs. Moss breaks into a seductive waltz. 
 
 Seventeen girls lean in careless attitudes against 
 the walls, and try not to remember that there are 
 only seven men among them, and one of them is 
 Frederick Moss. 
 
 I hear a manly tread behind me. I imagine it is 
 Mr. Inderwick, and turn round to find the Hon. 
 Horatio is offering me his arm. 
 
 " Ha! " he says, " may I have the pleasure ? " 
 
 Now I feel inclined to kick the Hon. Horatio, I 
 am so disappointed; but I place my hand on his arm 
 and we leap into the air. I had expected to waltz, 
 and the leap surprises me. But Mr. Stanhope appears 
 to enjoy it. After each jump through space he says 
 "Ha!" Sometimes we leap into other people, and I 
 am badly hurt; and just when I am at my last gasp he 
 
 [128]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 plumps me down on a chair, says, "Thanks awfully, 
 ha ! " and leaves me. 
 
 I lean my head dizzily against the wall, and feel 
 very sea-sick and miserable, and my frock is torn; 
 and then Mr. Inderwick came to me. 
 
 " I hope you are not hurt ? " he said kindly. 
 
 "No, thank you," I replied; "but I feel sick and 
 dizzy," and I closed my eyes. I really felt horribly 
 sick, and the room spun round me. Perhaps it was 
 on the top of the apple-ducking. I would have given 
 much at that moment to have put my head some- 
 where. I felt faint and queer, and I daren't say so. 
 Mr. Inderwick would think me an affected, little 
 fool. 
 
 "Would you like me to get you a glass of wine?" 
 I heard his voice say from somewhere; but it sounded 
 faint and small, and as though it did not belong to him. 
 
 "No, thank you," I replied in a still smaller voice; 
 "I'm all right." And the next moment there was a 
 singing in my ears, a blackness before my eyes, and 
 the whole room vanished. 
 
 It must have been only a momentary faintness, for 
 when I came round I was still sitting on the same chair, 
 and Mr. Inderwick was looking gravely at me. 
 
 " You turned faint ? " he said inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I believe I did." 
 
 "Come with me. This place is hot; the dining- 
 room is cool, and I'll get you some wine," he said, 
 and he led me from the room. 
 9 [ 129 1
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I still felt as though I were somebody else and he 
 was a long way off, and I walked shakily and the hall 
 seemed misty. 
 
 "Now," he ordered, "drink this, and don't speak. 
 You must lie down for a few minutes, and then you'll 
 feel better." 
 
 I gulped down some neat brandy and dropped my 
 head on to a cushion. How lovely and restful it was! 
 And how far away the music sounded ! I think I must 
 have fallen into a doze, for the next time I opened my 
 eyes Angela was leaning over me. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick tells me you turned faint, Hazel. 
 Are you better, and are you ready to go home ? Rose 
 has come for us," she said quite kindly. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I'm quite ready," and I rose from 
 the couch. But I was still dizzy, and my knees shook 
 under me. I managed, however, to get upstairs, and 
 by the time my cloak and hat were on and I was outside 
 in the fresh air, the world had resumed its normal pro- 
 portions. 
 
 Mr. Inderwick overtook us, and walked with us 
 to our gate. 
 
 "Thank you," I said, as we shook hands. "It is 
 the first time I have ever felt faint in my life; and I 
 feel grateful to you for not fussing and announcing 
 it to the room. I pride myself on my health and 
 strength; but I think it was six oyster patds and apple- 
 ducking combined." 
 
 "No," he said, "it wasn't. It was because a danc- 
 
 [130]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 ing Dervish caused you to spin round for ten min- 
 utes on end, and human nature couldn't stand it. 
 Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," I replied, laughing, and I went 
 into the house feeling quite comforted. 
 
 "You turned faint once before, in church, so this 
 makes the second time," remarked my sister with 
 her customary accuracy. 
 
 " So I did," I replied. " I forgot." 
 
 [131]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 We Go to Tea with Mr. Inderwick, and I Describe 
 the Dusting of Parian Jugs 
 
 WHEN Mr. Inderwick's invitation came for us 
 all to go to tea (it was four days after the 
 party) Angela remarked 
 
 "What a strange man! He is very unconventional." 
 
 "Why?" asked mother. "I think it's very friendly 
 and kind of him." 
 
 "It may be," said Angela. "I don't deny it; but 
 it shows he is unaccustomed to the usages of good 
 society," and my sister stroked the gathers of a night- 
 gown she was making with extra firmness and pre- 
 cision. 
 
 " But why ? " again asked mother. " He has invited 
 me to go with you both. He evidently understands 
 the necessity for a chaperon, and I hope my new 
 bonnet will be back in time." 
 
 "That is not the point," replied Angela. "Of 
 course he realizes that it would be impossible for us 
 two girls to go to the house alone." 
 
 " Not at all," I broke in. " I shouldn't care a button. 
 I think it would be great fun to go quite by myself." 
 
 [132]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Angela regarded me in stony surprise for ten seconds, 
 then she resumed her work in shocked silence. 
 
 "Well, Angela," resumed mother a little irritably, 
 " what do you mean ? Go on. In what way has Mr. 
 Inderwick outraged that which is accepted as correct 
 in good society ? " 
 
 "By not returning our call, for one thing. It is 
 nearly three weeks since we called on him, and you 
 are aware that a first call should be returned within 
 seven days. And, 'secondly, he should have waited 
 for the first invitation, for the first advance toward 
 friendship, to have come from us," and Angela closed 
 her lips with a snap. 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense! bunkum and rot!" I shouted 
 I admit, rudely. " I never heard such nonsense in 
 the whole of my life. You stay at home, Angela, if 
 you are so mighty particular, and mother and Mr. 
 Inderwick and I will have a nice little tea-party by 
 our three selves." 
 
 Once again Angela regarded me in the way she 
 regards spiders should they dare to cross a ceiling in 
 her presence, and I shrivelled up. I cannot with- 
 stand Angela's gaze for more than sixty seconds at 
 a time. My bones turn to water and my tongue cleaves 
 to the roof of my mouth. 
 
 "But really, Angela," I continued weakly, "do you 
 think we need observe all this etiquette quite so rigor- 
 ously in a country village, and we have known Mr. 
 Inderwick so many vears in a fashion ? " 
 
 [133]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 My sister unbent a little. 
 
 "Perhaps under the circumstances, and as the 
 invitation is for afternoon tea only, we might accept 
 it, though I'm not sure that it is wise." 
 
 Then she added a five minutes' lecture upon my 
 vulgar expressions and language. 
 
 "Where did you pick them up? It is really dis- 
 tressing to hear you." 
 
 "From Sammy and Jerry and other nice men in 
 Heatherland," I replied, as I pushed mother into a 
 chair at the writing table and placed pen and paper 
 before her. 
 
 The letter was written and sealed before Angela 
 could change her mind, and I rushed off to Sammy 
 with it, and told him to take it to the Old Hall Farm 
 at once. 
 
 "And don't lose it, Sammy," I said, "for it's most 
 important." 
 
 And I believe Sammy winked, but I'm not sure. I 
 try not to think so. 
 
 Tuesday seemed a long time in coming, but when 
 it did it was lovely and fresh and sunny, with white 
 clouds very high up in the sky chasing each other 
 across the blue. 
 
 I meant to give myself quite a long time to dress, 
 but the flecks of sunshine on the lawn and bare trees 
 kept inviting me to watch them. And the light and 
 shadow playing hide-and-seek on the hills in Wales 
 and across the fields were so delightful and frolic- 
 
 [134]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 some that I was only half ready when Angela's voice 
 came up the stairs from the hall. 
 
 "We are ready, Hazel, and waiting." 
 
 "Coming," I shouted as I slipped into my black 
 coat and skirt. 
 
 I could have wished for something different, but 
 when the pale blue beaver surmounted them and I 
 saw the sweeping curl of the ostrich feather on my 
 hair I felt somewhat comforted. Never before had 
 such a lovely hat descended upon Heatherland. "It 
 will gasp," I said to myself. " Rosabel will be simply 
 green." 
 
 I paused and studied myself for a moment in the 
 mirror. Was the tall, black figure confronting me 
 graceful or merely weedy ? The section of my brain 
 which is given over to vanity whispered "Graceful," 
 but the minute cell of my consciousness which contains 
 a fragment of truthfulness shouted out, " No, merely 
 weedy." 
 
 "Quite right," I said with a sigh; "merely weedy. 
 I must drink more milk and become graceful." 
 
 " Hazel, are you coming ? " came Angela's voice. 
 
 "Angela," I said, as I walked slowly down the 
 stairs buttoning my new, white gloves, " it is vulgar to 
 shout. You have often told me so. It is a bad ex- 
 ample for Rose and Elizabeth. Besides, it does not 
 look well to arrive at a place on the stroke of the hour. 
 It looks greedy. It looks as though we didn't get 
 enough to eat." 
 
 [135]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 But Angela missed the latter part of my sentence. 
 Her neat brown figure had vanished through the 
 front door, which seemed a pity. Advice is so good 
 for one at times. 
 
 "You shouldn't tease your sister so," said mother 
 with a sigh. "I wish you two were fonder of each 
 other." 
 
 "Mother, darling, you might as well wish that a 
 bee and a cricket would consent to keep house to- 
 gether." 
 
 "Which is the bee?" said mother with a show of 
 interest. 
 
 "Angela is," I replied. "She is always busy, and 
 is always storing up food for the winter in the shape 
 of jams and pickled cabbage, bottled fruits and pic- 
 kled eggs; and in addition she secretes a sharp sting 
 somewhere about her person." 
 
 " And you are the cricket ? " 
 
 "Yes, I'm- 
 
 " ' The silly young cricket, accustomed to sing 
 Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, 
 Who began to complain when she found that at home 
 Her cupboard was empty and winter had come.' " 
 
 "Yes," said mother, "you are certainly the cricket. 
 You are lazy and very naughty." 
 
 I laughed and hugged her. 
 
 "Mother," I said, "if you look at me like that I 
 am bound to hug you." 
 
 " How do you like my new bonnet now it's altered ? " 
 [136]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 she inquired anxiously as we followed Angela through 
 the gate. 
 
 "I think it's a perfect duck," I replied; "and no 
 wonder Mr. Inderwick invited you to tea. Chaperon, 
 indeed! A man like that doesn't worry his head 
 about chaperons." 
 
 Mother looked pleased. 
 
 "No," she said, "I don't think he would." 
 
 The sun was shining brightly upon us as we walked 
 along the Old Hall road and through a dear little 
 footpath across the fields to the house. We passed 
 the farmyard, with its nice-smelling hay-stacks; and 
 geese hissed at us, and turkeys gobbled and strutted 
 about in complete contentment, little recking of the 
 proximity of Christmas with its attendant sausages 
 and bread sauce. 
 
 "I like farmyards," I said, "and farmhouse kitch- 
 ens with their old oak settles, and hams hanging from 
 the blackened rafters, and blazing fires with great 
 haunches of venison turning in front of them; and 
 the dairy round the corner, full of cream and delicious 
 yellow butter and eggs." 
 
 "When butter is made at a farm the milk is gener- 
 ally poor and the cream thin," remarked Angela prac- 
 tically as she rang the front-door bell. 
 
 "What a lovely hall!" I whispered; but mother 
 and Angela were far too taken up with the maid- 
 servant's appearance to listen to me. 
 
 "She's dressed to-day," I heard mother whisper. 
 [137]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Yes, but her cap is much too jaunty. It looks 
 fast," answered Angela severely. 
 
 I thought she looked charming, but didn't say so. 
 We were shown into a room containing four arm- 
 chairs, a square, solid table, a bookcase, and a large 
 man reclining in the largest armchair I have ever 
 met. The man was Mr. Inderwick, and I fancy he 
 was asleep from the way he started up. 
 
 After greeting us, he placed mother in one chair with 
 a x hassock at her feet, which was very thoughtful of 
 him. Angela in another with a cushion at her back, 
 which made me want to smile. Fancy Angela with a 
 cushion! And me in a third, without either cushion 
 or hassock. He didn't say much, but gave one the 
 impression he was working hard. 
 
 Then he seated himself and heaved a sigh of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "I hope you are all comfortable, and if you want 
 anything please ask for it," he said in the tones of 
 a steward on board a ship. 
 
 We assured him we had never been so comfortable 
 in our lives, and I meant it. The chair was low and 
 roomy and deep, and the room gave one a sense of 
 space and comfort and a freedom from small things 
 which fall over. On the mantelpiece were a tall jar 
 of chrysanthemums, seven pipes, and about fifty boxes 
 of matches in neat little piles of dozens. A large blue 
 bowl rested on the solid table at Mr. Inderwick's 
 elbow, and in it was tobacco ash nothing else. The 
 
 [138]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 bookcase reached from floor to ceiling, as mother de- 
 scribed, and books of every size, shape, and description 
 filled its shelves, all in perfect order and neat as a new 
 pin. The carpet was warm and thick. There was 
 nothing else in the room excepting the chairs we sat 
 upon. 
 
 The windows were bare of curtains, and the Dee 
 could be seen stretching away like a wide, silver ribbon. 
 
 "What a lovely view!" I said, as I stepped to the 
 west window. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it fine?" he replied. "It would be hard 
 to beat those fields just below us, and then the river 
 beyond backed by the Welsh hills and a sunset once a 
 day." 
 
 " Not always," I said. 
 
 "No," he laughed, "more's the pity. But what I 
 like about the view is, that the fields are always chang- 
 ing color. First, they are a vivid green before the grass 
 is cut; then they turn into a sort of silver-gray green 
 when the hay has been carried ; then some of them are 
 gold when the corn is ripening, and these in their turn 
 become a different color when the corn has been cut; 
 and then they are ploughed, and are sad and brown; 
 and later they will probably be covered with snow, and 
 I shall have a dazzling white world to gaze upon." 
 
 I looked at him in quick sympathy. 
 
 " You like fields and the river and those things ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said simply, "I do." 
 
 A little cough of irritation from Angela brought me 
 [139]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 back to my chair, and the smart maid arrived at the 
 same instant with tea. 
 
 " If you please, sir, Mrs. Egerton says as you didn't 
 tell her about the ladies coming to tea, and she has no 
 cake; but she has sent in plenty of pertater cakes and 
 hot scones! And when you are ready for more will 
 you ring ? " 
 
 The maid's voice sounded as though she were 
 repeating a well-learned lesson or something out of the 
 Bible. There was a sad, almost reproachful ring in 
 it, and Mr. Inderwick looked guilty. 
 
 He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket. It con- 
 tained two knots, and he eyed them gravely. 
 
 "One was to tell Mrs. Egerton about your coming 
 to tea, and the other why, what was the other?" 
 He stroked his head, and became lost in thought. 
 
 " Perhaps the other was to remind you to give us tea 
 when it came," I suggested mildly, and Angela frowned 
 at me severely. 
 
 He chuckled for a minute. 
 
 "Perhaps it was," he said. "I'm awfully absent- 
 minded, Mrs. Wycherley, about things," he continued, 
 putting four lumps of sugar in one cup. "And I am 
 always tying knots in my handkerchief, and sometimes 
 it takes me an hour or so to remember what they were 
 for." 
 
 "How awkward," replied mother, with her eyes 
 fixed on the milk-jug. "Would you like me to pour 
 out for you ? " 
 
 [140]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Thanks awfully," he said gratefully. "Was I 
 doing anything wrong ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," said mother, lying bravely; "but I 
 know it's a task gentlemen don't care about," and 
 rising, she took his place. 
 
 His relief was laughable to behold. I thought I 
 had never met any one with two such strongly defined 
 sides to his character. When he was doing nothing 
 merely a looker-on he was calmness and coolness 
 personified. Put him in the position of host, or a 
 worker, which brought direct attention to bear upon 
 him, and he was like a great awkward schoolboy. 
 
 He became free-and-easy at once. Mother was 
 the hostess for the time being, and he was so enter- 
 taining, and the potato cakes were so buttery and 
 good, that I felt I would like to go every day to such 
 tea-parties. 
 
 How much jollier men were than women! I re- 
 flected. Aunt Menelophe said women were more 
 interesting than men. I wondered where they secreted 
 themselves. 
 
 He interrupted my train of thought. 
 
 " You are better, Miss Hazel ? " 
 
 " Quite," I replied; "but how did you know ?" 
 
 "You seem to like potato cakes. I am glad, as I 
 forgot the cake." 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick," I said, "you shouldn't comment 
 upon your guests' appetites." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 [141]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Was I commenting? I am sorry. I thought I 
 only said that I was glad you liked potato cakes. 
 Will you have another ? " 
 
 " Please," I replied. " And will you tell me why you 
 have so many boxes of matches on your mantelpiece ? " 
 
 " They are for lighting my pipe." 
 
 " Yes," I said, " that is obivous. But why so many ? " 
 
 "I don't call that number many. I dislike the 
 feeling of being short of matches. Nothing depresses 
 me more. So Mrs. Egerton has instructions to put 
 a gross of Bryant and May's on my mantelpiece once 
 a week." 
 
 " So there is no room for ornaments ? " 
 
 " No," he replied, " there's no room for ornaments." 
 
 "How nice!" I ejaculated. "And you have no 
 Parian jugs to wash or bronze horses to dust ? " 
 
 " No. What are Parian jugs ? " 
 
 I had quite forgotten mother and Angela. I realized 
 there was somebody in the world who hadn't met a 
 Parian jug. 
 
 " A Parian jug is white," I said, " and has a shaped, 
 thin spout; and on the body part of the jug grapes 
 and pomegranates grow, and round the neck vine 
 leaves and roses cling. And once a week you have 
 to scrub the grapes with a brush and soap and hot 
 water, and ' 
 
 "Hazel," cried mother and Angela together in 
 shocked tones, " how can you ? What are you talking 
 about ? Mr. Inderwick is not interested, I 'm s 
 
 [142]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "But I am, Mrs. Wycherley," interrupted Mr. 
 Inderwick, " vastly interested. Go on, Miss Hazel." 
 
 And I went on. The blood of ancestors who had 
 owned and loved Parian jugs was in my veins, and if 
 / could not extol the beauties of a Parian jug, who 
 could ? 
 
 "And you were saying," Mr. Inderwick remarked, 
 with his eyes fixed on my face, " that you take a brush 
 and " 
 
 "Yes," I went on, "you take a brush, and you 
 worm it in and out of the grapes and pomegranates, 
 and they stand forth revealed in all their pure, white 
 beauty. And then you dip the jug in clean, cold 
 water; and you wipe it tenderly with soft linen; and 
 you blow upon it gently to dry all the little tendrils 
 and curves; and lastly you place it on paper, about 
 two feet from a nice, warm fire, to complete the drying. 
 And then you return it carefully to its own particular 
 spot on the mantelpiece." 
 
 "I understand," said Mr. Inderwick softly. "And 
 how do you treat bronze horses ? I am anxious to 
 learn." 
 
 "You flick them," I said. "You flick ihem with 
 a little brush made of feathers. And the legs that 
 paw the air you wipe over with pure olive oil. And 
 you twist the comer of a duster into a spiral point, 
 like a radish, to poke into its eyes and mouth and " 
 
 " Hazel, I am going," said mother in frigid tones. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Inderwick, I am sure we have taken up 
 [143]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 your time long enough. And you cannot possibly 
 be interested in our private household affairs," came 
 Angela's silky voice. " Good afternoon." 
 
 And a great fear fell upon me. What had I said? 
 I shivered as I thought of the walk home. I was 
 only in fun, and mother would never let me come 
 here again. 
 
 They were saying good-by, and mechanically I fol- 
 lowed them to the door. I peeped at Mr. Inderwick, 
 and saw that he was sorry and embarrassed at their 
 annoyance. 
 
 "Good-by, Mrs. Wycherley; and I hope you will 
 give me the pleasure of taking tea again with me some 
 day," he said warmly. 
 
 Then he shook hands with Angela and me, and 
 was it fancy that he held mine a shade longer than 
 is usual ? Perhaps it was, but it helped me to endure 
 the home-going lecture with some small degree of 
 fortitude. 
 
 "What a jolly tea! I have enjoyed myself," I re- 
 marked nervously as we walked across the fields. 
 
 Then the flood-gates of Angela's wrath broke upon 
 me. Mother did not say much. I took her arm and 
 whispered I was sorry, and that I had not meant to 
 make fun of the jugs and horses and our method of 
 cleaning them. But Angela's words flowed on end- 
 lessly. She made me think of the Amazon and other 
 long rivers when they overflow their banks, and I mar- 
 velled at her complete mastery of the English language. 
 
 [144]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 On Wash-Days 
 
 TO-DAY is dreary and dark. A white mist 
 broods over the garden, and all the little 
 arbutus trees and laurustinus bushes are 
 dripping with moisture, and the mist creeps and creeps 
 and crawls across the lawn like a white wraith, and 
 enfolds the privet hedge and the naked rose-bushes 
 in a dense, white shroud. 
 
 November seems to be mourning and weeping for 
 the dead summer, and the garden is desolate and 
 depressed. 
 
 Mother and Angela, too, are very depressed. For 
 this is Monday magic word meaning wash-day! 
 And the mist broods and clings and refuses to lift. 
 And how can clothes dry in a mist? How can they 
 dry when the air contains no drying properties ? 
 
 Angela has just remarked, for the third time in the 
 space of half an hour, that the wash-day must be 
 postponed. There is a hopeless ring in her voice. 
 She looks at the clock anxiously. Time is getting 
 on. Mrs. Flutterby is waiting in the kitchen for the 
 final decision "to be or not to be?" The tubs stand 
 in expectant rows in the wash-house. The mangle has 
 10 [ 145 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 been oiled in its machinery parts, and its rollers have 
 been scrubbed and cleansed. The dolly-peg stands 
 firmly on its three legs and says, "Here I am ready 
 for anything!" Packets of Reckitt's Blue, and Hud- 
 son's Soap and Moonrise Soap and several other soaps 
 are neatly stacked ready to do execution. The linen 
 has been put in soak. All is ready. And still the 
 mist hangs above a dank, sodden world. 
 
 While mother and Angela discuss sadly the vagaries 
 of pur English climate I have crept away. My opinion 
 on the really important things of this life is never asked 
 for by my family. Should it be given by me unsought, 
 it is not considered or valued, nor does it carry any 
 weight. When I suggested that the wash-day should 
 be put off, Angela snapped, "Impossible. Mrs. Flut- 
 terby has arrived." And when I said mildly, "Well, 
 then, why doesn't she begin ? " mother replied, " Don't 
 ask foolish questions. Look at the mist." And when 
 once again, from a sheer spirit of inquiry, I asked, 
 " Couldn't the clothes be dried before the kitchen fire 
 for once ? " they simply looked at me as though I had 
 suggested that the clothes should be dried by the fires of 
 hell. "Well," I persisted doggedly, "why shouldn't 
 they be dried in the kitchen? Other people's clothes 
 are dried in kitchens. Why shouldn't ours?" And 
 then they asked me if I had ever noticed the color of 
 other people's linen. Did other people's linen look as 
 though it had been dried in the pure, sweet air? Did 
 it look white as the driven snow? Did it look clean 
 
 [146]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and wholesome? Or did it look gray and yellow and 
 dirty? "It would be the thin edge of the wedge," 
 said Angela. "Once allow the clothes by the kitchen 
 fire, and Mrs. Flutterby would be always hankering 
 after the kitchen fire." 
 
 Such reasoning I could not follow, so I stole away. 
 Up here it is chilly, but it is peaceful, and I can reflect 
 on life and upon the things that make up life. 
 
 A wash-day has always been the most important 
 event in our lives. When I look back upon the years 
 that are gone, each Monday stands out clear and 
 distinct. In fact, I sometimes feel my whole life has 
 been composed of Mondays. If I close my eyes I can 
 see mother's nightgown bellying in the wind, or the 
 pantry tea-cloths waving about in their exuberance at 
 being released from the dolly-tub. 
 
 Every Sunday morning in church I clasp my hands, 
 and pray fervently that Monday will be fine, that a 
 nice, fresh wind will blow to dry the clothes, that the 
 sun may be strong to bleach and whiten them, that 
 Mrs. Flutterby will be punctual to arrive and not 
 thirst after too much ale throughout the day. 
 
 I say this in the Litany when the congregation is 
 interceding for the Royal Family. I am not disloyal, 
 but the family washing naturally affects the tenor of 
 my life more than the welfare of a mere king or queen. 
 
 Should my prayer be answered, and Monday prove 
 fine and sunny and dry, mother and Angela soar to 
 great heights of happiness. And a feeling of exhilara- 
 
 [147]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 tion pervades the air, such as one never experiences 
 on ordinary days of the week. As the scent of Moon- 
 rise Soap greets our nostrils, Angela becomes almost 
 buoyant. And as the fumes of ammonia steal from the 
 wash-house up the steps and along the passages and 
 hall into the dining-room, she and mother exchange 
 glances and smile contentedly, for does it not mean 
 that Mrs. Flutterby is washing the woollens in the 
 most approved and accepted fashion ? 
 
 ^About ten o'clock I surprise them in furtive glances 
 directed toward the window. This is the hour when 
 Elizabeth should pass with the first batch of clothes 
 to the drying-ground in the croft. Should she be 
 late Angela begins to fidget and mother glances at 
 the clock. What is the cause of the delay? Has 
 Mrs. Flutterby been gossiping with Elizabeth, or 
 has she been indulging in too extensive a lunch? 
 She breakfasts at six, and washes a complete family 
 of children and cleans a house before she comes to 
 us at eight, so an early lunch is necessary. This desire 
 for numerous meals causes Angela acute distress each 
 week. It is not the food she grudges, but the time 
 expended in eating it; and Mrs. Flutterby's conversa- 
 tional abilities are undoubtedly phenomenal. 
 
 During our midday dinner, which is necessarily 
 cold on wash-days, mother and Angela invariably 
 discuss soap. In their secret hearts I am convinced 
 that each is of the opinion that Moonrise Soap con- 
 tains soda, but neither will allow it. The clothes are 
 
 [148]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 a beautiful color, fair and white, and unsurpassed in 
 Heatherland, so whatever ingredients the soap may 
 contain they are loth to give it up. Then it has become 
 clear to me that Angela has a leaning toward trying 
 a new starch called "Tomtit," which according to its 
 advertisements, imparts a marvellous gloss to the 
 linen. Mother, however, says that her mother, grand- 
 mother, and great grandmother used "Stiffrill's" 
 starch to the end of their days, and what was good 
 enough for them is good for anybody. At first she said 
 this in very decided tones, but each Monday she visi- 
 bly weakens in her argument. Angela is gradually 
 wearing her down. It is never my sister's method to 
 get her own way too quickly. She believes in the old 
 adage that continual dropping wears away a stone. 
 Mother is only of red sandstone durability where An- 
 gela is concerned, and she is wearing away rapidly. I 
 am as convinced as Angela that by Christmas we shall 
 be stiffening the collars, cuffs, and serviettes with 
 " Tomtit " Starch. 
 
 I remember when I was about sixteen, once playing 
 a cruel, practical joke upon mother and Angela. 
 Rushing into the dining-room I breathlessly announced 
 that Mrs. Flutterby was boiling the blankets. 
 
 I never knew before that mother and Angela could 
 run so quickly. And unfortunately Angela tripped 
 in her exceeding haste, and fell down the wash-house 
 steps into a tub of blue. When I saw her emerge, 
 such a fear overwhelmed me that my teeth chattered. 
 
 [149]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I did not wait to listen to her conversation. I just 
 bolted to the most inaccessible corner of the garden, 
 where I lay down under some big rhubarb leaves and 
 said my prayers. I lay there for the rest of the day 
 alternately praying and eating; for dear Sammy, who 
 discovered me, brought me an apple pasty from his 
 own larder, so I was well nourished. When it was 
 dark I crept into the house to bed, but my sleep was 
 fitful. And when the next morning I was informed 
 that I must write out twenty French verbs after school 
 hours I did not rush at them with eagerness. In 
 fact, I suggested apologizing to Angela instead, which 
 proved that I must have felt pretty slack. Drawing, 
 quartering, and hanging would, as a rule, have been 
 an infinitely more attractive punishment to me than 
 apologizing. My proposal was accepted, and with 
 murder in my heart I stood before Angela and repeated 
 the set formula " Please, Angela, I am very sorry, and 
 I hope you'll forgive me." I never waited to hear her 
 assurance of forgiveness on those trying occasions, all 
 I wanted was to get away and hit something hard and 
 roll the lawn. Rolling the lawn was usually the best 
 sedative after too much of Angela. 
 
 I have just been downstairs and find that wash-day 
 is off. They are moderately cheerful, and are discuss- 
 ing the rearrangement of the week's work; for, of 
 course, if the washing be done to-morrow instead of 
 to-day the ironing must be done on Wednesday, and 
 Wednesday's work done on Thursday, and Thurs- 
 [150]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 day's on Friday, and Friday's to-day, for it could not 
 be got in on Saturday kitchen-cleaning day. Oh, 
 dear! I am getting quite dizzy. What I mean is, Fri- 
 day's work must be done to-day, which is a grave step 
 to take, for, as Angela has just remarked, to clean the 
 bath room, lavatory, hall, landings and stairs, and silver 
 on a Monday instead of Friday seems like reversing the 
 laws of Nature. Bath rooms are always cleaned on 
 Friday mornings and silver on Friday afternoons, and 
 this rule has been in force since the beginning of time. 
 If Moses possessed a bath room and probably he did, 
 for he was great on sanitary laws his wife Zipporah 
 would say to him, " Moses, will you go out for a bit and 
 talk to the children of Israel, for I want to get the 
 bath room and stairs cleaned, and you are in the way; 
 and don't forget to wipe your feet on the mat when you 
 come in, for the wilderness is dirty at this time of the 
 year." 
 
 Now I must go. I can hear Angela calling. She 
 imagines I have been dusting my room all this time. 
 It must be nice to have a vivid imagination. 
 
 These last few days have been dull, and Angela has 
 often referred to my lapse of good manners at the Old 
 Hall Farm. "Never discuss your private affairs in 
 public," she says; "never be personal." 
 
 I have not come across Mr. Inderwick since that 
 evening, though I have been on many walks. Once I 
 saw him ride past the front gate, and he stared at 
 our windows. I was behind the curtains, and had a 
 
 [151]
 
 good look at him. It is so difficult to do this when 
 you are with him, he has such a direct, disconcerting 
 way of staring back at you. He is ugly, undoubtedly; 
 at least, Angela says he is. But I am not so sure of it 
 myself. He reminds me one moment of a rugged, 
 craggy rock strong, taciturn, reticent, moody, rude 
 almost; and the next of a smiling, placid, gentle 
 declivity full of soft places and unexpected sym- 
 pathies, light-hearted, kind, frank, and almost boyish. 
 His clothes are abominable unb rushed, wrinkly, 
 with baggy pockets and hunching shoulders. His 
 figure is heavy almost to ungainliness. His legs and 
 he's always in knickerbockers are big and his hands 
 and feet are large. But when once you meet his direct 
 frank gaze and big, broad smile, and hear his whole- 
 some, deep-toned laugh, you forget all the ugliness and 
 ruggedness and uncouthness. You just feel he'd be a 
 good friend ; a man who'd pull you through your tight 
 places; a man to rely upon and trust; a man with a 
 big mind in a big case, who would never do a mean 
 thing or ever say a small one; and a man who, if he 
 wanted a thing, would probably never give in till he 
 had got it. 
 
 [152]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Mr. Inderwick Accompanies me to Gayton to Buy 
 Butter 
 
 I AM experiencing an unwonted sensation of exhila- 
 ration and satisfaction. Mr. Inderwick and I have 
 been for a walk together, and up to the present 
 Angela does not know anything about my misde- 
 meanor, as she would term it. She will know sooner 
 or later. Everything is known by everybody about 
 everybody in Heatherland if you give it time. Quite 
 ten faces peeped out from behind curtains and through 
 doors as we passed along the village, and the owners 
 of those ten faces naturally possess ten tongues, and 
 some of them are of great length. 
 
 Angela thought I was getting the butter at Gayton. 
 So I was; but Mr. Inderwick was with me, of which 
 she certainly would not approve. Mr. Inderwick is 
 a man and I am a girl; therefore we should not take 
 walks together. 
 
 It seems unfortunate that men and women cannot 
 be on terms of any degree of intimacy with one another 
 unless they are married, and then they don't appear 
 to want to be intimate. 
 
 Was it from a sense of facetiousness that Mrs. 
 
 [153]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Butterworth started to make butter more worth one- 
 and-sixpence a pound than any other in the district ? 
 
 "It is a cruel price," sighed mother, as she dived 
 into the intricacies of her petticoat for her purse. " In 
 my young days you could get beautiful fresh for a 
 shilling." 
 
 "Yes, but think of the price of sugar and tea in 
 those days," I responded cheerfully; but she refused 
 to be cheered. 
 
 ^ "It was better tea and much better sugar. There 
 was none of that dreadful, deceptive beet on the 
 market, and the tea was not a mixture of chopped hay 
 and tannin." 
 
 "Well, perhaps proportionately Mrs. Butterworth's 
 butter at one-and-sixpence is much superior to that 
 for which you paid a shilling," I suggested. 
 
 Mother's head shook gloomily. 
 
 "No, it isn't," she said; "nothing is better." 
 
 I felt unequal to grappling with such pessimism, so 
 I kissed her on the forehead and left her to Angela, 
 who entered the room with the week's mending in 
 her arms. 
 
 "They will be happy with that," I said to Dibbs, 
 who circled in front of me down the garden walk, and 
 Dibbs barked "So they will." 
 
 "Do you think they would mend me my stockings, 
 Dibbs, if I asked them nicely ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," said Dibbs, looking doubtful. 
 
 I returned to the dining-room. Mother, with a 
 
 [154]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 darning needle in her hand, and her feet on a hassock, 
 sat with a beatific expression on her countenance. 
 
 " Mother, will you mend me my stockings ? " I 
 asked boldly. 
 
 "Don't encourage Hazel in her laz , " began 
 
 Angela ; but mother smiled at me in acquiescence, and, 
 brushing Angela on one side, I just took her in my 
 arms. 
 
 " Mother," I said, " I do love you. You are kind to 
 me. I do so hate mending stockings; it is not laziness." 
 
 "No it is not laziness?" said mother, laughing. 
 "What is it then?" 
 
 "Sheer inability. I simply can't mend stockings. 
 They pucker up, and draw and drag, and get bodgy, 
 and won't mend properly." 
 
 "No," said mother, "they won't. I redarned the 
 ones you did last week." 
 
 " Did you ? But what a waste of time for two people 
 to mend one pair of stockings! Doesn't it seem so to 
 you?" 
 
 " Perhaps. You are very tricky, Hazel." 
 
 "Am I?" I laughed, as I kissed her again. "You 
 have to be when you live with two such wonderfully 
 clever, good women." 
 
 Then I whistled Dibbs, who was waiting in the 
 hall with the whole cares of the world on his shoulders, 
 and once more we sallied forth. 
 
 "Now, Dibbs," I ordered sternly, "you must behave 
 to-day. No rabbits. Do you understand ? " 
 
 [155]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Yes," said Dibbs, as he gave chase to a yellow cat 
 which suddenly popped up from nowhere. 
 
 I don't mind how much Dibbs goes for cats. Cats 
 get all they deserve greedy, sneaky, bad-tempered, 
 cupboard-love-for-you sort of creatures. 
 
 It was while the cat was swearing horribly on a wall 
 and Dibbs was barking deliriously at the base of the 
 wall, and I was laughing immoderately in the middle 
 of the village, that Mr. Inderwick walked out of the 
 post office. He came straight to me in his heavy, 
 direct way. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " he inquired as we shook 
 hands. 
 
 " I am going to Gayton for butter," I replied. 
 
 " May I walk with you ? I am going, too." 
 
 " What are you going for ? " I asked. 
 
 Such direct questions must be met with equal di- 
 rectness. 
 
 " I am not going for anything specially," he answered 
 without the slightest hesitation. "I just felt as you 
 were going I would go too." 
 
 "I see," I said with an inward gasp. "Do you 
 usually go where other people are going ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. It depends on the person." 
 
 " But isn't it a little awkward for the person ? " I 
 queried. 
 
 " I don't know. I never looked at it in that light." 
 Then he stopped suddenly. " Don't you want me ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," I replied, "I want you. I am glad of 
 [156]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 your society; I am tired of lonely walks. But what 
 I mean is, that sometimes if you insisted upon accom- 
 panying a person upon an expedition, that person 
 might find it inconvenient." 
 
 " But the person could say so." 
 
 "Yes, I forgot that. But then shouldn't you be 
 offended ? " 
 
 "No. Why should I? I don't get offended about 
 things." 
 
 " Don't you ? " I replied. " How nice ! I am always 
 getting hurt and offended at something or other." 
 
 "That is a pity," he said gravely. "Life is too 
 short to be offended with people about trifles. But 
 then you are very young." 
 
 " I suppose I am by you." 
 
 He smiled one of his nice, rare smiles. 
 
 "I am not very old, I am thirty-five. Does that 
 seem very old to you ? " 
 
 "Pretty old," I replied truthfully. "I shouldn't 
 care to be thirty-five." 
 
 " You won't mind so much when you get there." 
 
 " Yes I shall, I shall mind horribly. I am a woman." 
 
 " Do all women mind about getting old ? " 
 
 "Every one of them," I answered emphatically. 
 " There are one or two liars among them who pretend 
 they don't. But they do some more than others. 
 Aunt Menelophe says the ones who have been beauti- 
 ful mind the most of all. Getting old is a real grief to 
 them." 
 
 {167]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Poor things," he remarked; "one feels sorry for 
 them. Can't they do anything ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes. They paint and powder and massage, 
 and then they look foolish." 
 
 "I didn't mean that; I meant, couldn't they do 
 something to fill their lives ? " 
 
 "Yes. Aunt Menelophe became a 'looker-on' 
 when she was forty, and drank tea and read novels." 
 
 " That doesn't seem much," he said, laughing. 
 ^'No, it doesn't; but really she only pretends. She 
 is always doing something nice and kind and unselfish 
 for somebody. She leads a most useful life, and is a 
 perfect dear." 
 
 " She sounds nice. Tell me about her," he said. 
 
 That is a way Mr. Inderwick seems to have. He 
 doesn't appear rude or curious; he is just interested 
 in things and is so quiet and grave and never inter- 
 rupts, that you rattle away and tell him everything 
 before you know you are even talking. 
 
 I told him of Butterby and the ghost and Aunt 
 Menelophe, and the Potteries and the dinner party, 
 and how I dreaded coming home, and the candle 
 grease; and then I stopped suddenly, and went hot 
 all over. Here was I talking of our private affairs, 
 discussing little home matters, saying everything 
 Angela said I ought not to say. It was bad form to 
 discuss personalities with a stranger. It was in bad 
 taste, so she had said; and here was I outraging all 
 refinement of feeling. 
 
 [158]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Well ? " said Mr. Indenvick, without looking at me 
 
 " Oh, that's all," I replied hurriedly. 
 
 "Rather an abrupt ending," he said, turning and 
 smiling. 
 
 " Yes," I replied lamely. 
 
 He changed the subject of conversation at once. 
 He may not be polished, as Angela says, but he is 
 tactful. 
 
 "Stop at this gate a moment. I think the best part 
 of a lane is a gate. You go along for some distance, and 
 you enjoy the beauty of the banks and hedges and the 
 wrens popping in and out, and you think what a seduc- 
 tive, beautiful thing is a narrow, green lane; and then 
 a feeling comes over you all in a minute that you want 
 breathing room, you want space, you want a wider 
 outlook, and lo and behold a gate has appeared. You 
 lean over it, and there is your space. Fields lie before 
 you, with hills beyond; the wide, open country stretches 
 away. Your sense of oppression has gone." 
 
 He leaned against the gate as he spoke, and I fol- 
 lowed his gaze across the fields and Dee to the hills in 
 Wales and the Point of Air. 
 
 " Do you know, I thought I was the only person in 
 the world who felt like that?" I said softly. "But 
 I couldn't have put it so well." 
 
 He turned one of his long, direct gazes upon me. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " you could. You could have put 
 it better. For you are young and impulsive and bub- 
 bling over with spirit. I spoke merely of a physical 
 
 [159]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 feeling. I want plenty of fresh air, and narrow lanes 
 are stuffy. Your feeling is purely mental. You are 
 cramped, dwarfed, suffocated. You want to do some- 
 thing, you don't know what. You want to go some- 
 where. You are tired of Heatherland and ' he 
 hesitated " Parian jugs." 
 
 "Yes," I cried eagerly, "that is it. But how did 
 you know ? Do you feel cramped ? Do you want to 
 do something too? Are you tired of your narrow 
 life?" 
 
 He looked at the hills for a moment thoughtfully. 
 
 "No, thank God," he answered presently, "I don't 
 want to do anything. I am thankful to sit down in 
 my armchair and smoke and read. I am jolly grateful 
 to Old Crabby that he has left me in a position to be a 
 'looker-on.' Once I felt as you do. It was a worry- 
 ing, uncomfortable sensation; but time and trouble 
 and hard work knock it out of you." 
 
 " Have you had trouble ? " I asked. 
 
 " Lots ! Damnable trouble ! " 
 
 He did not appear to be conscious that he had 
 sworn. Neither did he apologize. He studied the 
 little fishing-boats sailing along, with an absent eye. 
 He was lost in thought, lost to the world, lost to me 
 and Dibbs. 
 
 I studied him as he stared at the boats. Yes, he 
 had suffered; there was no doubt about that. His 
 dark, thick hair was flecked with gray round the 
 ears it was white. There were deep lines round his 
 
 [160]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 mouth, deep parentheses, and deeper lines still on 
 his forehead. A stern, rugged face full of strength, 
 unlovely in repose, perhaps, with its square chin, 
 clean-shaven, and knitted eyebrows; but how won- 
 derfully attractive when it was lit up by that rare 
 smile ! a smile that lingers in the memory. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick," I said presently, "should you 
 mind coming back to the world ? I have butter to 
 buy at Gayton, and the time is getting on." 
 
 He came back slowly. Then he gave his big shoul- 
 ders a shake, and stooped and patted Dibbs. Pres- 
 ently he looked at me and smiled. 
 
 " Have I kept you ? I am sorry. I had forgot- 
 ten " 
 
 "My existence," I interrupted, as I moved away 
 from the gate. 
 
 " No, I hadn't, I was thinking of you." 
 
 " May I ask in connection with what, for you looked 
 sad?" 
 
 " Did I ? I was thinking of a little sister of mine 
 who also wanted to see 'life,' and went under." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " I asked softly. 
 
 "She was always a restless little soul with big 
 aspirations. A quiet life in the countiy did not satisfy 
 her. Then when my father died she, as well as I, had to 
 work for our mother. I had just been called to the 
 Bar, and briefs seemed to shy away from me. My 
 little sister rushed at work as one usually rushes at 
 pleasure. She chose the stage as a profession, and at 
 11 [161]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 first did well; she was uncommonly pretty, with 
 laughing sort of eyes and a smile like a bit of sunshine. 
 Then she had an accident, not a very bad one, but her 
 face and one side of her neck were a little marked 
 it was a fire. After that her engagements began to 
 dwindle. Managers didn't want her; her looks had 
 gone. I don't blame them; but she suffered acutely. 
 Then she took to nursery-governessing. I alone could 
 not make enough at that time to keep the three of us. 
 The nursery-governessing broke her spirit, and she 
 died; and I don't wonder. I saw the woman who had 
 employed her, and I saw the children after her death 
 and I felt she was better at rest. But had I 
 
 known " He broke off abruptly and set his 
 
 teeth. 
 
 I did not say anything there seemed to be nothing 
 to say but I think he felt my sympathy. 
 
 " And your mother ? " I asked. 
 
 "She died a year afterward from a broken heart. 
 And then briefs began to come in rapidly, and I had 
 any amount of money to spend on flowers for their 
 grave." 
 
 We walked along in silence for some time. 
 
 "And so," he said presently, "I am always sorry 
 when I hear of young girls wanting to get away from 
 home. They may be dull, and there may be Parian 
 jugs to wash; but at least there is some one to take an 
 interest in them and look after them." 
 
 " Oh, I am well looked after," I observed. 
 [162]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You say it as though you didn't like it," he 
 laughed. 
 
 "I don't." 
 
 "And yet you are very lucky, if you only knew it." 
 
 " In what way ? " 
 
 " Why, that there should be some one to want to 
 look after you to be interested in your comings and 
 goings, to know when you are out, to give you a wel- 
 come when you come in." 
 
 "I don't know that I receive much of a welcome 
 from Angela." 
 
 "Perhaps you don't deserve it," he said with a 
 twinkle. 
 
 "I certainly do not deserve all I get from her in 
 the way of rebuke." 
 
 " What does she rebuke you about ? " 
 
 "Everything," I replied with emphasis, "from the 
 mere fact of my existing at all to the way I dust the 
 legs of the drawing-room chairs." 
 
 " Or the way, perhaps, you don't dust them." 
 
 "Yes, that's it," I said. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "What a jolly little place Heatherland is, and so 
 pretty," he said, looking across the river. 
 
 I looked at him with approval. I am at once in 
 touch with people who like and admire our village. 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "it is quite one of the loveliest 
 spots in the world." 
 
 " You have travelled much ? " 
 [163]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "No. I have been to about half a dozen places in 
 my life Birkenhead, Liverpool, Chester, Blongton, 
 Stafford and Stoke, and a few small villages. Still, I 
 know there is nothing to touch Heatherland." 
 
 He seemed amused. 
 
 " And you like the people ? " 
 
 "I dislike the people exceedingly." 
 
 " Why ? " he asked in surprise. " I think they seem 
 a very nice, decent lot. I like them, they are so kind 
 and hospitable." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "but you haven't lived with them 
 for twenty-one years. Do you realize what it is to live 
 with the same people for twenty-one years, and nine 
 out of every ten of those people are women? Why, 
 already it is buzzed all over Heatherland that Mr. In- 
 derwick and Miss Hazel W T ycherley are taking a walk 
 together along Gayton Lane this afternoon." 
 
 "Well," he said, "it's very kind of them to be so 
 interested in us." 
 
 "Very," I said. 
 
 And he gave one of his gruff chuckles, and went 
 on chuckling for some minutes. 
 
 "It seems to amuse you," I remarked. 
 
 "It does. After living in London and being swal- 
 lowed up in a vortex of surging human beings, who 
 know nothing about you and care less, it seems posi- 
 tively ridiculous to me that any one should have the 
 time or inclination to be interested in your move- 
 ments." 
 
 [164]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Oh, they've plenty of time," I said, as I stopped 
 at Mrs. Butterworth's farm and knocked at the door. 
 
 Mrs. Butterworth is precisely the kind of woman 
 who ought to keep a farm. It is rarely people look 
 their profession. Mrs. Butterworth does. She is 
 plump and apple-cheeked, and smiling and cheery. 
 That she keeps cows and pigs, and horses and geese 
 you would know instinctively at one glance. Her 
 very mouth gives her away. You can see it is in the 
 habit of saying " C up ! c up ! c up ! " when she is 
 desirous that the cows shall come home to be milked. 
 Mrs. Butterworth says "C up" when Mr. Butter- 
 worth and the farm-help are too engaged to say it. 
 Her real province in life is to make butter and bread 
 and look after the house, and "C up" is only a 
 digression. 
 
 "How are you, Miss Hazel? Come in. And how 
 do you do, Mr. Inderwick?" says she, bustling in 
 before us and dusting two clean, oak chairs. 
 
 Mr. Inderwick looks surprised. He has never 
 seen Mrs. Butterworth before in his life, or heard of 
 her till two hours previously. 
 
 Then she begins to talk, and tells him many things 
 about his movements and plans and doings that he 
 evidently did not know himself. 
 
 "And you are goin' to try sheep. There's many 
 a lot of us as try sheep, and all glad to see the last 
 of their foolish, starin' faces." 
 
 He looked puzzled, and passed his hand over his hair. 
 [165]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " How do you mean ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Littlewood, your new bailiff, was a-sayin* 
 you were goin' to keep sheep, and Butterworth he 
 said he didn't envy you, and you'd soon be rare glad 
 to be quit of them," and Mrs. Butterworth poked the 
 fire vigorously. 
 
 " Am I going to keep sheep ? " he said feebly. 
 
 Mrs. Butterworth looked at him a little pityingly. 
 
 " Well, you know your own business best. I'm only 
 a-tellin' you what Mr. Littlewood says to me." 
 
 "Oh, of course, of course! I remember now. Of 
 course I am going to keep sheep," he remarked hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 Mrs. Buttenvorth eyed him with suspicion. 
 
 " Perhaps you don't know much about farmin' ? " 
 
 "No, I don't," he said with relief, "that's a fact. 
 Up to the present I have left things to Litttewood. A 
 good man is Littlewood, Mrs. Butterworth, a very 
 good man." 
 
 "Yes," she replied dryly, "Littlewood is a good 
 man, but he wants a head." 
 
 " Yes, yes," he answered nervously. 
 
 " And you are goin' to learn farmin' ? " she went on 
 with firmness. 
 
 "Yes," he replied meekly, "I will learn farming." 
 
 "That's right," she said heartily. "Nothin' like 
 havin' a good man at the helm in farmin'. For what 
 with contendin' with the Lord's weather which He 
 is pleased to send us when anythink special is on, 
 
 [166]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 such as haymakin' and cuttin' the corn, and what with 
 low prices and the markets flooded with American 
 horseflesh and inferior wheat, it takes a farmer all his 
 time to get along and pay his way and have a half -hour 
 to spare to attend a harvest festival. And now," she 
 continued, "you must have a cup of tea, both of you. 
 The kettle's boilin' fit to drive a steam engine." 
 
 She brought forth honey, and she brought forth 
 milk, and she brought forth oat-cakes on a steaming 
 hot dish. And a very merry party we were, at least 
 Mrs. Butterworth and I were merry, while Mr. 
 Inderwick was silently cheerful. The red-tiled floor 
 and the old, blue plates and pewter pots on the 
 dresser and mantelshelf were good to look upon, and 
 the old-fashioned, comfortable armchairs very good to 
 sit in. 
 
 " But we must go," I said at the end of an hour, "or 
 mother and Angela will be dragging the Puddydale for 
 my body. I am not allowed out after dark." 
 
 We returned home through the fields above the 
 shore. The light was fading, and a crescent moon 
 hung in the sky above us. There was a slight touch of 
 frost in the air, just enough to whip up the blood in 
 one's cheeks and cause them to glow. 
 
 I chattered and he listened. At last I stopped and 
 said, " Won't you talk now for a change ? I am tired of 
 my own voice." 
 
 " Really ? " he asked in such surprise that against my 
 inclination I laughed. 
 
 [167]
 
 HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 
 
 "That is rather nasty of you. Do you think I am 
 such a tremendous chatterbox ? " 
 
 "Yes," he replied with such conviction that I again 
 laughed. 
 
 "But I like to hear you," he went on. "Some of 
 what you say is excuse me nonsense, but I enjoy 
 it nevertheless." 
 
 " Thank you," I said with sarcasm. 
 
 "Now please don't get annoyed," he laughed; 
 " that is the worst of women, they are so touchy." 
 
 "I was just wondering if it could be less than a 
 month I have known you," I observed. 
 
 "No, it is much more it is fourteen years. You 
 forget we first met on the seashore." 
 
 He held out his hand to say good-by. 
 
 " Good-night," I said, laughing. 
 
 I was half-way up the steps, when he called me back 
 without ceremony. 
 
 " One moment. Have you enjoyed our walk ? " 
 
 "Yes, thanks," I replied, "though you are somewhat 
 plain-spoken." 
 
 He waved that on one side. 
 
 "I have tremendously. We will go another some 
 day soon." 
 
 "Will we?" 
 
 I felt suddenly nervous. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " When could you go ? We used to 
 be out a lot together, you will remember." 
 
 " I was a little girl then," I said feebly. 
 [168]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " I don't think you are much more now," he replied, 
 regarding me gravely. "Anyway, I will be on the 
 look-out for you. Good-by!" And then he went 
 away.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 / Tamper Successfully ivith a Keyhole and Lunch at 
 Piper's Well 
 
 HOW the months race by!" I said at breakfast 
 this morning. "Can it be possible that 
 December is with us ? " 
 And Angela replied : 
 
 "Quite possible, and we must get the raisins stoned 
 to-day for the puddings." 
 
 I wished I had not mentioned the time of the year. 
 Angela might have forgotten it. There was just a 
 ghost of a chance she might have forgotten, for I heard 
 her making plans with mother to visit Susan Potts, who 
 had a thirteenth little Potts yesterday. The Potts's 
 baby was abandoned at once. 
 " It can wait," she said. 
 
 " But supposing it is delicate, and dies ? " I suggested. 
 
 I too had been making plans, and certainly stoning 
 
 raisins had not entered into them. The morning was 
 
 so beautiful and fresh, that I had felt it would be sinful 
 
 to spend it in a house with four women and furniture. 
 
 "I will go off for the day with Dibbs," I arranged 
 with myself. " We will take a meat pasty and a jam 
 
 [170]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 turnover. I will steal them from the larder for our 
 lunch. I will point-blank refuse to do a single thing in 
 the way of housework, and just as Angela is hurrying 
 off to tell mother of my insubordination, I will slip 
 quietly out of the front door and be half-way along 
 Sandy Lane before she can draw breath." 
 
 "It won't die," said Angela with decision. "Mrs. 
 Potts's babies don't die. And if it did, Mr. Gates 
 should be there as the rector of the parish, and not I." 
 
 "Are there any raisins in the store-cupboard?" I 
 next asked weakly. " I noticed there were not many in 
 the spotted dog pudding we had the other day." 
 
 Angela looked at me in the way I least like of all 
 her looks. 
 
 "Spotted dog is never made of raisins. Surely you 
 must know that. Currants only are used, and there 
 were plenty in the pudding. I ordered the raisins for 
 the Christmas puddings and mince-meat a week ago. 
 There are four blue bags on the second shelf in the store- 
 cupboard. Will you kindly get them out while I set 
 Rose and Elizabeth their work for the day. We must 
 have a little extra cleaning done as Christmas is so 
 close at hand." 
 
 "Angela," I cried eagerly, "couldn't Rose and 
 Elizabeth help us just for once ? We should get through 
 the stoning so quickly if there were four of us at it." 
 
 "Certainly not," replied my sister, snapping her 
 jaws together. "They have something else to do. 
 How can you ask such a futile question when you 
 
 [Hi]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 know it takes them all their time to get through the 
 work as it is ? Now will you get the raisins and make 
 a start ? They will take us at least four or five hours to 
 stone. I am making an extra quantity of mince-meat 
 this year." 
 
 I watched her neat figure disappear across the hall 
 and up the staircase. What an unyielding back and 
 determined gait! I knew I might as well argue with 
 a piece of flint. All my life I have been curiously 
 obedient to Angela. She seems to possess some occult 
 power of making me do exactly as she wishes. With 
 other people I can hold my own, but where Angela is 
 concerned I am as weak as dish-water. 
 
 My feet dragged me heavily to the store-cupboard 
 in the kitchen. I wished the key would break in the 
 lock, but it turned like greased lightning. Suddenly 
 an inspiration came straight from he heaven. I am 
 sure it was from heaven, from my comfortable sort of 
 peaceful, happy feeling. Had it been from the other 
 place, surely I should have had twinges of remorse 
 throughout the day, and I can truthfully say I have 
 never had one. 
 
 Rose and Elizabeth were upstairs making beds. 
 Angela was also up above doing her duty in some 
 shape or form. Mother was in the garden with Sammy 
 ordering the vegetables. The coast was clear. On tip- 
 toe I crept to the back door, thence to the gravelled 
 walk, from which I selected two tiny pebbles. I had 
 no intention of slinging them at Angela as David did 
 
 [172]
 
 at Goliath. Murder was not in my heart. I was 
 merely going to let them slip into the keyhole of the 
 store-cupboard. I tiptoed back. I held my breath. 
 Then the pebbles seemed of their own accord to walk 
 into the keyhole. The deed was done. Only a lock- 
 smith or dynamite could have opened that door. I sat 
 down on the Windsor chair and swayed about with 
 silent laughter. The thought of Angela's face caused 
 me pain. It caught me in the ribs, and I suffered 
 considerably. 
 
 Presently I controlled myself sufficiently to call to my 
 sister at the bottom of the stairs the unfortunate news. 
 
 "The key won't turn?" 
 
 I could hear the surprise in her voice. 
 
 "No," I cried; "nothing will make it." 
 
 This I knew to be true, and I had no prickings of 
 conscience. 
 
 " It's very strange," muttered Angela, as she hurried 
 down the stairs; " let me try." 
 
 And she did try. She tried for half an hour, and 
 I helped her. I never helped her so much in my life, 
 and almost felt sorry for her as I saw her worried face. 
 
 Mother, Rose, and Elizabeth all came and watched 
 us; and then they tried in their turn, and worked 
 very hard. 
 
 "Bill Bonnyman must be fetched," said Angela at 
 length. 
 
 "He is certain to be out," I ventured; "he always 
 is. Shall I go and leave a message for to-morrow ? " 
 
 [173]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 She reflected for a moment. 
 
 "Yes," she said at length, "engage him to come 
 the first thing in the morning. We can't do the raisins 
 to-day." 
 
 " Can't we ? " I tried to make my voice sound regret- 
 ful. " What about getting some village raisins ? " 
 
 "On no account. They are dreadful, and full of 
 bits of stone and grit." 
 
 I expected this answer, and walked off with a light 
 heart. 
 
 I secreted the meat pasty and jam turnover, and 
 then I got ready. Elizabeth was cleaning the steps at 
 the gate as I went out. 
 
 "Elizabeth," I said, "will you tell mother I shan't 
 be in to dinner ? As there are no raisins to stone there 
 is nothing for me to do to-day, so I have seized the 
 opportunity of taking a long walk with Dibbs. He 
 badly wants exercise; he is getting so fat that I fear 
 apoplexy may overtake him." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Hazel," replied Elizabeth, as she rubbed 
 her hearthstone from one side of the wet step to the 
 other. 
 
 What I like about Elizabeth is that she never com- 
 ments upon my movements, as do Sammy and Rose. 
 The latter would have said, " Eh, Miss Hazel, have you 
 forgotten it's the day for putting clean papers on the 
 shelves of the cupboard in the dining-room?" But 
 Elizabeth does not remind me of such trivial matters. 
 She takes a wider view of life. She knows that fresh 
 IWJ
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 air and sunshine are much more essential to one's well- 
 being than superhuman cleanliness in a remote cup- 
 board. 
 
 I watched her as she swayed her body across the 
 steps. My heart warmed to her. What a well-shaped 
 arm she had, and such a kind, refined face. 
 
 "Elizabeth," I said carelessly, "you need not say 
 anything about my having gone for a walk for at least 
 an hour. Miss Angela will probably go and see Mrs. 
 Potts's new baby, and that is the way I am going after 
 I have been to the plumber's, and and I don't care 
 about seeing the baby. You understand ? " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Hazel," said Elizabeth imperturbably. 
 
 " Good-morning, Elizabeth; I shall be back to tea." 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Hazel." 
 
 As I walked to the village I decided that a pale-blue 
 silk scarf would suit Elizabeth admirably. Christmas 
 was near, and I would spend two-and-elevenpence on it 
 instead of one-and-elevenpence, the sum I usually 
 expended on presents for the servants. 
 
 Bill Bonnyman was in. I stared at him in amaze- 
 ment. The first plumber who has ever been in since the 
 world cooled down sufficiently to support life. 
 
 " Are you ill, Bill ? " I inquired kindly. 
 
 " No, Miss Hazelt. Why should I be ill ? " 
 
 "Oh, I just thought you might be," I said. "There 
 is a good deal of sickness about." 
 
 " No, thank you kindly, I was never better in my life." 
 
 " That's right. I have come to know when you 
 [176]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 could call to open the store-cupboard in the kitchen; 
 the key won't turn, and it's very awkward not being able 
 to get into it." 
 
 "Why, I can come right away, Miss Hazelt," he 
 said warmly. 
 
 " Oh, don't hurry, Bill, don't hurry," I cried hastily. 
 "To-morrow will do perfectly; it isn't convenient 
 to-day." 
 
 I felt myself going red, and Bill eyed me in a sur- 
 prised way. 
 
 " Well, it would suit me better to come to-day. I 
 was just waitin' for a job. To-morrow I am full up. 
 I couldn't come for two or three days. I'm sorry it 
 don't suit you to-day." 
 
 "Yes, it's a pity, Bill; but the fact is, I shall be out, 
 
 and and " I paused in confusion, and Bill's 
 
 eyes rounded. 
 
 Then I became desperate. 
 
 " Look here, Bill," I said in a low voice, as I slipped 
 a shilling into his hand, " you will probably find some- 
 thing in the keyhole crumbs or grit, or even a pebble. 
 But I shouldn't say anything about it if I were you ; it 
 it would only worry Mrs. Wycherley and Miss An- 
 gela, and well, I should keep quiet about it." 
 
 I held my breath. I hardly dared look at him. Would 
 he wink and be cheeky ? or would he be respectful and 
 kind and sympathetic ? I knew I had laid myself open 
 to familiarity. I had confided in him, I had bribed him. 
 Some day he might levy blackmail upon me. I shuffled 
 
 [176]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 uneasily from one foot to the other; I gave Dibbs an 
 unexpected caress; I readjusted my hatpins. Then I 
 stole a glance at him and his right palm. The shilling 
 had disappeared, and he was staring hard at the sun- 
 shine. His face was expressionless, his attitude was 
 quite respectful. I could hardly keep myself from hug- 
 ging him. A duke could not have displayed greater 
 tact or truer refinement of feeling. Bill may be a 
 common village plumber, joiner, carpenter, painter and 
 decorator rolled in one, but he is every inch a gentleman. 
 
 "You understand, Bill?" 
 
 " Quite," he replied gravely. 
 
 "Good-day, Bill." 
 
 " Good-day, Miss Hazelt," and he touched his cap. 
 
 I retraced my steps through the village, passed our 
 own gate at a run, and made for Oldfield Common. 
 
 I tried to decide which I loved the better of the two 
 Elizabeth or Bill. My heart was full to overflowing 
 with the milk of human kindness. I almost wished 
 disaster could overtake them, so that I might be their 
 friend and do kind things for them. I called Dibbs and 
 hugged him hard. He seemed annoyed, and wriggled 
 out of my embrace. He does not like to be kissed when 
 rabbits are knocking about. 
 
 What an absolutely perfect, heavenly morning it 
 was. There had been a ground frost the previous 
 night, and the fields and heather sparkled in the sun- 
 shine. Under the sheltering hedges the banks were still 
 frozen, but beneath the sun's rays the little sparklets in 
 12 [ 177 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 the middle of the road were rapidly disappearing. The 
 sky was of a brilliant azure, against which the branches 
 and twigs of the bare oaks stood out like black filigree 
 work, motionless in the wonderful stillness of the 
 atmosphere. The Dee lay like a beautiful sapphire set 
 about with hills of amethyst, and the air was so full of 
 champagne and other fizzy properties that my feet 
 fairly danced beneath me, and at last I was obliged to 
 run my legs simply made me and like an india-rubber 
 ball I bounced across the common with Dibbs snapping 
 wildly at my heels. 
 
 I saw some one coming along in the distance a man ! 
 I made my feet stop, and my heart bounced instead. 
 Then I became quite unconcerned and indifferent in 
 my manner. I allowed my gaze to rest upon the beau- 
 tiful view to my left, and I studied it carefully till I was 
 almost up to the person. Then I raised my eyes in 
 well-feigned surprise and saw Frederick Moss in a 
 violent art-green Norfolk suit, and a soft, felt, wide- 
 awake hat. 
 
 I have never loved Frederick Moss, and at that mo- 
 ment I disliked him excessively. 
 
 Why should he be walking across Oldfield Common 
 when it might have been somebody else ? Somebody 
 who was a real man and not a poet with weak legs. 
 
 " Lady, well met ! " he said, with his eyes on the sky. 
 
 " Not at all," I retorted crossly. 
 
 He brought his gaze to earth and looked at me re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 [178]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You are modest. I was just wishing for a sympa- 
 thetic companion. I will turn and walk with you." 
 
 "I shan't be sympathetic." 
 
 " But you can be." 
 
 " Couldn't to-day. Don't feel like it." 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 " But you have only to to " 
 
 "Listen," I interrupted, "but unfortunately I don't 
 feel like listening." 
 
 " Well, you you could talk," he spoke in an unself- 
 ish sort of way. 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " No, I don't want to talk, Frederick, thanks all the 
 same. I want to think." 
 
 "Ah! I know that feeling well," he said eagerly. 
 "Sometimes I feel I must be alone, by myself, no one 
 near me. Alone with nature, with the sun, the moon, 
 the stars, the wind in the grass, the sea lashing the rocks, 
 the birds on a morning in June, the 
 
 "Slugs on a night of July," I completed. "And, as 
 that is exactly my feeling this morning, I will bid you 
 good-by. / want to be alone." 
 
 "Why are you always so cruel?" he murmured 
 plaintively, placing his hat at a more fascinating angle, 
 " Oh, Hazel of the deep blue " 
 
 "Frederick," I said, "if you repeat those lines once 
 again, I shall be obliged to cut you for life." 
 
 " Most girls would be flattered by at receiving lines 
 from a poet even though a minor one," he said sulkily. 
 
 [179]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I laughed outright. 
 
 " Most girls would be nothing of the kind," I retorted. 
 " I know girls better than you know them, and few would 
 have been as patient as I. My home-training has schooled 
 me to a large forbearance toward all small things." 
 
 "You will tease so," he sighed. "Now if I were to 
 believe that you regard a poem as a small thing I 
 
 " I wasn't referring to a poem," I broke in, " but a 
 poet. It is so difficult to make you see a thing, Fred- 
 erick. And now I really must leave you." 
 
 " One moment," he cried, hurrying after me. " You 
 are so full of mischief, raillery, that you cause a fellow 
 much unhappiness. Be serious for a moment, Hazel. 
 Beneath your light, airy, flippant manner, lies a deep 
 undercurrent of strong womanly feeling I know. A 
 strong womanly heart beats 
 
 "Of course it does, or I shouldn't be here," I ob- 
 served. 
 
 He regarded me in a pained way. 
 
 "You have such a disconcerting habit of interrupt- 
 ing. I was saying " 
 
 "You were talking a lot of rubbish, and to put it 
 quite plainly, it was all leading up to the recital of a 
 new poem dedicated to the moon or a marigold or a 
 mangel worzel, now, wasn't it ? " 
 
 "No," he replied loftily, "not to one of those three 
 things, but to the sun, the lord of day, the life-giving, 
 life-heating orb which swings in space." 
 
 "Oh! "I said. 
 
 [180]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "It came to me in the night, suddenly; flooded my 
 being with a blinding radiance." 
 
 "But surely that was the moon," I ventured; "the 
 sun doesn't shine at night." 
 
 He looked cross. 
 
 " I speak in metaphor." 
 
 "Oh, do you?" 
 
 " Will you lend me your ear, your intelligence, your 
 critical faculty for one moment, and I will repeat the 
 lines," he placed his hand on his heart. " I would like 
 your opinion." 
 
 "You probably won't when you get it," I hastened 
 to say. 
 
 "I will risk that, lady. A true artist is never dis- 
 turbed by the opinion of the world. When he has 
 created a thing which he knows to be good, he is 
 satisfied." 
 
 " I see," I said. 
 
 "Shall we walk on?" 
 
 "No, I prefer to hear it standing." My voice was 
 resigned. 
 
 "Thanks; the opening lines are strong, I think." 
 
 "Stupendous orb, most glorious Sun, 
 When will thy sacred course be run?" 
 
 He paused, but I made no sign. 
 
 "Shalt thou forever shine on high 
 And reign rejoicing in the sky ? 
 Six thousand years have passed away 
 Since dawned creation's awful day." 
 [181]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Stop," I cried. " You've got wrong in your dates. 
 Billions, you mean." 
 
 "Not at all. Genesis has been my text-book; be- 
 sides, billions is an inartistic word." 
 
 " So you would sacrifice truth to art ? " 
 
 " Certainly, when necessary." 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 " You are interested ? " 
 
 "I would like to hear if there are any further rash 
 statements." 
 
 "Stupendous orb, most glorious Sun 
 When" 
 
 "But you've said all that before," I cried hastily. 
 
 " I am obliged to begin all over again when I am in- 
 terrupted. Surely you must remember ? " 
 
 " I had forgotten," I replied sadly. 
 
 This time I took care not to interrupt him by so much 
 as a groan, not even over the most excruciating lines. 
 
 "Thanks," I said when he had finished. 
 
 "No comments?" he inquired airily. "Of course, 
 I know as yet I'm only a minor poet, but I don't think 
 it's a bad little thing?" 
 
 " Not so very bad," I murmured. " Good-by," and 
 picking up my skirts, I took to my heels and ran. 
 
 This, I find, is the best way of getting rid of minor 
 poets. Run away from them. 
 
 Soon the Oldfield Farm appeared in sight. It wore 
 a pleasant, hospitable air, and I knew its milk to be the 
 
 [182]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 best in Heatherland. I persuaded Miss Swiftly to put 
 me some in a pint bottle, and lend me an old cup. I 
 wanted to lunch out of doors. In addition, she gave me 
 a lovely, freshly-made scone covered with her own 
 fresh butter. 
 
 "You are a dear, Miss Swiftly, and I already feel 
 rampageously hungry. I shall go straight away to 
 Piper's Well and picnic there, and on my return journey 
 I will leave you the bottle and cup." 
 
 "Don't you trouble, Miss Hazel," she said. "You 
 are quite welcome to them. And you might be going 
 back another way. I hear there is a shooting party 
 over the Durdans, and Mr. Inderwick is there. I'm 
 told that you and he are great friends," and she gave a 
 foolish little giggle. 
 
 I stared at her for a moment. So village gossip about 
 our walk was evidently in full swing, and had reached 
 as far as Oldfield Farm. How I loathed villagers. 
 What a set of babbling, chattering, gossiping poll- 
 parrots they were. Why couldn't they attend to their 
 own business ? I had noticed those ten heads peeping 
 round muslin blinds that day, but then they so often 
 peeped, even when I was quite alone. It was really 
 terribly confining and cramping living in such an 
 atmosphere. I felt stifled and oppressed. 
 
 I met Miss Swiftly's inquisitive, amused, quizzical 
 look with a bold front. 
 
 " You have been misinformed if you have been told 
 that Mr. Inderwick and I are great friends. I have met 
 
 [183]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 him about three times since he came to Heatherland. 
 At present he is an acquaintance. Some day I hope to 
 reckon him as my friend. The village is simply a little 
 premature." 
 
 I succeeded in keeping my voice calm and even, but 
 as I walked away I was shaking with temper. My day 
 was spoiled. I walked mechanically to Piper's Well. 
 I sat down and listened to the little babbling noise of 
 the water as it sprang from a grassy bank to the stones 
 below. 
 
 " God," I said, " I wish you would destroy the village 
 of Heatherland as you did Sodom and Gomorrah of 
 old with fire and brimstone, and I would fly first to 
 Aunt Menelophe as Lot escaped to Zoar. Of course, 
 too, I should like mother and Angela to be saved. 
 Probably Angela would look back and be turned into 
 a pillar of salt; and, on the whole, it would not be a 
 bad end for her, or one she would dislike, as it would 
 be so clean and healthy." 
 
 Then I ate my meat pasty, and Dibbs prodded me 
 with a gentle paw. We had mouthfuls alternately and 
 sips of the milk. Dibbs enjoyed his lunch, and de- 
 voured three-quarters of the scone, but I didn't care 
 for such a gross thing as food. I merely ate to live. 
 My mind was engrossed with sombre thoughts on vil- 
 lage life. I think people who write exquisite idylls 
 about simple, primitive country-folk have never lived 
 in a village, or they couldn't pen such drivel. They 
 probably flop down into one for a week or two's rest to 
 
 [184]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 recruit their forces and energy to grapple with the stren- 
 uousness of their lives in town. Then they tear back to 
 their big cities and rave about everything : cows stand- 
 ing knee-deep in lush meadows; quaint, old-world, 
 thatched cottages; ducks waddling on village greens; 
 rustic maidens with pink cheeks, shy eyes, and shapes 
 like a Venus de Milo ; dear old simple men and women 
 every one of them over eighty sitting dozing and 
 babbling and crooning in the sunshine at their spotless 
 cottage doors; fragrant, old-fashioned gardens full of 
 sweet-scented lavender bushes, columbines, sweet- 
 williams and cockle-shells; the whole land overflowing 
 with fresh yellow butter, cream, honey, and eggs; no 
 poverty, no sin, no crime; every inhabitant as guileless 
 as a sleeping kitten. 
 
 It is a pretty fancy, and some of it is not purely the 
 outcome of a vivid imagination. We have thatched 
 cottages and columbines and cockle-shells by the gross. 
 We have cows and lush meadows and even a few ducks. 
 In addition, we have the Dee with its ceaseless ebb and 
 flow, and the Welsh hills enfolded in their witchery of 
 blue and purple and shadowy gray mists. We have 
 quiet dawns, with the sun creeping up behind the hills, 
 and wondrous golden sunsets, when the Dee is trans- 
 formed into a river of molten glory. We have fresh 
 butter at an exorbitant price and heather, and 
 honey, and eggs at certain periods of the year when the 
 fowls cease moulting and sitting. We have fragrant 
 flowers and many fruits of the earth and beautiful old 
 
 [185]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 gardens. We have maidens with pink cheeks, though 
 their eyes are anything but shy, and their shapes resem- 
 ble oven-bottom loaves. We have old men and women 
 who very occasionally sit at their cottage doors, none of 
 them caring too much for fresh air; but where, oh 
 where, are the dear, simple-minded guileless ones ? 
 Do innocent, pure-hearted, kindly, selfless, venerable 
 men and women of villages exist only in the pages of a 
 novel, or is my sense of perception void ? Fancy calling 
 Miss Swiftly simple-minded! But of course she is not 
 old. She may become everything that is desirable by 
 the time she has reached eighty, gossiping, imaginative, 
 old scandal-monger! A village would be the most de- 
 lightful thing in the world if there were no people 
 in it. 
 
 I sat and mused by the well till Dibbs became im- 
 patient, and a little shiver ran over me. After all, it 
 was December, and when the sun began to make its 
 first move toward the west the air at once became 
 colder. There was going to be another frost, one 
 could feel it approaching, and the branches of the 
 trees stood motionless as though gathering together 
 all their resources to withstand the enemy. Not a 
 blade of grass or a twig moved; everything was as 
 still as death; only the spring sang and spirtled, and 
 gurgled and tumbled. I rinsed the bottle and cup 
 in the falling water, and bathed my face and hands in 
 its iciness. 
 
 " I will go home," I said out loud. 
 [186]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 My desire for a long walk had gone. The glamour 
 and beauty of the day were fading, my spirits were 
 down to zero. I felt that it was hard that the world 
 would not allow me to contract a simple friendship 
 with a man who my instinct told me was of good, 
 solid gold when once you penetrated his rough outer 
 crust. I had so enjoyed that walk, so appreciated his 
 direct, straight mode of speech, been so carried away 
 and impressed with the breadth of his views and 
 simplicity of thought. I had never met any one who 
 appeared so utterly indifferent to the opinion of his 
 fellow-creatures. Not because he was hide-bound 
 with self-appreciation and egotism or conceit, of that 
 I was sure, for he seemed quite unself-conscious and 
 simple, but because it never appeared to enter his 
 head for one moment that people might be interested 
 in his movements, sayings, or doings. What he wanted 
 to do he went straight away and did. 
 
 Oh, how I wished that I had been gifted with a 
 like strength of character. Why should I consider 
 the world's opinion of me, so long as I did what I 
 knew to be harmless ? The world did nothing for me. 
 Why should I give up my walks with Mr. Inderwick 
 to please it ? I knew, too, that I should really please it 
 much more if I continued them. That was the point. 
 Heatherland would be down on me to a woman if I were 
 again seen with him alone ; but if I were not the savor 
 would be gone out of their lives. I realized that this 
 savor would be no longer provided by me. I don't 
 [187]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 think I am of that type of girl who is never so happy 
 as when she is causing a sensation. In theory I glory 
 in the thought of defying all the narrow conventional- 
 ities of society. I bristle with bravery in the privacy of 
 my room. Put me in the full glare of public opinion, 
 and under the pitiless gaze of the women of the village, 
 and I am simply abject. 
 
 I shook out my skirts, and metaphorically thrust 
 Mr. Inderwick out of my path. He must go. He 
 had said, "We will have many walks together." He 
 was a dense man ; he didn't understand things. " Come 
 along, Dibbs, my friendship with Mr. Inderwick is off," 
 I said, and we started down the field for the shore, as I 
 intended returning home that way, and would give 
 Miss Swiftly her bottle and cup some other day. 
 
 We had gone about a hundred yards, when I heard 
 a shout behind. Some one was calling my name. It 
 was Mr. Inderwick's voice, but I wouldn't hear. I 
 stumped firmly along, for had I not just decided that 
 our friendship must cease? We must in future only 
 meet as ordinary acquaintances in drawing-rooms. 
 
 Again he called, and this time in a somewhat per- 
 emptory fashion, " Miss Hazel, wait a minute." 
 
 But still I would not hear. Probably Heatherland 
 had secured, at that very moment, a lighthouse from 
 somewhere, and was sitting up in it with telescopes 
 and field-glasses surveying the landscape. 
 
 " Miss Hazel, are you stone-deaf ? " 
 
 This was rude, and he must be told so. I turned 
 [188]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 round slowly, and watched his approach. As he came 
 nearer I observed he was limping, and that his mouth 
 was set as though in pain. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " I asked quickly. 
 
 " Oh, I have hurt my ankle given it a bit of twist 
 and racing after you has not improved it. Were you 
 walking for a wager ? " 
 
 He sounded cross, but I could see he was in pain, 
 so I answered gently: 
 
 "Sit down on this stile for a minute and unlace 
 your boot. How did it happen ? And why have you 
 raced after me, when every step has probably injured 
 you seriously? You should have gone to Miss 
 Swiftly's." 
 
 " I did, and she told me you were at the Well, so I 
 came after you." 
 
 " But that was very unwise. A twisted ankle is not 
 a thing to play with." 
 
 "Look here," he interrupted, "don't begin to 
 preach. It's not hurt badly no sprain or anything 
 serious and I thought we could go home together. 
 Miss Swiftly is lending me her trap, and perhaps you 
 would like a lift." 
 
 "No, thanks," I said stiffly; "I am returning by 
 the shore." 
 
 " But need you ? Couldn't you just as well come 
 with me, and I would take you a bit of a drive first ? " 
 
 His tone was eager, and the offer was tempting. 
 Drives didn't often come my way. He sat down and 
 
 [189]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 began to unlace his boot, and his mouth screwed up 
 as though it hurt him. 
 
 " Will you ? " he said again. 
 
 "No, I can't." 
 
 " Why not ? Don't you like driving ? " 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 "Well, then, why not come? You will be quite 
 safe with me. I am accustomed to everything in the 
 shape of horseflesh. You needn't be nervous." 
 
 "I am not," I replied sharply. "I am not nervous 
 of anything." 
 
 "Oh, well, then, that's settled," he said calmly. 
 "Deuce, how my ankle's swollen! Just look." 
 
 I looked, and it was certainly very puffy and fat. 
 He regarded it ruefully. 
 
 "That's through not looking before you leap. I 
 jumped over a pretty stiff fence and landed in a rabbit 
 hole. I was shooting with some men over the Durdans, 
 and pretty nearly shot myself." 
 
 "You are too big and heavy to go vaulting fences 
 like a schoolboy," I commented severely. "I don't 
 know how you are going to get home." 
 
 " I do," he answered composedly. " It is not so bad 
 as all that. It looks worse than it is. I shall just ask 
 you to be so good as to give me a bit of help across this 
 field to the farm, and the rest will be easy." 
 
 " I am afraid I shan't be much use. I am not very 
 strong." 
 
 "Yes, excuse me, you are. You are the strongest 
 [190]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 young lady I have met. And now may I lean on your 
 shoulder ? I am sorry to trouble you, but I won't bear 
 more heavily than I can help." 
 
 He did so without further formality. He was still 
 without his boot, and limped along in his stocking foot. 
 
 "We might be Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester," I 
 began, then I could have bitten out my tongue. 
 
 "Yes, only you will perhaps remember Jane was 
 kind and sympathetic," he said, turning and looking 
 into my face with a smile. 
 
 "I think I have been extremely sympathetic," I 
 retorted. 
 
 "Indeed! I was just at the moment reflecting I had 
 rarely met with any one who seemed more bored at 
 doing a little kindness." 
 
 "I am not bored," I flashed out, "only 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 I was mute. I could not tell him that though greatly 
 enjoying the situation, I was convinced that telescopes 
 were being turned on to us from various points of 
 Heatherland, and that behind each sat a woman, a 
 woman with an inordinate love of gossip and an imag- 
 ination as vivid as the noonday sun. 
 
 " Only what ? " he repeated. 
 
 I wriggled in spirit. What a persistent man he was ! 
 And it was so difficult to tell lies beneath that steady 
 gaze. 
 
 " I have my reasons," I said at length doggedly. 
 
 "Yes, so I suppose, and I am trying to get at them. 
 [191]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 You were so nice and friendly the other day, and we 
 had such a jolly walk, and now well, now you treat 
 me as though I were a stranger, and instead of offering 
 the cup of cold water you pass over to the other side. 
 And it is not very nice of you, considering you are 
 religious." 
 
 I could not help laughing at his tone. 
 
 "But I am not religious. I am dreadfully wicked. 
 If you only knew what I had done to-day," and I told 
 him about the keyhole. 
 
 He chuckled for a few minutes. 
 
 "Yes, I think you are pretty wicked," he said, "but 
 at the same time I fancy you are religious. You never 
 miss saying your prayers or reading your Bible morn- 
 ing and night, or going to church; and you give to the 
 poor, and to missionaries, and waifs and strays; and 
 you go to sewing meetings, and visit your district, and 
 read to blind women. Don't you ? " 
 
 " But that is not being religious. Surely you must 
 know that? Those are all mere empty works which 
 are void without faith and love. And I have no love 
 for any of them. I hate the lot. I do these things only 
 from a sense of duty, and to please mother and Angela." 
 
 "Then all the more credit due to you," he said 
 gravely. "When people take up work which is thor- 
 oughly distasteful to them, and go through with it 
 bravely and honestly, they are on the right track for 
 heaven, to my thinking." 
 
 " I don't know," I said, sighing. " I believe I do it in 
 [192]
 
 H;AZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 the hope of securing a tiny corner for myself in the 
 next world, and because I am really sorry for poor 
 people." 
 
 " And they adore you." 
 
 How comforting he was. I did not stop to inquire 
 how he had discovered such a startling and comfortable 
 fact if it were a fact. I just stroked myself down 
 gently. How lovely it was to know that somebody 
 adored me. I always feel at my best with Mr. Inder- 
 wick. 
 
 We had reached the farmyard. The horse and trap 
 stood waiting, and Miss Swiftly ogled at us from the 
 doorway. I gave her the cup and bottle, and, turning 
 to Mr. Inderwick, held out my hand. 
 
 "Good-by," I said a little stiffly. I fancied I saw 
 four ears on Miss Swiftly's head instead of two, and 
 they all pointed ourway as a setter points at his quarry. 
 
 But he took no notice of it. My palm embraced the 
 air while he busied himself with the rug. 
 
 " Now will you get in, Miss Hazel ? " he said, offering 
 me his hand as cool as a cucumber. "Just stand up a 
 moment while I tuck the rug round you; that's it. 
 Good-day, Miss Swiftly. Many thanks. My man shall 
 bring back the trap this evening. You say you won't 
 be wanting it. Hope I shall be able to do you a similar 
 kindness some day without the strained ankle thrown 
 in. Good-day." And we rattled across the cobbles of 
 the yard and down the narrow lane, with its hedge of 
 furze bushes, followed by Miss Swiftly's starting eyes 
 13 [193]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and extended ears, and the wide grin of a hulking 
 stable-boy. 
 
 What we said, and how we disagreed, and where we 
 drove to must be reserved for another day, for I must 
 go down to supper. The gong has gone twice, and I 
 must meet mother and Angela sooner or later. I wish 
 it could be later. There is bound to be a lecture. I 
 slipped in and up the stairs without making a sound. 
 Yet I know they are aware of my presence in the house, 
 or why sound the gong twice ? Angela has never been 
 late for a meal in her life. So I must take my courage 
 in my hands and gird up my loins to withstand the on- 
 slaught of the enemy. 
 
 The drive was worth it all. 
 
 [194]
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 On the Repairing of a Lock and my Drive with Mr. 
 Inderwick 
 
 BILL BONNYMAN has just finished repairing 
 the lock of the store-cupboard door. When 
 the last screw was removed, and the lock was 
 being gently shaken about in Bill's large hand, I deftly 
 slipped in between it and Angela. She did not hear 
 the rattle of a tiny pebble on the floor, and if she did, 
 it would be from Bill's boot. 
 
 " What was it, Bill ? Why wouldn't the key turn ? " 
 she asked with interest. 
 
 "A bit of dirt, miss. P'r'aps something out of your 
 pocket which stuck in the little hole at the top end of 
 the key." 
 
 "I don't have dirty pockets, Bill," she said with dig- 
 nity. "Besides, I don't carry the key there. It is 
 attached to the chatelaine at my waist." 
 
 " Ah well, miss ! Keyholes often pick up a bit of dirt. 
 It's a habit they have," and Bill prepared to go. 
 
 "Couldn't Bill have a glass of beer, Angela?" I 
 whispered. 
 
 [195]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 She looked at me in surprise. 
 
 " Mother never gives beer to any one." 
 
 "She does to the carpet-shakers in the spring and 
 autumn cleanings." 
 
 "That is different. She is obliged to. It is the 
 custom in Heatherland sixpence a corner and a glass 
 of beer each. But there is no occasion for Bill to have 
 it; he is paid for his work." 
 
 " But he is so kind and nice," I persisted. 
 
 " That is not sufficient reason for giving a man beer," 
 she said in her most final tones. 
 
 I followed Bill to the back door and slipped two- 
 pence into his hand. 
 
 "That is for beer, Bill." 
 
 "Thank you kindly, miss, but I'm teetotal." 
 
 Once again Bill caused me to gasp. First he was in 
 when as a plumber he should have been out, and now 
 he was teetotal. I did not know there was a teetotal 
 man in Heatherland. I watched him down the walk 
 and into Sandy Lane. I felt fond of Bill. I owed my 
 lovely drive to him. But for his sympathy yesterday I 
 should have been miserable and felt bound to return to 
 Angela and confess my crime; his tacit acquiescence to 
 keep quiet and say nothing encouraged me to brazen 
 the whole thing out, and I was rewarded for my temer- 
 ity. My day more than equalled expectations, espe- 
 cially the evening part of it, and the drive with Mr. 
 Inderwick. 
 
 Of course the weather was exceptionally fine, and I 
 [196]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 am sure there were more stars than usual in the sky. 
 One great big one shot into the blue almost before the 
 red and gold in the west had faded and died. Then 
 another appeared. And then, as if by magic, the whole 
 lot of them came upon the scene big and little, fixed 
 stars and planets and they twinkled and winkled, and 
 sparkled and glittered till the heavens seemed fairly 
 alive with their glimmering eyes. They appeared, I 
 thought, to be winking at us. Supposing Mrs. Gates 
 were seated in one of them and Angela in another. I 
 shuffled uneasily. There was still time to get down 
 and go home alone. We had not got very far from 
 Heatherland, though it was rapidly retreating behind 
 us. This was what Mr. Inderwick called making a 
 little detour, 
 
 I summoned all my courage and duty and well- 
 brought-upness and good moral training to my aid, 
 and demanded to be set down immediately. 
 
 Mr. Inderwick instantly became deeply interested 
 in Dibbs's movements behind us, and whistled to him 
 loudly. 
 
 "He is all right," I said. "Will you put me down 
 at once? I did not argue before Miss Swiftly, but I 
 have no intention of going a drive with you." 
 
 We covered quite another quarter of a mile before 
 he replied 
 
 " I am sorry you have changed your mind. You are 
 a little wobbly. I thought in the fields you decided 
 you would go." 
 
 [197]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " I never did," I cried hotly. " I had not the slightest 
 intention of driving one yard with you." 
 
 " Why are you here, then ? " 
 
 I could have shaken him. Of all the exasperating 
 men in the world ! First he mastered me, then he called 
 me wobbly. Such impertinence ! It was gross. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick," I said, "you may think you are 
 being funny. It does not strike me that way. I call 
 your behavior ungentlemanly, ill-bred, and cruel. To 
 kidnap a defenceless girl on the public highway is not 
 a very creditable piece of work." 
 
 I glowered at him as I spoke, expecting him to pull 
 the horse on to its haunches in his shame and sorrow, 
 and I could hardly believe my own senses either sight 
 or hearing when his lips twitched and he finally broke 
 into such chuckling that his great shoulders heaved up 
 and down like young earthquakes. 
 
 That settled it. I was really angry. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick, if you have one particle of manly 
 or gentlemanly feeling in you and I am beginning 
 to doubt if you have may I appeal to it, once again, 
 and request you to stop the horse and allow me to 
 get down." 
 
 I hardly realized that we had passed West Kirby 
 and were a good four miles from home, and that it 
 nad was now quite dark but for the glimmering light of 
 the stars. 
 
 He pulled up the horse, and handed me down with- 
 out speaking. 
 
 [198]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Good-night," I said freezingly as I turned on my 
 heel and set off down the hard road at a good speed. 
 
 " Wait a bit," he called after me. " If you will allow 
 me, I will keep just behind you in the trap. It is not 
 safe for you to be on these lonely roads at this time 
 of night." 
 
 I vouchsafed no answer. The thing was becoming 
 farcical. The horse's hoofs clinked, and the wheels 
 rumbled slowly immediately in my rear. When I hur- 
 ried, they hurried; when I slowed down, they slowed 
 down. A match struck and a fragrant whiff of tobacco 
 curled along the sharp air. A man could always find 
 comfort in his pipe ; and there he was seated cosily and 
 comfortably under the warm rug, while I was out in the 
 cold, chill air. I felt exceedingly sorry for myself. Men 
 were so selfish. And I had had no tea, and was dread- 
 fully hungry and very tired, and I had still two more 
 miles to walk. 
 
 " Have you nearly had enough, Miss Hazel ? " 
 
 The voice was quite gentle, though I fancied I could 
 still detect a trace of amusement in it, and my back 
 stiffened. 
 
 " Miss Hazel, I want to say something to you, and I 
 can't if you tear on like that. Won't you stop a min- 
 ute?" 
 
 The voice was almost supplicating this time, and a 
 stone in my boot was hurting me. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Oh, don't say ' well ! ' like that. You quite frighten 
 [199]
 
 HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 
 
 me. You sound like an iceberg, and I am so helpless 
 with my lame foot. Just stop one minute. The horse 
 is getting quite out of breath." 
 
 I was glad that the darkness covered up my smile. 
 I stopped quite suddenly, and the horse almost walked 
 over me. 
 
 " And now you are trying to commit suicide," he re- 
 marked plaintively. " I think women are a little un- 
 reasonable, don't you ? " 
 
 " Unreasonable ! " I flashed. 
 
 "Yes. But I don't say you are. I was only gener- 
 alizing. This keen air is conducive to thought and 
 philosophy." 
 
 " May I ask if you called me back to listen to your 
 prosings on women ? " 
 
 "That sounds a little unkind," he said. "No, I 
 wanted to tell you how sorry I am for being so ungen- 
 tlemanly and ill-bred and what was the other thing ? 
 cruel, wasn't it? and for kidnapping you. I never 
 meant to kidnap you, I assure you. And I am really 
 sorry that my manner led you to think I had such an 
 object in view. The fact is, I was so keen on taking 
 you for a drive you seem so fond of the fresh air and 
 country and such things that I forgot your feelings in 
 the matter. And there is a jolly little place in West 
 Kirby where you can get tea and hot muffins, and 
 well, I thought what a nice time we would have, the 
 same as the other afternoon; and there are such a lot 
 of stars, and the roads are so good, and it's quite 
 
 [200]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 early. And this place is sort of Japanesy all odd and 
 pretty." 
 
 "And what about your ankle? I thought it hurt 
 you, and you have no boot on." 
 
 " Oh, I forgot that. But it doesn't hurt much now, 
 and I could easily have hobbled into the tea-room, and 
 the muffins are so hot and buttery, and " 
 
 " Don't ! " I groaned. " I am absolutely ravenous." 
 
 " Are you ? Poor child ! " he said in the most beauti- 
 fully sympathetic voice I ever heard. "I am sorry. 
 But we should be back there in ten minutes if you got 
 in the trap at once. It is quite early, and I promise to 
 take you in by 6:30. I know Mrs. Wycherley is par- 
 ticular, but she won't mind your being with me, of 
 course, when I have known you for fourteen years. I 
 will take good care of you." 
 
 He was helping me in as he spoke, and my last frag- 
 ment of indecision oozed out of my heels. He was so 
 sensible and matter-of-fact and practical, that I won- 
 dered how I could have been so fussy about such a 
 trifle. I was tired, too, and very hungry. I did not like 
 the sensation, I must admit, of having been conquered 
 by this determined man. But there are moments in 
 one's life when one must show a fine spirit and give in. 
 Only really broad-minded people give in; narrow, 
 petty souls always remain obstinate, but they call it by 
 another name firmness. 
 
 And Mr. Inderwick was not blatantly triumphant 
 over his victory. I will give him credit for showing a 
 
 [201]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 nice, humble feeling. He talked of every-day events in 
 an every-day voice as we drove back to West Kirby, 
 and he helped me to get down as respectfully as if I 
 had been the Empress of all the Russias. 
 
 The tea-room was all he had promised odd and 
 pretty and Japanesy. Quaint Oriental curtains were 
 drawn across the windows, so Mrs. Gates and Angela 
 could not peep in upon us from their respective stars. 
 
 Stimulated by the tea, I soon forgot my qualms and 
 became cheerful and talkative, while he relapsed into 
 his customary attentive silence and prolonged, fixed 
 staring. I don't think he is aware of this bad, dis- 
 quieting habit. Some day when I know him better I 
 must tell him of it. It is not good manners. 
 
 I felt it was my duty, too, to point out to him that it 
 had been rude and untrue to call me " wobbly." 
 
 "Well, aren't you?" he said, smiling. "I thought 
 all girls were." 
 
 "Your knowledge of girls has apparently been 
 small," I replied. "Girls have plenty of of char- 
 acter." 
 
 " Oh, have they ? " he said, looking surprised. 
 
 " You do not amuse me," I observed, glancing at the 
 clock and springing to my feet at the same instant. 
 
 "Now don't get fussy," he said quietly. "I prom- 
 ised you should be in by half -past six, and you shall. 
 You seem to be under the impression that not a 
 single affair of the nation, either public or private, 
 can be managed without your assistance, and it is 
 
 [ 202 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 such a mistake on your part. You must have faith in 
 people." 
 
 Then he called for the bill and limped slowly after 
 me to the door, followed by the astonished eyes of the 
 girl, who evidently thought the sight of a brown stock- 
 inged foot at the end of a leather legging rather unusual. 
 
 " How is your ankle ? " I inquired, as he stood on the 
 cold pavement on one leg. 
 
 " Nicely, thank you. It doesn't hurt much, but it is 
 pretty swollen and very cold." 
 
 " You should have gone straight home. I expect you 
 will be laid up for weeks." 
 
 " Probably, but I've risked it. I like being with you 
 somehow." 
 
 "Thanks. But I think the 'somehow' was a little 
 unnecessary." 
 
 I could feel him smiling as he touched up the horse. 
 
 "Tell me why you like being with me?" I asked, 
 with that interest which a woman invariably displays 
 in her own personality. I can only get mother and 
 Angela to discuss me on rare occasions, and then in a 
 way I do not always care about. 
 
 "You are so vivid, so terrifically in earnest about 
 everything; you take yourself so seriously." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 "Well, for instance, you are so affected by the 
 
 Parian jugs, and the little monotonous details which 
 
 are bound to enter into most people's lives. They 
 
 chafe and fret you so. Don't think I am not sympa- 
 
 [203 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 thetic about them, I think the small worries of life are 
 the hardest to bear, for there are so many of them. 
 But I think you feel them more than you should. You 
 are nervous and highly strung. And then haven't you 
 rather exaggerated to yourself the friendly interest 
 which Miss Swiftly and possibly a few other villagers 
 are evidently taking at the moment in us ? It pleases 
 them their lives are dull and won't harm you and 
 me." 
 
 I sat dumfounded. My tongue clicked in my dry 
 mouth, but no sound came. So he was not blind or 
 dense as I had imagined. He had known all the time 
 my reason for not wishing to drive with him. He was 
 aware that our names, his and mine, were being bandied 
 together about the village, and he spoke as calmly of it 
 as he would speak of the weather. 
 
 " How did you know ? " I inquired at length, faintly. 
 " Did did Miss Swiftly say anything ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," he said cheerfully. " But I had not been 
 in her kitchen two minutes before she told me you were 
 down the farm fields at Piper's Well. Within two more 
 minutes she again gave me the same pleasing informa- 
 tion. This was followed by your refusing to hear me, 
 then to drive with me, and your general unsympa- 
 thetic aggressiveness. Miss Swiftly's vacuous smile as 
 we drove away caused me to see daylight, and I soon 
 found that two and two made four." 
 
 He allowed the horse to fall into a walk, and turned 
 and looked at me searchingly. 
 
 [204]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 My cheeks burned, and I blessed the night for 
 having fallen and the moon for staying in another 
 part of the world. 
 
 " I thought you were blind and absent-minded, and 
 did not see things," I presently murmured nervously. 
 
 "I am not blind or absent-minded where you are 
 concerned," he said with great decision. "You have 
 shaken me up and sharpened my faculties in an aston- 
 ishing way." 
 
 "And you are pretty heavy and solid and old to 
 shake up," I said flippantly and still more nervously. 
 "You remind me of an Early Victorian feather-bed 
 which has become lumpy." 
 
 " I am not old," he replied, a little irritably. " How 
 you carp on one's age!" and he flicked at the horse 
 with his whip, causing it to break into a gallop. 
 
 "Do I?" I said in surprise, becoming calmer. "I 
 am sorry. Have I ever mentioned it before ? " 
 
 " Frequently," he answered. 
 
 "That is not true. But, you see, you seemed quite 
 old to me when I was a little girl, and naturally it strikes 
 me you are still older now." 
 
 " All people who are grown up appear old to children. 
 They rarely distinguish between twenty-five and fifty- 
 five. As a matter of fact, when you were seven I was 
 twenty-one a mere slip of a youth in my second year 
 at the 'Varsity." 
 
 "You were never a slip," I replied firmly. "You 
 were big and grave and slow, and you seemed like 
 forty at the very least, even in those days." 
 
 [205]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Well, I wasn't," he snapped still more irritably. 
 "Try and disabuse your mind of that misconception. 
 I am still five years short of forty. Perhaps I appear 
 seventy to you to-night ? " 
 
 " No, I should say not more than seven if that." 
 
 He gave a grunt, and then we both laughed. 
 
 "If you knew my reason for not caring to drive 
 with you," I said bravely, "don't you think you were a 
 bit of a bully?" 
 
 "No," he replied. "To consider such infernal rot 
 betokens a weakness of character." 
 
 "Your language is anything but weak," I com- 
 mented severely. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but I feel strongly about it. If 
 one is always pandering to the world's opinion you may 
 as well shut up shop, or become a drivelling nincom- 
 poop. I don't mean to grovel at its feet. I intend to 
 enjoy life." 
 
 "I see. And does enjoying life mean compelling 
 people to go drives with you ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 I had nothing to say to that, and a silence fell upon us. 
 
 As we swung down the lane to our gate he said 
 
 "Is your man anywhere about, I wonder, to hold 
 the horse ? " 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 " I want to go in with you for a minute to explain to 
 Mrs. Wycherley that you have been good enough to 
 go for a drive with me." 
 
 [206]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Go in?" 
 
 "Yes. Why not? It seems only fair to you and 
 Mrs. Wycherley." 
 
 " But you can't. You mustn't on any account." 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked wonderingly. 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't think of it. It's impossible. They 
 would be flabbergasted. And Angela may have been 
 washing her head and be drying it in the dining-room. 
 She often does in winter to save a fire in her bedroom." 
 
 " And do you do the same ? " 
 
 "Yes. Why?" 
 
 "Well, I would call if I could just fix on the night. 
 I would like to see your hair down, it is so dark and 
 fluffy." 
 
 " Mr. Inderwick, I must say ' Good-night.' " 
 
 "Wait a minute. I don't know how I am to fix it 
 up." 
 
 "Fix what up?" 
 
 " Why, I wanted to ask Mrs. Wycherley if you might 
 drive with me to the meet next week, and perhaps Miss 
 Angela could come too." 
 
 I sat down down on the step and fairly heaved with 
 surprise. 
 
 "You are an astonishing person, Mr. Inderwick. 
 Mother would no more dream of allowing it than she 
 would permit us to dress up in men's clothes and go 
 round Heatherland with a barrel-organ." 
 
 "Wouldn't she not if I came in with you and 
 asked her ? " 
 
 [207]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Certainly not. She would think you raving mad." 
 
 He whistled for a moment reflectively. 
 
 " Well, would she if I asked her to come too ? You 
 and Miss Angela perhaps wouldn't mind sitting at the 
 back one way, and " 
 
 "And the other?" 
 
 "Oh, the other! Well, it would be a little difficult 
 to arrange. Can Miss Angela drive ? " 
 
 "No, she can't; and in my wildest moment of de- 
 rangement I cannot fancy mother at a meet." 
 
 " I'm sorry. When can you come to tea again ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 " Haven't they forgiven you about the Parian jugs ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That's a nuisance. It looks as though I can't fix 
 it up any way, and I should like to see you again before 
 I go away." 
 
 " Are you going away ? " 
 
 I tried and believe I kept the consternation out of 
 my voice, but I went all sort of blank inside. 
 
 "Yes, I'm going for a fortnight at Christmas." 
 
 "How jolly!" I ejaculated. 
 
 " Do you think so ? I would much prefer staying at 
 Heatherland. I regard it as an unmitigated nuisance. 
 Seven children in the house my brother's and the 
 entire place packed with Christmas-trees, dolls, wooden 
 horses, trains, soldiers, ducks, and sticky fingers. The 
 children themselves horribly over-fed and with a rapa- 
 cious desire and hankering after ' presents from uncle,' 
 and the parents apologetic and pulpy." 
 
 [208]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " Well, good-night, you have my sympathy." 
 
 " Good-night; I'm sorry you won't let me come in." 
 
 He picked up the reins and watched me as I ran up 
 the steps to the gate. After I had closed it, I popped 
 my head over and whispered in a low voice 
 
 "You have never returned mother's and Angela's 
 call, and they think it frightfully ill-mannered of 
 you." 
 
 Then I slipped noiselessly across the lawn, into the 
 house, and up to my room. 
 
 What a nice man he was, I reflected, as I brushed 
 my hair. So jolly and friendly and brotherly, and not 
 a scrap of nonsense about him. And showed such 
 thoroughly nice feeling to want to come in and explain 
 matters to mother. Very few men would have sug- 
 gested such a step. I felt I had found a real friend at 
 last. What a pity it was because a silly world talked 
 that we could have no more good times together. And 
 he was going away, too, and Heatherland would be 
 again flat and dull. I wished Aunt Menelophe would 
 invite me to spend Christmas with her. But mother 
 wouldn't permit it even if such an invitation came. We 
 must always spend Christmas together. It is the season 
 of the year when I feel more than usually fond of 
 Angela. 
 
 I went down to supper, and mother shook her head 
 at me very gravely as I took my place at the table. 
 Angela cast a pale-blue eye on me, and then ignored 
 me as completely as she does beggar-women. She does 
 
 14 [209]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 not approve of beggar-women ; she says they could all 
 get charing if they tried. 
 
 Toward the end of the meal she addressed me at 
 some length. The Welsh-rabbit may have lubricated 
 her throat. She spoke of selfishness and callousness, 
 and disobedience and shirking my duty, and all sorts 
 of sins mentioned in Jeremy Taylor. I listened to her 
 without replying. Her conversation always maintains 
 the same high level of elocutionary ability, but it lacks 
 originality. Mother's is much more interesting, and I 
 pay her the most attention. 
 
 After mother had read prayers and about Daniel in 
 the den of lions, I thought I would be a Daniel too. 
 So, taking my courage in my hands, I told them of 
 my drive with Mr. Inderwick and our tea at West 
 Kirby. 
 
 Figuratively speaking, Angela's arms and legs lay in 
 different parts of the room, as limbs have a way of doing 
 after the explosion of bombshells; and mother's cap 
 leaped farther to the side of her head. 
 
 I sat down gently on the edge of a chair and awaited 
 events. 
 
 Mother was the first to pull herself together. She 
 folded her hands, and I rose and respectfully put her 
 cap straight. It was unseemly that mother should be 
 about to speak as a parent to an erring child, wearing 
 such a rakish aspect. I appreciate the fitness of things. 
 
 Angela extinguished the candle she had lit prepara- 
 tory to going to bed, and took up her knitting. 
 
 [210]
 
 [HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I felt as though it were Act I., Scene 2. Wilful 
 daughter. Dutiful daughter. Heavy parent. I won- 
 dered idly what Act II. and III. would reveal. 
 
 The heavy parent was much briefer and more sym- 
 pathetic than I anticipated. Mother is often most 
 delightfully unexpected. Did she remember she her- 
 self had once been young? And did she remember 
 hiding in an undignified position behind a coal cart 
 with father to escape the stern paternal eye of Grand- 
 father Ridgewood ? 
 
 I ventured respectfully to recall this little situation 
 to her, and she said, after a momentary embarrass- 
 ment, that it had been ill-judged of father to repeat 
 such a foolish story. 
 
 "Besides, Hazel," she added, "it is the duty of chil- 
 dren to forget those things which parents in occasional 
 moments of expansion may reveal to them. Children 
 should ever be blind to the faults of their parents and 
 never remember anything they may tell them." 
 
 " If you really mean that," I said, laughing, " I 
 shall go for another drive with Mr. Inderwick to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Oh, Hazel, Hazel ! " said mother with a deep sigh. 
 " What a trial you are to your sister and me ! All our 
 efforts to make you a refined, well-bred woman seem 
 to be unavailing. You confess to having stood at the 
 gate talking to Mr. Inderwick for at least ten minutes. 
 Fancy a child of mine behaving like a common kitchen- 
 maid! If Mr. Inderwick desires to see you he must 
 
 [211]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 come well, he must come here. You are no longer a 
 little girl, as he evidently imagines." 
 
 "He doesn't," I said, feeling annoyed. "And he 
 wanted to come in, but I wouldn't let him." 
 
 " Why not ? " they cried together. 
 
 "Oh, I said it wouldn't be convenient, as probably 
 you had both been washing your heads and would be 
 drying them in the dining-room." 
 
 The last I saw of mother and Angela they were 
 sitting, with their jaws dropped, staring into the fire. 
 
 [212]
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 / am a Little Poorly, and Mr. Inderwick Calls 
 
 A STORM is raging over Heatherland. The wind 
 is sweeping and tearing round the house, and 
 booming away in the tree-tops, and wailing 
 down the chimneys, and sobbing under the doors. 
 Great hailstones keep dashing against my window and 
 dancing about on the garden walks like things de- 
 mented. The monkey trees are waving their long 
 arms about with Ophelian gestures, and the chestnuts 
 near the gate groan and sway as if in mortal agony. 
 
 I love a storm when I am securely tucked away in 
 a house. I like to watch our gentle, placid little Dee 
 churning and lashing itself up into a miniature sea, and 
 the great inky clouds rushing across the leaden sky. 
 To stand close to the window and laugh at the savage 
 hail straining to get at you, and watch the sleet driving 
 in a blinding sheet across the fields, how exhilarating it 
 is! And to lie warm and snug in bed on wild winter 
 nights and listen listen to all that is going on outside 
 the rain and wind, and snow and sleet and to 
 snuggle the eiderdown more closely round you and 
 know that none of them can get at you, how com- 
 forting ! 
 
 [2131
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Heroines in introspective novels appear to have such 
 curious sensations with regard to storms, and do such 
 unexpected things. They hang out of windows, or go 
 for long walks on cliffs, and feel like wild birds, and 
 want to be carried away by the tempest and lose them- 
 selves in the whirling atmosphere. I am so glad such 
 feelings do not overtake me; they must be extremely 
 uncomfortable. I enjoy a storm as much as any one 
 in reason ; but I never feel like a wild bird or want to 
 do anything rash. I am quite content to be in my room 
 with a nice bright fire. Yes, I have a fire the first 
 since I had measles, when I was fifteen. I have worked 
 very hard for it. When I woke I was seized with an 
 earnest longing to spend the day in my room and have 
 a fire. For some time I cudgelled my brains as how to 
 achieve it. Angela would never consent on account of 
 the extra work for Rose. " Have a sore throat " ; the 
 voice seemed to come from the neighborhood of the 
 washstand, and I sat up in bed and stared. What a 
 brilliant idea ! 
 
 Soon I was hastening down the passage in my 
 dressing-gown and slippers to mother's room. She was 
 not up, and I could just see the end of her nose peeping 
 forth from her mountainous feather-bed. When she 
 gets into bed she looks as though she were climbing 
 up the side of a house. 
 
 "Mother," I said, "may I have breakfast in bed 
 to-day ? I am a little bit poorly my throat 
 
 She started up and surveyed me anxiously from 
 
 [214]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 beneath her red damask canopy. My conscience 
 gave a nasty undesirable twinge. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not very bad," I said hastily. "Would 
 you like to look down my throat ? " 
 
 This was a safe invitation. Mother can't look down 
 throats properly, she gets the spoon all mixed up with 
 your tongue. 
 
 " Go back to bed at once," she said by way of reply. 
 " You'll catch your death of cold ; it is a bitter morning, 
 and there is scarlet fever in the village. I will come to 
 you later." 
 
 I stole guiltily back and huddled under the clothes. 
 I could hear her calling Angela, and telling Rose to 
 bring up a teaspoon from the pantry. I felt wretched, 
 and wondered what I should do. Could I swallow 
 some pink tooth powder? I put such an unworthy 
 thought from me. Mother and Angela arrived with 
 the spoon together. 
 
 " Now hold your tongue well down," said Angela. 
 
 " I would rather mother looked," I wailed fractiously. 
 They exchanged glances. 
 
 "She looks flushed," said mother; "give the spoon 
 to me." 
 
 She hurt a good deal, and made me choke violently. 
 
 " Of course, if you rear your tongue up in that way, 
 Hazel, it is quite impossible for me to see," said mother 
 at length, a little irritably. 
 
 I was trying not to laugh, and buried my head under 
 the clothes. When I felt it was safe to emerge I whis- 
 
 [215]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHEBLAND 
 
 pered faintly I was not very bad and would get up. 
 There was a heroism in my voice which even touched 
 Angela. 
 
 "No," she said, "lie still, and Rose shall bring up 
 your breakfast and light the fire." She began to re- 
 move the pink shavings from the fireplace as she spoke. 
 
 My conscience gave another mighty leap. How I 
 wished I had kept to the straight, narrow path! But 
 it was too late, Rose was already appearing with the 
 breakfast-tray. 
 
 "I will get up after a while and sit in my room, 
 Angela," I volunteered amiably. 
 
 " Not until after dinner; the room will be thoroughly 
 warm by then," she replied decisively, as she went out 
 and closed the door. 
 
 I did not in the least enjoy my breakfast: cold 
 draughts whistled round my back, and crumbs got 
 down the bed, and the fire smoked the chimney was 
 damp. I was not allowed a book, my arms must not 
 be exposed. Altogether I spent a wretched, dull morn- 
 ing. I counted the moments, when I might get up. 
 Mother paid me three visits, and each time she inquired 
 how I felt. On the first occasion she brought me hot 
 black-currant vinegar, which was very soothing; on 
 the second, a box of jujubes; and on the third, her 
 second-best, woolly, white shawl. She was very kind 
 and sympathetic, and feeling absolutely abject, I could 
 only squeeze her hand. 
 
 As soon as I had swallowed my dinner, which was 
 
 [216]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "light diet for an invalid" (boiled mutton), I leaped 
 out of bed, and was dressed and sitting in mother's 
 shawl before a lovely fire as Angela came into the 
 room. She inquired if I did not think it a little rash, 
 and I replied that I was sure I should take no harm 
 from it, and must harden myself preparatory to leaving 
 the room on the morrow. She said, " Do you think you 
 will be well enough to go down to-morrow ? " and I an- 
 swered I thought I should. And I think I shall, though 
 I have enjoyed this afternoon tremendously, and feel 
 quite comfortable about my deceit. The room is 
 lovely and warm and comfy now. I have stuffed my 
 dressing-gown along the bottom of the door where the 
 carpet lifts with the wind, and I have piled up the fire 
 till it glows red and hot, and, with my chair between the 
 fireplace and window, I can sit with my feet toasting on 
 the fender, and my eyes on the whirling elements 
 outside. 
 
 I can see Sammy sheltering in the doorway of the 
 potting-shed preparatory to making a dash across the 
 white, frozen lawn. It is too cold for the hail to melt, 
 and it lies in hard lumps. He has a sack pinned round 
 his shoulders, and his beard straggles in thin wisps on 
 his chest. He looks very miserable and cold and 
 pinched. Poor old Sammy ! I must wave to him. 
 
 [217]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I opened the window two inches, and told Sammy 
 to go to the kitchen and have some tea with Rose and 
 Elizabeth. They have theirs early, sensible women; 
 we have to wait for ours till five. And they have theirs 
 on a nice, little, round wooden table in front of the fire 
 and we have ours laid at the end of the big table in the 
 middle of the dining-room, right away from the fire. 
 When I have a house of my own I shall do things so dif- 
 ferently. I shall have a fire in the drawing-room every 
 day. It won't look a bit like a drawing-room; every 
 chair will be easy, and there will be nothing useless. I 
 shall go to it the minute after meals, and so escape the 
 lingering odor of cabbage and potatoes, and the bissell- 
 ing of the crumbs from off the carpet. Bissells are such 
 exasperating things. They trundle across the carpet 
 with a squeak, dislodge you from your chair because 
 your feet are resting on a few square inches of floor- 
 covering which may contain crumbs, dance in and out 
 of the furniture like Sir Roger de Coverley, and finally 
 hound you out of the room. I wonder how many times 
 I have escaped from their clutches to the garden or my 
 own bedroom ? And mother and Angela love bissells ! 
 
 Now I am going to have a good read. I have not 
 much choice, as my bookshelf is filled mainly with 
 religious works presented by mother and Angela to me 
 on my different birthdays. They have always had 
 this unfortunate taste in literature. On my sixth birth- 
 day Angela started me with "Morning Bells" and 
 " Evening Thoughts." It was chilly work on a winter's 
 
 [218]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 night spelling out the "Evening Thoughts" by the 
 light of a solitary candle, Angela keeping me well in 
 view for fear I might skip a portion. The book was 
 divided up into three hundred and sixty-five thoughts, 
 and some of them were drearier than others; my own 
 by contrast were the reflections of a master-mind. 
 
 At ten years of age I received "Gold Dust," the 
 binding of which was pretty and looked well in the 
 bookcase. Then I was passed on by degrees to Keble's 
 "Christian Year," "Daily Thoughts for the Young" 
 (these were thoughts for morning as well as evening), 
 "Being and Doing," "Advice to Young Christians," 
 and Jeremy Taylor's "Holy Living and Holy Dying." 
 Jeremy I like the best of the lot ; he is a dear. 
 
 In addition to these religious volumes I have a few 
 secular ones. First of all, and prime favorite with me 
 as a child and even grown up, is "Alice in Wonder- 
 land." Alice has ever been my best friend. When 
 Angela snubbed me Alice comforted me. She sat with 
 me in the sunny garden and suggested mad tea-parties, 
 with Sammy as the hatter, which honor he always po- 
 litely declined. She went to the shore with me, and 
 Dibbs and I " set to partners " on the yellow sands and 
 sang 
 
 "Will you, won't you? 
 Will you, won't you ? 
 Won't you join the dance?" 
 
 She was my companion in the fields and on the com- 
 mons while Dibbs and I searched for the white rabbit. 
 
 [219]
 
 HAZEL OP HEATHERLAND 
 
 She^tucked herself into bed with me at night, and 
 j^eped at me in alluring fashion in the early morning. 
 WItere I went, she went, never failing to bring me 
 pleasure and absorbing interest; and here's to your 
 health and long life, dear Alice in black-currant vine- 
 gar and may you bring much simple happiness to 
 millions of children now and in the ages to come ! 
 
 Next to Alice, *I have held steadfast in my regard 
 "Jane Eyre," "The Cloister and the Hearth," and 
 "The Moonstone-," three enchanting books. When 
 mother and Angela are present I say I like Scott and 
 Lytton and Thackeray they are standard authors, 
 and I am bound to like them and privately I adore 
 " The Newcomes." They think it shows an uneducated 
 taste to prefer Wilkie Collins to Lytton. Angela is 
 frequently suggesting I shall read something to im- 
 prove my mind Carlyle, Ruskin, Schiller, Goethe. 
 Now, if there is anything I detest it is an improving-to- 
 your-mind book. I don't think on the face of the earth 
 there is anything more dreary. I tried a bit of Schiller 
 once on a Sunday afternoon, a translation; I don't 
 know a word of German. I read a page, and felt I was 
 in a fog. I turned back and read it over again; this 
 time I was sure I wasn't right. I tried it a third time, 
 and then I went for " A Woman in White." I am never 
 going to read dry books for the sake of saying I have 
 read them. I am not clever or learned, and don't want 
 to be. You have so much more fun in life if you are 
 not expected to be clever. 
 
 [220]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 To fill up the blank spaces in my bookcase I have 
 placed Tupper's " Proverbial Philosophy," Locke " On 
 the Understanding," and Burton's "Anatomy of Mel- 
 ancholy." I found them in the cellar. Tupper has a 
 nice back blue with little gold stars. Then I have 
 several poets. I am going to whisper something now 
 I am not devoted to Shakespeare. Was there ever a 
 braver or more truthful girl ? I like Tennyson and 
 Shelley and Byron a thousand times better. Maud, 
 with her head running over with curls, and the poor 
 man lying on that Breton shore talking to little shells 
 after he had killed her brother; oh, how dreadful it 
 was! Great tears come into my eyes. If I had been 
 Maud I should have rushed after him and married him 
 as fast as I could. Women are so superior and uppish 
 in poetry. 
 
 Two poets I have stuck together at the back of the 
 shelf in a dark corner Chaucer and Burns. Men 
 should not be allowed to write in Early English and 
 Scotch : I would sooner read Latin. 
 
 Why don't I flourish like a green bay tree ? On two 
 occasions within the last fortnight I have been des- 
 perately deceitful the store-cupboard key and my 
 sore throat! And I haven't flourished and don't flourish. 
 Judgment descends upon and crushes me as remorse- 
 
 [221]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 lessly as a veritable Juggernaut. According to the 
 promise set forth in the Bible, I should at the moment 
 be having a real good time in the dining-room with Mr. 
 Inderwick.! for he is here, and is drinking tea with my 
 family; instead of which I am sitting in a dull, cold, 
 and depressing bedroom, and no more resemble a green 
 bay tree than a shrivelled, brown nettle does an arum 
 
 lily. 
 
 It is too exasperating. What Mr. Inderwick can be 
 thinking of to go paying calls in first-class typhoons 
 beats my feeble comprehension. He may enjoy slates 
 and chimney-pots whizzing through the air, but it 
 seems a dangerous amusement. And he still limps. 
 When the front gate banged, and I saw a man being 
 blown up the walk, I thought, at first, it was Sammy. 
 It was getting dark, and I watched him idly from the 
 window. As he approached the house, however, and 
 the rugged figure and big shoulders loomed more 
 clearly out of the gloom there was no mistaking it it 
 was Mr. Inderwick, with his hat jammed firmly on to 
 his head, and his body enveloped in a huge, rough 
 overcoat. He did not see me, and in a trice I had 
 kicked off my slippers, tiptoed down the passage, and, 
 craning my neck over the banisters, was just in time to 
 hear him inquire if Mrs. Wycherley were at home, see 
 him shake himself like, a Newfoundland dog, and follow 
 Rose into the dining-room. And of course that pert 
 Rose looked up and caught me peeping her eyes are 
 all over the place and when she brought up my tea 
 
 [222]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 a few minutes ago she observed cheerfully it was a pity 
 I was so poorly, as Mr. Inderwick had just asked for 
 me. I told her to shut the door and bring me up some 
 more coal. 
 
 Rose is somewhat familiar at times; she is the late 
 Crabby 's cowman's daughter, and appears to think it 
 her duty to discuss old Crabby's nephew, and I don't. 
 
 It was quite unnecessary, too, for Angela to send 
 me up another box of jujubes and more currant vinegar. 
 Her attentions are oppressive, especially as I told her 
 I was much better. 
 
 Oh, dear, what a wretched girl I am ! Such an ex- 
 traordinarily unattractive day for a man to select to 
 pay calls, and dangerous. A flying chimney-pot might 
 have struck him on the head, or a tree snapped and 
 knocked him down. 
 
 I wonder if Angela's eyes would fall out of her head 
 if I donned Aunt Menelophe's tea-gown, floated into 
 the dining-room with a society woman's languid, 
 graceful movements, and, dropping on to a couch, mo- 
 tioned Mr. Inderwick to my side. Would she ever 
 survive it ? I wish I had the courage to do it. A brave 
 girl would; a courageous girl wouldn't think twice 
 about it; a girl with plenty of backbone would be 
 there by now. It would be a natural and everyday 
 occurrence for her to be robed in an elegant tea-gown 
 at five o'clock in the afternoon, and to descend from 
 her rose-tinted boudoir to take tea with her family. 
 7 will be a girl with a backbone, I will do iU 
 
 [223]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I have flung Jeremy Taylor into a corner he has 
 been sort of winking at me all the afternoon and the 
 jujubes after him, nasty, sticky abominations ! 
 
 [224]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 / Unfortunately Knock off a Piece of Angela's Hair, 
 and She is Extremely Annoyed 
 
 THAT was yesterday. It was yesterday I de- 
 scended from my rose-tinted boudoir and in 
 trailing, silken garments floated into the dining- 
 room as bright and radiant as a green bay tree, which 
 was my due; and to-day I am picking onions, and feel 
 like a blighted weeping willow. To say that I gave 
 them a shock would be using the mildest and most 
 restrained of language. Even Dibbs sat up on his 
 hind legs and wailed, in the same way that emotional 
 people weep when they see a beautiful picture or hear 
 divine music. Dibbs is peculiarly sensitive. Angela 
 almost sat up on her hind legs, only Mr. Inderwick's 
 presence restrained her. I never realized before that 
 one's eyes could be so prominent unless suffering from 
 heart disease. Mother put two shrimps into her 
 second cup of tea and several lumps of sugar on to her 
 plate. Mr. Inderwick was the only controlled member 
 of the party. He drew up an armchair to the fire for 
 me, and, thanking him gracefully, I leaned back 
 15 [225]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 against the one hard cushion and green wool anti- 
 macassar, and gave a little sigh. 
 
 I did not give them time to speak, it would have 
 been fatal. My backbone was of steel, but it was 
 vulnerable ; they mustn't get one home. I told mother 
 I would have one cup of tea, as she was so pressing. I 
 thanked Angela for the jujubes, which had relieved 
 me considerably. I inquired sympathetically after 
 Mr. Inderwick's ankle, and I gathered Dibbs, who was 
 dirty, on to my knee, with a fine disregard for the 
 delicate and priceless to me texture of my gown. 
 I was accustomed to tea-gowns billowing round me 
 like lemon sponge. It was annoying that Dibbs should 
 sniff at the lemon sponge as though he had not met it 
 before, obliging me to restrain him with gentle though 
 forceful hand, but perhaps it was not observed. 
 
 It was a strain, too, to one's mental faculties keeping 
 an eye upon Angela. She was gathering together her 
 resources; three times she drew breath, and three times, 
 with unerring skill, I parried that breath. I took the 
 sentences out of her mouth, leaving her gaping. I 
 chattered, I talked, I laughed, I scintillated; my con- 
 versation would have rivalled Horace Walpole's. Mr. 
 Inderwick, without an invitation, drew his chair nearer 
 to mine, and his staring was more protracted than 
 usual. Mother, after ringing the bell for Rose to re- 
 move the tea things, took up her knitting, as is her 
 customary habit, but did not knit. The four needles 
 lay inert on her lap; her lips were parted, and her eyes 
 [226]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 rested upon my face as though it were strange to her. 
 Only Angela remained at the table, fixed, immovable, 
 awaiting her opportunity. I did not see her with my 
 eyes I was talking to Mr. Inderwick but her presence 
 filled the entire room that waiting, ominous, silent 
 figure. It oppressed me, but I rattled on. It seemed 
 to suffocate me, and my voice faltered ; but still I strug- 
 gled gamely, and then Mr. Inderwick rose to go. I was 
 saved. My gratitude to him was unbounded. I smiled 
 up at him, and insisted upon going to the door. A 
 breath of fresh air would do me good, I said, and swept 
 out into the hall before him. He closed the dining-room 
 door behind him, probably fearing the draughts for 
 mother, and was a long time in putting on his coat. I 
 felt that Rose was peeping again, and began to feel 
 nervous. 
 
 " Is your ankle quite well ? " I asked jerkily, forget- 
 ing that I had already put this question to him twice. 
 
 His answer was quite beside the mark 
 
 " When will you come for another drive ? " 
 
 "Never," I replied quickly, beginning to open the 
 hall door. 
 
 He closed it again quietly. 
 
 "I am not going yet, I have lost my gloves. Why 
 won't you come ? " 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 " Were they angry with you ? I wanted to come the 
 following day, but the doctor wouldn't allow it." 
 
 "You are not looking for your gloves," I observed. 
 [227]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Never mind them." He spoke impatiently. " Were 
 they angry with you ? " 
 
 "A little." 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, and his face went quite gentle 
 and soft. 
 
 " Oh, I didn't mind," I remarked hurriedly. I was 
 convinced Rose was peeping, and he was looking at me 
 in a way that made me wish he wouldn't. 
 
 "What were your gloves like, and where did you 
 put them?" I inquired brilliantly, again opening the 
 door. 
 
 This time he closed it without speaking, and stood 
 as though lost in thought. I was sure the dining-room 
 door opened an inch, and I felt desperate. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick, are you going to take up your 
 abode at Shady Oak ? It is a little cold here, and my 
 gown is thin." 
 
 "I wish I could." 
 
 I was unprepared for such an answer, and he spoke 
 with such earnestness that my cheeks went hot and my 
 heart jumped. Supposing they had heard him. I 
 made another hurried movement toward the door, but 
 he forestalled me. 
 
 "I never saw any one so anxious to get rid of a 
 guest. Are you usually as rude to your friends ? " 
 
 " I have a cold," I replied lamely. 
 
 " Is that why you wear a thin silk gown ? " 
 
 " It is lined and quite warm." 
 
 "It is very pretty." 
 
 [228]
 
 "Aunt Menelophe gave it to me." 
 
 "She's first-class taste. You look splendid in it." 
 
 I sat down limply. I had distinctly heard a sup- 
 pressed sound from the neighborhood of the kitchen. 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick, I don't wish to appear impolite, 
 but if you are staying will you return with me to the 
 dining-room ? It really is cold out here." 
 
 He smiled and shook hands. 
 
 "Your hand is very warm," he said calmly. "I 
 don't think you are cold really, but I am going." 
 
 " Have you found your gloves ? " 
 
 " I didn't bring any now I come to think of it. Shall 
 you be at church on Christmas morning ? " 
 
 " I thought you were going away ? " 
 
 "No, I have changed my mind; there are difficulties 
 in the way the farm " 
 
 "I see." 
 
 " Besides, I would like to help you with the church 
 decorations if I may ? " 
 
 " Help me with the decorations ? " This man would 
 never cease to astonish me. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Gates told me you had undertaken the 
 font." 
 
 " It is very kind of Mrs. Gates, but she is not very 
 exact. I merely said when she called to solicit our 
 annual contribution of holly and evergreens that I 
 might possibly go one day." 
 
 "Which day do you think it will be?" he asked 
 imperturbably. 
 
 [229]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " It depends on the mince-pies." 
 
 " I don't wish to appear curious, but I should be glad 
 if you will explain the connection ? " 
 
 He put his foot inside the door to prevent my clos- 
 ing it. 
 
 " Are you under the impression that I am a prisoner 
 at the bar and you the counsel for cross-examination, 
 Mr. Inderwick? If so, I will fetch a shawl." I spoke 
 with some asperity, and pushed the door against his 
 boot. 
 
 "One moment, please, Miss Hazel, then I will go. 
 About the mince-pies. Won't you explain ? Do you 
 take them to the church to refresh you ? " 
 
 I laughed in spite of myself. His persistence made 
 me feel weak. 
 
 "I don't know why I gratify your curiosity, but 
 Christmas week is a busy time with us. One day we 
 make scores of mince-pies. Angela makes the pastry, 
 and I butter the tins and fill, and put on the lids and 
 cross them with a skewer 
 
 " Cross them with a skewer ? " 
 
 "Don't interrupt," I said. "The following day we 
 distribute these mince-pies among the undeserving 
 villagers. It takes us hours Heatherland straggles, 
 and we walk for miles." 
 
 " I could help you with that." 
 
 I disregarded the interruption. 
 
 "Another day we decorate the church, that also 
 takes us hours; there are the wreaths and texts, and 
 
 [230]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 gossip and tea in the vestry. Christmas Day falls on 
 a Thursday this year " 
 
 "So that probably will mean mince-pies Monday, 
 distribution to undeserving villagers Tuesday, church 
 decorations Wednesday. I will be there on Wednes- 
 day, December 24th, and will cut you all your holly 
 ready for the wreaths, if you will allow me ? " 
 
 "It is prickly work. Good-night, Mr. Inderwick," 
 I said. 
 
 "Good-night; it could not be more prickly than a 
 young lady I know. Don't forget Wednesday," said 
 he, as he went away into the darkness. 
 
 I smiled to myself, and, much refreshed and stimu- 
 lated, returned to the den of lions. At any rate, I had 
 one nice friend in the world. 
 
 She shan't snub me, she shan't dictate to me, she 
 shan't sit on me," I said to myself as I opened the door. 
 
 Angela was hemming a table-cloth and mother 
 was knitting. Jauntily I walked down the room my 
 train gave me courage and seated myself on the arm 
 of mother's chair. She did not look up. I spoke ca- 
 ressingly to Dibbs, and he merely replied with a snore. 
 I glanced at Angela, and debated as to whether she 
 were human or a stone image. I attempted to whistle 
 cheerfully, and my whistle gave out. I swung my foot 
 backward and forward, and mother requested me to 
 be still. At the end of five minutes I rose. 
 
 " I think I will return to my room," I observed care- 
 lessly. 
 
 [231]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Your fire has been extinguished and the windows 
 thrown open for ventilation; the night air might be 
 injurious to your health." 
 
 The sound came from the neighborhood of Angela's 
 larynx, but it was unlike a voice. It was unlike any- 
 thing I had ever heard. 
 
 I sat down again and watched her hem. I felt unable 
 to do anything that voice had bereft me of speech. The 
 needle clicking against her silver thimble so evenly and 
 smoothly held me fascinated. Her cotton never knotted 
 as does mine; she never missed a stitch. Rapidly her 
 white fingers worked their way along the linen with such 
 regularity, such monotony, that I felt I should shriek. 
 If only she would prick one of them, or break her needle ! 
 If only she would speak, say something, lecture me, 
 scold me anything but that silent and remorseless 
 hemming! She neared the end, the last stitch was 
 taken, the thread was broken off. Deliberately she 
 folded her work, deliberately she raised her eyes, slowly 
 and deliberately she allowed those cold blue orbs to 
 rest upon me. My time was come. 
 
 "I have something to say to you, Hazel." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Were you really poorly this morning ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No sore throat?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Anything the matter with you ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 [282]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Your illness was an entire fabrication ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you hear that, mother?" Mother shuffled. 
 " Do you hear, mother ? " 
 
 u Yes." 
 
 Dear mother sounded unhappy. 
 
 Angela took out another piece of work from her 
 basket and resumed her sewing. I noticed it was a 
 baby's pink head-flannel, and it seemed an anachronism. 
 
 " Is that all ? " I asked breathlessly. 
 
 tt That is all. It may appear strange to you, but I 
 have no further desire to converse with a liar a de- 
 ceitful liar with one who decks herself out after the 
 manner of strange women, and who with men is bold 
 and forward." 
 
 Was it a kindly, sympathetic Providence who 
 steadied my arm and enabled me to aim that hard 
 cushion unerringly at the head of my sister and 
 dislodge a piece of her dead hair ? 
 
 In the first flush of victory a rare, strange feeling of 
 satisfaction and elation crept through my veins. I felt 
 as a sportsman must feel. I was the sportsman, Angela 
 a partridge; and I had hit her, and for the moment I 
 loved her as a victor can afford to love a vanquished foe. 
 
 But when I caught sight of the hair lying like a pale, 
 dead snake upon the carpet my teeth chattered and 
 the strength went out of my body. I had unwittingly 
 laid bare my sister's one little feminine weakness, her 
 one little vanity, her one weak human spot. For long 
 
 [233]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I had guessed that all those neat, shining coils upon her 
 head were not grown there. I had observed that those 
 coils when down and being dried in front of the dining- 
 room fire were thinner and rattier and skimpier than 
 when up ; but I had never been able to investigate this 
 delicate matter closely. Angela's door is securely 
 fastened at night. 
 
 My knees turned in from weakness as I crept across 
 the carpet and, picking up the shiny snake, offered it to 
 her with humility. But she took no notice of it or me; 
 we might have been beggar-women who could have 
 found charing. Gently I dropped it on to the table in 
 front of her, and was preparing to creep away when a 
 stifled sound from mother caused me to pause. I 
 turned, and found her making violent pantomimic 
 gestures. They fascinated me for an instant, the con- 
 tortions of her face were so truly remarkable. 
 
 "What is it? What do you want me to do?" I 
 grimaced back at her. 
 
 Quickly she pointed a finger at Angela, whose 
 wounded back was turned to us. Then it became clear 
 to me I was to apologize, I was to say I was sorry. 
 I wondered I had not grasped it sooner. 
 
 "Never!" I shouted. Mother's lip gave an ominous 
 tremble. " Never! " I reiterated fiercely, steeling myself 
 against the tremble. "Never! It was her own fault." 
 
 "Do, Hazel. Angela will never forgive you," she 
 whispered. 
 
 "I don't care; I don't want her forgiveness. She 
 [234]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 called me a liar and shameless." I was lashing up my 
 anger. The bare patches on Angela's head had at first 
 awed me, but now I was becoming accustomed to the 
 sight my courage was returning. " She must apologize 
 to me this time, and I may forgive her," I added with 
 magnanimity. I spoke loudly, and drew up the easy- 
 chair to the fire, turning up my silk gown to prevent 
 singeing. Mother looked positively aghast. " I am not 
 a little girl," I continued. " For the sake of peace and 
 quietness I have always given in to Angela. I have 
 submitted to being ordered about, dictated to, bossed, 
 and I will stand it no longer. From this moment there 
 will be a change, a big change." My voice rang out 
 defiantly. " When I choose to stay in my bedroom and 
 have a fire I shall consult you alone. I shan't be driven 
 to have a sore throat : Angela forced me to have a sore 
 
 throat, Ang " 
 
 I stopped dead, for Angela had slowly turned her 
 head and was fixing me with an eye. It is difficult to 
 explain, it is impossible, it is beyond the descriptive 
 powers of an ordinary human being to describe that 
 eye of Angela's. It was her right eye; her head was 
 only partly turned, and the left eye was not visible. 
 Perhaps one eye is more awful than two; I cannot say; 
 I only know that my courage went. It did not ooze 
 after the ordinary habits of courage about to depart, 
 it just went like a rocket. One moment I sat with 
 folded arms, Napoleon-like in my attitude, defying the 
 world ; the next I was standing behind my sister's chair, 
 
 [2351
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 saying, " I am sorry, Angela, sorry for knocking off your 
 hair, and I will never do it again." 
 
 And that is why to-day I feel like a blighted weeping 
 willow, and stand in my old brown stuff frock pickling 
 onions. I am a craven, a coward; I am pulpy and 
 characterless. I am perfectly aware that Elizabeth 
 should pickle onions, and not I; her eyes should be 
 watering, and not mine ; her hands should be tying the 
 bladders on the top of the jars, and not mine; but 
 Angela willed it so. Angela decreed that I should 
 pickle onions as a penance. She did not say so, but I 
 know it. Yesterday I knocked off her dead hair, to-day 
 I pickle onions : the connection is obvious. 
 
 I am a woman, I am twenty-one; I am tall and 
 strong in body, with a fine digestion and abundance 
 of courage toward the world generally toward every- 
 thing and everybody till Angela comes along, then I 
 shrink into an infant of six months. Why should this 
 be ? Am I really weak, really cowardly ? or is Angela 
 something not human? She may be one of a stone 
 species. There was a Stone Age, why not a stone 
 species? And yet that false hair! People of stone 
 wouldn't mind thin places and bald patches, they 
 wouldn't consider their appearance. Yes, Angela is 
 human ; it is 7 who am at fault. I have allowed he: to 
 rule me since the day I was born, and now when the 
 yoke has become intolerable I am too weak and cow- 
 ardly to throw it off. But I have put four times too 
 many peppercorns into the pickle and two ounces of 
 cayenne, and Angela doesn't like hot things. 
 
 [236]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Mr. Inderwick Asks a Direct Question, and I Reply 
 
 WHEN I looked out of my bedroom window 
 this morning my sleepy eyes rested upon a 
 soft tumble of swansdown and velvety blue 
 sky and white trees heavily laden. There had been a 
 fall of snow in the night the elements had planned 
 for once to be seasonable and the whole world my 
 world, the Welsh hills, and fields and garden and oak 
 trees were of a dazzling whiteness, all save the big, 
 solemn trunks which showed up green, and the little 
 holes which Sammy's and Dibbs's feet had made in 
 trampling across the lawn. 
 
 " How wonderfully beautiful ! " I murmured. " How 
 good to be alive in spite of Angela and things like 
 pickled onions," and yet a few hours later I was almost 
 wishing that Hazel Wycherley were snuffed out. For 
 I have dealt a man one of the nicest of men a nasty 
 knock, and I would have given much to have been able 
 to stay my hand, but I couldn't. 
 
 Robert Inderwick asked me this afternoon to be his 
 wife, and I have said "No." I pause now and wonder 
 
 [237]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 what made me, for the moment he had gone a feeling 
 of desolation fell upon me; I felt all queer and empty 
 inside, but perhaps that was because we had been such 
 good friends, had seen so much of each other lately. 
 I naturally missed him, as I should miss any friend. 
 I wonder. 
 
 When I think of his face as I said "Good-by" I 
 could sob, and it seems so strange to think that I have 
 been able to call up such a look on any man's face. It 
 almost makes me feel frightened, frightened and yet 
 curiously happy. Whatever else in life lies before me 
 whatever sorrow, loneliness, misery I shall always 
 have that to look back upon, that once Robert Inder- 
 wick loved me greatly and wished me to be his wife; 
 he did me that honor. So few people have loved me 
 only father and Aunt Menelophe I think she cares 
 for me a little, and mother might if Angela would allow 
 her. 
 
 If only I could have said "Yes" instead of "No." 
 But I could not go to him empty-handed, give nothing. 
 He said that he had enough love for both of us, and 
 that he would teach me to care for him after we were 
 married. But I don't want to be taught; I want to 
 love him spontaneously. I want to love as well as be 
 loved. If I don't love him now, I am sure I shouldn't 
 afterward I could never be taught. And I don't feel 
 I could settle in Heatherland for the rest of my days. 
 And I am sure his untidy clothes would worry me. 
 To-day, for instance, there was a bit of white woolly 
 
 [238]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 stuff poking out of his tie where the silk was all worn 
 he has worn the same tie for three months, and it is so 
 ugly; and his boot-laces were knotted in three places. 
 Now I could not marry a man who wore ties with pro- 
 truding insides. So that clearly proves I don't love 
 him. Such trifles wouldn't affect me in the least if I 
 loved him tremendously. 
 
 He says I expect too much of love, that most women 
 do. That they go analyzing and probing into their 
 feelings and wondering "Do I love him sufficiently? 
 Is this love, or am I only pleased and flattered ? " That 
 they keep pulling up this poor love by the roots 
 like a radish to see how it is growing, till they have 
 killed it. 
 
 But I am not like that, for I have kept putting the 
 whole thing from me. I think for the last few weeks 
 I have been realizing vaguely that Robert Inderwick 
 was beginning to like me a little, but I wouldn't allow 
 myself to believe it or think about it. I knew, if it were 
 so, that all our fun and pleasant friendship must cease; 
 that I must no longer meet him for walks or have good 
 times with him ; all would be ended, and my life duller 
 than ever. No, I have not allowed myself to think, and 
 we might have gone on in the same jolly, friendly way 
 for months if only I had not made an idiot of myself, 
 and cried. That weeping precipitated matters; I 
 might have known he would just be the sort of man to 
 go and get upset by a girl's silly tears, and yet I could 
 not help it. If a Spanish Inquisition man had come 
 
 [239]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 along and said, " Now, if you shed one tear I shall pop 
 you on the rack," I should still have cried. There are 
 moments when you can no more prevent yourself from 
 doing a thing than you can stop yourself breathing for 
 any length of time. 
 
 And the cause of my distress was nothing very seri- 
 ous, nothing more than usual it was only Angela. 
 Angela had tried me sorely, it is true, but then she 
 always tries me sorely. She had given me Fox's " Book 
 of Martyrs " for a Christmas present at breakfast, and 
 she knew how much I wanted a lace collar. Then at 
 dinner she gave me a lecture; I preferred the martyrs. 
 She said it had been hinted to her by Mrs. Gates old 
 cat! that all Heatherland was gossiping about the 
 outrageous way I had flirted with Mr. Inderwick when 
 we were decorating the font; that he, poor man, had 
 made several efforts to remind me that I was in a place 
 of worship, but I would not be snubbed. I fairly sat 
 and gasped with rage, but mother's imploring eye and 
 the white cotton-wool text over the sideboard, "Peace 
 on earth, goodwill toward men," helped me to confine 
 my anger to long gasps. In addition she observed that 
 the mince-pies were as heavy as lead I made the 
 pastry this week and that I looked sallow just as 
 though everybody didn't look sallow in the snow and 
 was I bilious. 
 
 As she swallowed her last fragment of walnut I 
 bolted from the room, seized my hat and jacket, and 
 dashed out of the house. I felt I must have air, space, 
 
 [240]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 to be alone; above all, to be alone in the beautiful still 
 whiteness, quite alone. And then if Mr. Inderwick 
 didn't appear, just as I was turning on to Oldfield 
 Common, and join me on my walk, in the way he 
 always does appear to join people on their walks, for 
 all the world like a collie dog. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I inquired coldly. 
 
 "What made you dash out of the house and tear 
 along as though you intended getting to Bagdad and 
 back before nightfall ? " 
 
 " How did you know ? " 
 
 " I was standing at the window." 
 
 "You must have good eyesight," I observed. 
 
 " Not particularly. I had a field -glass." 
 
 I stopped short in the road. 
 
 " Is it your custom to spy upon your friends ? " 
 
 He looked a little guilty. 
 
 "Sometimes, not often," he replied. 
 
 "It is pleasing for us, I am sure. I was under the 
 impression an Englishman's home was his castle, free 
 from the curious gaze of the stranger, the vulgar stare 
 of the outsider. Perhaps you will turn a searchlight 
 on to us next." 
 
 "Don't be disagreeable," he said; "this is Christ- 
 mas Day, and you should be at peace with all your 
 fellow-men. Why did you rush out like that? Tell 
 me. Was there anything wrong ? " 
 
 " I was sick of Angela and the house." 
 16 [ 241 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 The words slipped out unwittingly, and I made no 
 attempt to recall them. 
 
 "Poor child," said he gently. 
 
 The sympathy in his voice fell as balm on my weary 
 spirit, and suddenly two big tears welled up into my 
 eyes. He looked away from me at once. 
 
 "You know Angela is a little trying at times," I 
 went on. "I don't think she means to be, but I 
 
 I " my voice quavered, then broke, and I was 
 
 fairly crying like a baby. Vainly I struggled to check 
 the tears which were racing down my cheeks and 
 splashing on to my muff, but they would not be checked. 
 His " poor child " had opened the flood gates, and the 
 tears chased each other as though they never meant 
 to stop. 
 
 "What must you think of me?" I asked at length 
 with a big gulp. " I never cry at least not often. I 
 can't think what is the matter with me. You shouldn't 
 have sympathized with me, sympathy is a fatal thing. 
 I must go home. I can't be seen like this." 
 
 "You're all right," he said, still without looking at 
 me. " Come down this quiet lane, it leads to the shore, 
 doesn't it ? We shan't meet a soul for at least a couple 
 of miles, and then you will be feeling better." 
 
 I followed him unresistingly. I was very tired, and 
 he seemed so big and strong, the very size of his pres- 
 ence soothed me. We walked along for some time in 
 silence through the soft snow, his head always turned 
 Deeward and mine Heatherland way. Gradually the 
 
 [242]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 tears dried up, and I began to feel better. My eyes 
 smarted wofully, and my nose felt as though it ought 
 to belong to Joey Tomlinson, but my heart seemed five 
 or six pounds lighter. 
 
 "I am better now," I said, "and I want you to talk; 
 but don't look at me for quite half an hour, please, not 
 till the wind has had a chance." 
 
 " All right," he replied, " but couldn't you make it a 
 quarter of an hour ? Thirty minutes is a long time." 
 
 "No," I said firmly, "you would have a dreadful 
 shock." 
 
 "I like shocks." 
 
 "Not this kind. I know I resemble a spotted red 
 cabbage." 
 
 " I never saw one. May I look ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, you promised. Now will you talk ? " 
 
 " What am I to talk about ? I am out of practice." 
 
 "Of anything, of anybody, so long as it makes me 
 forget myself. You don't know how ashamed I feel. 
 And I had really nothing to cry about, nothing of any 
 importance no death, or disgrace, or ruin staring us 
 in the face, just a few small worries, chiefly of my own 
 manufacture. You must think me an awful baby." 
 
 "No, I don't," he answered, and I wondered how 
 he managed to get his gruff voice so soft and gentle. 
 *'I think you are jolly plucky. If your sister were 
 mine I should bash her head in." 
 
 "Mr. Inderwick," I cried, "I would like to shake 
 hands with you. I have no right to allow you to say 
 
 [243]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 such a thing. It is wrong of me, wicked, unsisterly, 
 unfeeling, unnatural. I ought to be horrified, but I 
 think it's the grandest thing I ever heard in my life. 
 It's what I have been wanting some one to say for over 
 fifteen years ; it's what I have been wanting some one 
 to do. Probably I should stop your bashing in her head 
 if you attempted it, my feelings as a sister might become 
 too strong for me, but I should know you had the 
 desire to do so. Someone besides myself had wanted 
 to bash in Angela's head. Thank you for saying those 
 words. Shake hands, I shall deem it an honor." 
 
 I stopped and held out my hand. He took it gravely 
 into his big, woolly one, and then appeared to forget 
 to let go. 
 
 " May I look now ? It is nearly half an hour." 
 
 "No," I said quickly, and he straightway looked, 
 and what I saw in his face caused me to wrest away my 
 hand and start off at a brisk pace down the road. 
 
 He strode after me. "Wait a minute," he called 
 imperatively, " it's got to be said." 
 
 "Not to-day," I cried, my heart beating violently. 
 (There was no use pretending I did not know his 
 meaning, it was too obvious.) "Not to-day. I'm not 
 ready and we are having such a jolly time." 
 
 "Are we? And not five minutes since you were 
 crying enough to break your heart. And I had to 
 stand there like a stuck pig, and could do nothing 
 to help you, absolutely nothing, and I could hardly 
 keep my hands off you. God, I would have given every- 
 
 [244]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 thing I possess to have been able to comfort you, to 
 
 help you, and " then his voice broke suddenly. 
 
 " Hazel, little Hazel, won't you let me take care of you ? 
 I would take such good care of you. You want looking 
 after, you are such an excitable, feverish child I was 
 going to say ; you are a child one moment and a woman 
 the next, the one woman in the world to me. And I'm 
 getting an old fellow, according to you, though I'm 
 young as men go, and I'm gruff, but " 
 
 "Don't, Mr. Inderwick," I interrupted, "don't say 
 any more." I was walking for my life and becoming 
 breathless. " I can't listen to you." 
 
 "But you shall," he cried, getting in front of me. 
 "You've got to listen, it's only fair. You've got to sit 
 down on this stile here and listen, and when I have said 
 my say you shall go." 
 
 Meekly I sat down. His hands had hurt, and there 
 was a sternness in his face which was not to be trifled 
 with. He stood beside me, partly leaning against the 
 stile, his face turned toward the hills across the water. 
 
 " Well ? " I said at length a little nervously. 
 
 Then the muscles of his face relaxed, and he turned 
 to me with one of his rare, whimsical sort of smiles. 
 
 " Is it well ? " he asked. " Say it is well, Hazel. I do 
 so love you. It is impossible to make you understand 
 how I love you. Will you be my wife ? Don't answer 
 in a hurry, give me a chance. I never meant to speak 
 for weeks. I thought somehow you were not ready. 
 I hoped you might be ready if I gave you more time; 
 
 [245]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 but your crying God, every tear hurt like hell ! " He 
 came closer and laid his hand on mine. "Won't you 
 look up, Hazel, and say that one day you will marry 
 me ? I don't ask you to many me to-morrow I must 
 give you time to get used to the idea say not for six 
 months; that's a deuce of a time, but I would wait. 
 I would wait even longer than that if only you will say 
 you love me the least little bit, and will one day come 
 and live with me at the Old Hall Farm." 
 
 "I can't," Mr. Inderwick, I said. "I can't. I'm 
 awfully sorry, but it's impossible." 
 
 " Why can't you ? " he asked sharply. 
 
 "I don't love you." 
 
 " Not the least little bit ? " 
 
 "Not the least little bit," and I wondered was this 
 the truth. 
 
 He turned away and was silent for some minutes. 
 
 "Then you have only felt like a friend all these 
 weeks ? " 
 
 " Yes," I whispered. " Haven't you ? " 
 
 "No, I haven't. I believe I have loved you since 
 the day I saw you in church, certainly since the moment 
 when you smiled at me. I thought that smile was the 
 most delightful of any that had ever fallen my way, 
 and they had not been many since since my mother 
 died. I thought " 
 
 " You knew me, then ? " I broke in. 
 
 " Yes, I knew you." 
 
 "And you didn't smile back," I said with some 
 
 [246]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 heat; "you deliberately snubbed me and put me to 
 shame in the presence of the whole congregation." 
 
 " Snub you ! " he ejaculated. " Why, my breath was 
 taken away. I had been staring at you ever since you 
 had entered the church, wondering who you were I 
 did not recognize you till afterward thinking that as 
 you stood there in that frilly white thing you wore and 
 the yellow roses, that that well, that you were the 
 prettiest girl my eyes had rested on for many a long 
 year. I was wishing I could see your full face, when 
 suddenly round you turned and flashed that smile upon 
 me, fairly dazzling me, knocking me all of a heap, and 
 by the time my feeble intelligence had grasped that it 
 was really intended for me, you had turned away in a 
 horrid temper a most unchristian temper." 
 
 " I admit I was cross," I said, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, and you were not only cross when you sat on 
 the gate that afternoon, but abominably rude and 
 unkind. I think I was very patient and forgiving to 
 ever speak to you again after the disagreeable speeches 
 you flung at me; but I couldn't help it, for the next 
 time I saw you you were ducking for apples in a tub. 
 I wonder if you knew how you looked as you emerged 
 from its depths with your eyes shining and the h'ttle 
 drops of water sparkling on your dark, fluffy hair. 
 And later on you were seedy and faint. Do you re- 
 member? You were quite nice and gentle, and not 
 independent and prickly as a thorn-bush, and you 
 leaned on me and let me take care of you. I knew then 
 
 [247]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I was beginning to love you. A something came over 
 me as you groped your way through the hall at each 
 step leaning more heavily upon me a longing to 
 always take care of you thus. Hazel " he came closer 
 to me but did not touch me " Hazel, won't you give 
 me the right to look after you again now and always ? 
 I would take such good care of you, I would be so 
 gentle; you think me rough, I know, but I could be 
 gentle. Are you quite sure you don't love me a little, 
 just a trifling bit ? You don't seem to dislike being with 
 me. We were friends in the old days, and these last few 
 months we have not had bad times together, have we ? " 
 
 He looked long and searchingly into my face, and 
 oh, how I wished he wouldn't! When he talked so I 
 felt I must say " Yes," and yet did I love him ? It is 
 so difficult, so dreadfully difficult for a woman to 
 know. So difficult to distinguish between interest, 
 good comradeship, a desire to be liked and admired by 
 a man, a desire to be in the society of a man and love. 
 
 "Don't look at me like that," I whispered, when I 
 could bear his scrutiny no longer. " I can't talk to you 
 if you do, and I want to to thrash things out, to ex- 
 plain. I don't want to appear to have been unfair. It 
 is quite true, I do like being with you tremendously. 
 No one knows how much I have enjoyed our walks and 
 talks. You are so unexpected and and rude, so dif- 
 ferent from Frederick Moss and the few other men I have 
 known. I was so delighted when I heard you had come 
 to the Old Hall Farm. When I went for walks I hoped 
 
 [243]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 always that I should meet you. I looked for your 
 coming, I was low at the thought of your being away at 
 Christmas. You see how honest I am, but that does 
 not follow I love you or want to be with you always, 
 does it ? Have you ever thought, Mr. Inderwick, what 
 it must be always to live with a person ? " 
 
 "Often," he replied vehemently; "I have thought of 
 little else for the last four months. It has been with me 
 sleeping and waking. I have seen you curled up in the 
 big armchair in my den on the opposite side of the 
 hearth to me you with your book, I with mine. I 
 have imagined that something amused you, took your 
 fancy, and you wanted to read it to me; and that, for 
 my better hearing, as I am getting "so old," I have 
 made you cross the hearth and come closer to me, very 
 close, and we have read and laughed over the passage 
 together. I have pictured you in the high-backed oak 
 chair at the other end of the table at breakfast, throw- 
 ing impertinent speeches at me from behind the coffee- 
 pot, discussing the affairs of the nation in your cus- 
 tomary illogical way. I've heard your high-heeled 
 slippers tap, tapping across the stone hall, and your 
 skirts swishing up and down the staircase as you 
 busied yourself about your household affairs Parian 
 jugs and bronze horses, for instance ! " 
 
 He paused and smiled banteringly at me. 
 
 " Go on," I commanded. 
 
 "I've seen you lazing in the orchard on summer 
 
 afternoons in that pretty white frock of yours " 
 
 [249]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " It would be worn out," I interrupted. 
 
 "I should instantly get you another," he made 
 answer. " We would go together to Liverpool to buy 
 it and a big shady sun hat. I picture you more than 
 any other way in that sun hat. We are on the shore 
 together poking about for eels as we did years ago; we 
 are in hayfields; we are having tea in the garden; we 
 are strolling through the lanes on summer nights, but 
 you are always in that hat." 
 
 "It would get very shabby," I suggested. 
 
 He did not answer, he did not appear to hear me; 
 his eyes were on the hills. 
 
 "Yes, you are always with me in thought," he 
 continued. "Where you are and what you are doing 
 I am and I am doing; and now " 
 
 He ceased abruptly. 
 
 "You are imaginative and romantic," I remarked 
 flippantly. I did not feel flippant; I felt if he said 
 another word I should again burst into tears. 
 
 "No" (his voice was very quiet), "I don't think so. 
 I am not young enough to be romantic. It is all quite 
 natural. When you love a person deeply you want to 
 have that person with you, that is all. It is not ro- 
 mance, it is common sense. I care for you more than 
 I thought it was possible to care for any one. Six months 
 ago I should have said it was quite impossible. I have 
 never been a lover of mankind generally. I am not 
 gregarious ; I have lived much alone, and never seemed 
 to feel my loneliness till lately. Now I am very lonely." 
 
 [250]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " So you want me because you are dull ? " 
 
 " No, I am only dull because I want you." 
 
 We sat in silence for some time. A peewit hovered 
 and circled and cried mournfully above the snowy 
 fields; the afternoon was waning, and I shivered. He 
 noticed it, and laid his big gloved hand very gently on 
 mine. 
 
 " Well, little Hazel, have you nothing to say ? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Not one kind word? You can't find one small 
 corner in your heart for me ? " 
 
 "You would want a very large one, I think," I 
 answered tremulously. 
 
 "No, I would be content with quite a minute place 
 at first. I'm not greedy; at least, not very. Do you 
 mind answering me a question truthfully then you 
 shall go?" 
 
 " I'll try, but don't make it very difficult." 
 
 "Why don't you love me, or why do you think you 
 don't love me ? That is not very difficult, is it ? I quite 
 realize I am not attractive, and that there is no special 
 reason why a girl should fancy me ; but I would like to 
 know why you in particular don't care about me." 
 
 He looked at me gravely. 
 
 "That is an exceedingly difficult question," I said. 
 "I don't think I can answer it." 
 
 " A case of Dr. Fell ? " he asked. 
 
 " No ; for I do like you very, very much, as I said 
 before." 
 
 [251]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Well, try to think of anything you may have 
 against me. Imagine that I am not asking you to 
 marry me; look upon me as your brother." 
 
 "That would be delightful," I said, smiling. "If 
 you were my brother I should have heaps of fault to 
 find with you." 
 
 " Out with them, I'm all attention." 
 
 "Well, first, you are so untidy and careless about 
 your appearance. It is shocking. Your tie, now, for 
 instance." 
 
 "What's the matter with it?" he inquired wonder- 
 ingly, putting his hand to his neck. 
 
 "All its woollen inside is coming out. You have 
 worn it for three months on end, and it's very ugly. 
 Blue doesn't suit you; you should wear green." 
 
 " Should I ? Well, that's quite easy. I will order a 
 dozen green ties to-morrow. Why didn't you say so 
 before?" 
 
 "It's nothing to do with me," I said distantly. 
 
 "Perhaps not, but it would have been kind of you. 
 Anything else ? " 
 
 "Your boots " 
 
 . "What's wrong with them? They are a splendid 
 pair," he said, glancing down. 
 
 " Look at the laces," I commanded. 
 
 He looked, and became thoughtful. 
 
 "But you don't mean to say a girl would refuse a 
 man because of his boot-laces?" he asked indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 [252]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Some girls might. Women are very easily affected 
 by small external matters," I said lightly. 
 
 "They are not worth having, then; men are better 
 without them." 
 
 His voice was hard, and I suddenly felt very small. 
 
 " Of course I was joking," I murmured. 
 
 '"I don't think you were altogether. But you are 
 quite right; I believe a very small thing would turn 
 the scale of a woman's love if she were in doubt. 
 You don't love me, that is evident. I don't reproach 
 you. I only wish you could. I am sorry. I shall 
 probably go on caring about you always; that is the 
 trouble with a man when he begins to care after thirty, 
 but it can't be helped. I shall worry through some- 
 how." 
 
 He rose and offered me his hand to help me down. 
 
 "You are cold," he said more gently. "We will 
 walk quickly." 
 
 Not a word passed till we reached the front gate of 
 Shady Oak. 
 
 "Good-by," he then said, as he held my hand for 
 a minute. " Good-by, little Hazel." 
 
 "It won't be good-by; you mean good-night? I 
 shall see you again ? " I asked. 
 
 "No, I shan't see you again if I can help it. I 
 could not bear it. Good-by." 
 
 " But why not ? Couldn't we be friends ? " I insisted. 
 
 "No," he answered sternly, "we couldn't. You 
 might, but not I. That is where women are so dull of 
 
 [253]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 comprehension. Excuse me, I am not speaking per- 
 sonally, but of women as a class. They appear to 
 think they can go to any lengths with a man who is in 
 love with them if they have once rejected him. They 
 offer to be friend, sister, step-mother, grandmother, 
 anything in fact but wife; and men are mostly fools 
 enough to accept such offers, hoping for more to follow, 
 but I forgive me, Hazel, I am rough. You meant it 
 kindly, but it's impossible, I love you too much." 
 
 Then he left me, and the world seemed suddenly cold 
 and empty. 
 
 [254]
 
 I Desire to be a Lotus-Eater, and Sammy Brings me 
 Rudely to Earth 
 
 "In the afternoon they came unto a land 
 In which it seemed always afternoon." 
 
 I WANT to come to such a land. I want to be a 
 lotus-eater. I want it to be always afternoon. 
 A curious dulness and slackness seem to have over- 
 come me. I feel like that toad who, after being em- 
 bedded in rock for thousands of years, on being rudely 
 ejected, simply sat down on its haunches and blinked. 
 I want to sit down on my haunches and blink in a sunny 
 spot under a sunny wall. I might muster up sufficient 
 energy to fold my hands on my lap as looking more 
 elegant, but afterward I should want to sit absolutely 
 still and just let the sunshine filter through my tired 
 being. 
 
 An hour ago I expressed such a wish to mother 
 and Angela. They were sitting turning sides of sheets 
 to middle. I feared a desire that I should assist at this 
 pleasant work might overcome them, and forestalled it 
 by trying to make them understand that I felt like a 
 
 [255]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 thousand-year-old toad and had leanings toward being 
 a lotus-eater. 
 
 Angela was not sympathetic; she simply handed 
 me a sheet and said lotus-eaters were very well in their 
 way, but they invariably sent up the poor rates a penny 
 in the pound. I admitted there might be some truth in 
 her statement, but did she not think such people were 
 rather soothing at times, rather restful to come across 
 after the bustle of the world ? 
 
 She replied they never rested her; she was only 
 sorry for their relations, who in later years would be 
 bound to keep them, because they the lotus-eaters 
 indulged in a picturesque horror of the workhouse. 
 
 " What am I to do with the sheet ? " I asked in van- 
 quished tones. "Dusters, and bandages for Betty 
 Totty's bad leg, or sides to middle ? " 
 
 "Sides to middle, and use fifty cotton; the last you 
 did scrubbed," she said with such conviction in her 
 voice that I believed her and was glad. 
 
 I crawled under the sofa for mother's "Church 
 Times" footstool. On it I placed my feet to make a 
 firm, unslopy knee for my sheet, and resignedly I 
 started on that long seam without a turning, and tried 
 not to think of of many things. I must have been 
 sewing for ten minutes before mother discovered with 
 horror that I was seaming with black cotton. 
 
 " I told you I felt like a very, very old toad," I said. 
 
 They regarded me with widely-dilated pupils for the 
 space of sixty seconds. Appealingly I returned mother's 
 
 [256]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 look. I fetched my whole soul into my eyes. I tried to 
 look as Dibbs looks when he wants a bit of meat from 
 my plate. I wagged my tail insinuatingly, and mother 
 relented. 
 
 "Put it away," she said gently. "You look tired. 
 What is the matter?" 
 
 " Nothing," I quavered. 
 
 " Really ? " she questioned. 
 
 "Really, motherkins," I replied untruthfully, stoop- 
 ing to kiss her. She held my face for a moment. I 
 could feel the little rough, worn finger of her left hand 
 which has sewn so much and received so many pricks 
 in its life, and I turned and kissed it. 
 
 "There is something wrong with you, Hazel, your 
 face is quite thin," she insisted. 
 
 "Mother, you are imaginative. I am always well," 
 I answered, stroking the finger. " I am only lazy and 
 dull." 
 
 " There will be the concert at the schools next week, 
 and two humorous recitations in addition to the tragic 
 one Frederick Moss is giving." She spoke buoyantly, 
 and I kissed her again. 
 
 " So there will, mother mine. It will be great fun," 
 I replied with equal cheerfulness, and then I slipped 
 away into the garden. 
 
 The snow had gone ; the air was soft, almost balmy, 
 
 and there was that strange, premature touch of spring 
 
 in it which so frequently follows snow, just as though 
 
 the earth had been warmed and caressed by the soft 
 
 17
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 white mantle, and was stirring in its sleep. As I felt 
 its breath on my cheek my heart gave a little jumpy 
 thrill. It always does when spring is in the air, my 
 pulses quicken and a happiness quite a different kind 
 of happiness from any other rushes through me. But 
 this was only January 1st; it was ridiculous to think of 
 spring. There were all the rains of fill-dyke February, 
 and the biting winds of March to be got through first. 
 Many weeks must pass before I could be out of doors 
 really out of doors. How should I get through them ? 
 Each week stretched away into another age. I saw 
 myself an old, gray, toothless woman by the time sweet, 
 smiling, rosy May was with us. 
 
 I sat down on the garden-roller under the privet 
 hedge, and thought again of that land in which it 
 seemed always afternoon. 
 
 "Here are cool mosses deep, 
 
 And thro' the moss the ivies creep, 
 And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
 And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep." 
 
 '* The poppy hangs in sleep ! " As the lotus-eaters said, 
 " All things have rest : why should we toil alone ? We 
 only toil, who are the first of things." I turned and 
 gathered a little folded privet-leaf. It had nothing to 
 do but "grow green and broad. . . . Sun-steep'd at 
 noon, and in the moon nightly dew-fed; and turning 
 yellow, falls and floats adown the air." It would never 
 be dull or tired or depressed. It lay on the palm of my 
 hand, a little green thing fast asleep. 
 
 [258]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Sammy broke in upon my reflections. 
 
 "Would you like a russet apple, Miss Hazelt?" 
 
 I told him "No." 
 
 " A Ribston pippin ? " 
 
 "No, thank you, Sammy," I replied. 
 
 "Aren't you well, Miss Hazelt?" 
 
 People of a sudden seemed extraordinarily inter- 
 ested in the state of my health. 
 
 " Perfectly, thanks. Why ? " 
 
 " Never knew you to refuse a Ribston pippin before, 
 Miss Hazelt." 
 
 I smiled. " Well, I don't mind one" I said gra- 
 ciously as I got off the roller. 
 
 He led the way to the apple-room, and a warm fruity 
 smell greeted us as he unlocked the door. I sat down 
 on a wooden box and watched him as he slowly passed 
 from one shelf to another. His movements, unhurried 
 and deliberate, invariably remind me of a bishop in a 
 cathedral. Were all gardeners born slow ? Was Adam 
 leisurely? Did he water the little thirsty summer 
 flowers as though performing the sacrament of bap- 
 tism gently and deliberately, with can raised aloft 
 while Eve bustled round and hoed the potato-bed and 
 brushed up the leaves ? The only occasion upon which 
 Sammy has ever been known to get up any degree of 
 speed is when our two fowls, Bandy-legs and Yellow 
 Tuft, stray away into Sandy Lane in search of ad- 
 venture; then with hurried gait and waving arms he 
 " shoos " them home. 
 
 [259]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 As I munched my apple I reflected that he would 
 make a good lotus-eater, and suggested how pleasant 
 it would be to go away together to some little sun- 
 kissed, wave-washed island in the Pacific, and do noth- 
 ing till we died. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like it, Sammy 
 
 "With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
 Falling asleep in a half dream?" 
 
 I murmured. 
 
 He sat down on the inverted box of the mowing- 
 machine. 
 
 "I don't think I understand you rightly, Miss 
 Hazelt." 
 
 "Well, Sammy, you eat a plant; then you just lie 
 down in the languid, swooning air upon the yellow 
 sand, and everything seems to go away from you, your 
 own voice sounds far-away and thin, you feel well, 
 you feel as you do when you first begin to inhale gas, 
 only much nicer; and there you lie, dozing and dream- 
 ing, and sweet music falls upon your ears- 
 
 " Music that gentlier on the spirit lies 
 Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes." 
 
 And you stay on in this little island a ' land of streams * 
 dozing and dreaming, dozing and dreaming till you 
 die." 
 
 His answer was irrelevant, and brought me to my 
 feet with a bound. 
 
 [260]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " I'm thinkin' you be wantin' to mate, Miss Hazelt ! " 
 
 "Sammy!" I shouted. 
 
 "Yes, I do. All young things does; it's human 
 natur'. You've all the symptims. You be lookin' 
 pale and peaky-loike." 
 
 His voice was dogged. 
 
 " Sammy, how dare you say such things ! It's untrue, 
 you know it's untrue ! " 
 
 I went closer and glowered upon him, and he backed 
 away from me. 
 
 "Beggin' your parding, Miss Hazelt, but it's the 
 truth as I'm a-sayin' and I'm sorry to contradict you, 
 but the symptims they never decaive auld Sammy. 
 Some gets 'em one way, some another. Yours is extry 
 bad wantin' to take gas and sittin' about yaller sands 
 till you dies, catchin' the rheumatics, catchin' " 
 
 "Sammy" I hardly recognized my own voice 
 "I must leave you. You completely forget yourself. 
 I am surprised and sorry. I never thought you could 
 have spoken so to me. Besides, I was under the im- 
 pression you were truthful. I thought " 
 
 " And it is the truth, God's gospil truth, Miss Hazelt, 
 askin' your pardin, and real sorry I am for offendin* 
 you, which shows it's the truth, or you wouldn't be so 
 moidered about it. People's only moidered about 
 things which people says about 'em when they's true. 
 There's summat the matter wid you, Sammy knows 
 every look of your purty face. You're not yourself. 
 You never laughs now as you did. You're dull-loike, 
 
 [261]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and now you wants to go and live on an island in the 
 Pacific Ocean and listen to music, and not ten minutes 
 since you was sittin' on the roller talking to a leaf off 
 the privit hedge I heard you." 
 
 I laughed ; though I struggled against it, his evidence 
 of the state of mind I was supposed to be in was so 
 conclusive and overwhelming. 
 
 " You shouldn't have been listening. It is low down 
 to eavesdrop; I am surprised at you. I had formed a 
 better estimate of your character, Sammy." 
 
 " I wasn't listenin', Miss Hazelt. I just heard you." 
 
 His voice was imperturbable. 
 
 "I see, and as we are on the subject, though you 
 must never refer to it again how long is it since you 
 made this startling discovery about me? How long 
 have I been wanting to to get married ? " 
 
 I endeavored to get the entire Arctic regions into my 
 voice and attitude, but it was thrown away upon our 
 gardener, who settled himself in a comfortable attitude 
 in readiness for a long and interesting conversation. 
 
 "I can't say exactly, Miss Hazelt; it's been comin* 
 on slowly. Some thinks since about September, and 
 others 
 
 " Some think ! " I yelled. " What do you mean ? Do 
 you dare to discuss me with the villagers? Do you 
 dare " 
 
 "Gently, gently, Miss Hazelt," Sammy broke in. 
 "Don't fly out like that; sit yer down. Don't, now, 
 you'll hurt yourself. Here's another Ribston, the best 
 
 [262]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 on the shelf. Now sit down; don't let yourself get 
 excited. I never discusses you wid no one. It's not my 
 place or duty " 
 
 " Well, what do you mean ? Out with it! Be quick! 
 Who was it ? Was it Miss Swiftly ? " I fumed. 
 
 " Yes p'r'aps she was one, and there was " 
 
 "Sammy," I said, becoming suddenly calm, "I don't 
 want to hear any more ; I don't want to hear the others. 
 Their names don't interest me. They are only com- 
 mon, vulgar, uneducated gossipers ; such people cannot 
 possibly interest me. You can see that, my position is 
 so different. I am sorry I was angry. I cannot imagine 
 how I could have been affected by what you said. It 
 was so silly and untrue. But let me give you a word of 
 advice don't always say what you think; it is unwise, 
 very unwise." 
 
 Then I stalked out of the room, and left Sammy with 
 a hanging jaw. 
 
 When I got among the peaceful cabbages I offered 
 up a little prayer of thanksgiving for having been led 
 to refuse Mr. Inderwick's offer of marriage. The vil- 
 lagers should see. "Wanting to mate!" I put my 
 fingers in my ears and closed my eyes and stamped. 
 How dare they ! 
 
 I have written to Aunt Menelophe. She said, "If 
 ever you are in trouble, bring it to me, ^nd we will see 
 what can be done with it." I am not in trouble, but I 
 
 [263]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 want a change; also I am anxious to give Robert 
 Inderwick a chance of taking his walks abroad in 
 peace. Up to the present, since since that afternoon, 
 each time I have met him he has bolted away in an- 
 other direction, as though I were afflicted with the 
 plague. This seems so unnecessary, and must be 
 extremely tiresome for him. So I will go. 
 
 [264]
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 / Start on a Second Visit to Aunt Menelophe, and Rob- 
 ert Inderwick Sees me off 
 
 AUNT MENELOPHE said "Come," and I 
 came. She wrote such a delightful letter. I 
 did not show it to mother and Angela, there 
 were reasons for not so doing; Aunt Menelophe is 
 almost painfully cute at times. But I read them se- 
 lected bits. 
 
 My sister remarked that she appeared to have taken 
 a strange and unaccountable fancy to me, and fell to 
 musing upon it. Mother was more practical. She 
 brought forth her account book and seven purses and 
 boxes to see if by any manner of means she could pos- 
 sibly afford to spare the money for another visit. 
 
 " It is not just the railway fare," she said in depressed 
 accents, "there are the servants to be tipped, and you 
 will require one new dress at least." 
 
 "James shall not have a tip," I said, "I don't like 
 him, he is familiar; and a shilling each to the parlor 
 and housemaids will be ample." 
 
 "No, it won't," said mother, "I should not like 
 John Wycherley's daughter to be considered mean." 
 [266]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I remarked that they could not have known father, 
 as they had been in Aunt Menelophe's service only a 
 short time; but mother told me not to argue, as it was 
 a bad habit. 
 
 I left home feeling dull and depressed. The morning 
 was raw and bitter, with the wind in the east the 
 special brand of wind which is conducive to headache. 
 
 " We shall be dull without you ; don't be long away. 
 I can't imagine why your Aunt Menelophe has invited 
 you again so soon," said mother; "it would have been 
 much pleasanter in the summer." 
 
 I kissed her good-by without replying, and then 
 clambered into the 'bus. 
 
 Providence kindly and tactfully arranged that 
 Robert Inderwick should travel that morning to Birk- 
 enhead by the same 'bus. 
 
 I distinguished his large, great-coated figure at the 
 end of the Old Hall Road long before Jerry saw him, 
 and my heart jumped into my mouth; it needn't have 
 done so, it was a wasted activity, for on recognizing me 
 as he was about to step inside the 'bus he merely bowed 
 gravely and went outside. Now only a stupid man 
 would do a thing like that. A woman would have more 
 sense than to go and sit shivering in the raw air for an 
 hour and a half on a bitter morning in January. 
 
 And yet he did not sound cold, I must confess. I 
 could hear him chatting pleasantly with Jerry, and 
 he was smoking, I knew, from the frequent striking of 
 matches. Every now and again he would smooth the 
 
 [266]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 bowl of his pipe with his hand, and when it was empty 
 stroke it against his cheek. He would be admiring its 
 color unconsciously, and when he had finished admir- 
 ing it he would smell it lovingly. I had seen him do it 
 a dozen times or more. 
 
 I was very dull. My sole companion was Peggy 
 Shone, who has asthma and wheezes and takes snuff, 
 and she would keep asking me how my ma was. After 
 assuring her for the seventh time that my parent's 
 health was exceptionally good I turned my back on her, 
 and huddling myself into a corner, drew up the straw 
 round my cold legs and feet. For the hundredth time 
 I wished devoutly that the man outside had not asked 
 me to marry him at present. It had spoiled every- 
 thing our fun, our walks, our talks and left my life 
 as dull as a graveyard. But for that proposition he 
 would have been sitting beside me, inside the 'bus. 
 Why could he not have withheld it for at least another 
 six months? Then I should have known him better, 
 and and would have been more than ever convinced 
 that I had done the right thing in refusing him. 
 
 He had implied that he should be wretched, that 
 he should never stop caring, that he might worry 
 through somehow, but and so on; and there he was 
 talking and laughing most cheerfully with Jerry, while 
 I sat, cold and wretched, listening to the wheezing of 
 Peggy Shone. 
 
 I squeezed out a tear; but on reflecting that there 
 was no one there to see it I wiped it away, as it smarted 
 in the nipping atmosphere. 
 
 [267]
 
 On arriving at Woodside I scrambled out as quickly 
 as my benumbed feet would admit, and ran into the 
 station in search of an outside porter, for whom we 
 have been searching for years without any success. 
 Jerry had dumped my trunk down on to the pavement. 
 It would be too cumbersome for a stray thief to pick up 
 and bear away, but my portmanteau and hatbox would 
 fall an easy prey, so I was obliged to lug them along 
 with me. An evil wind waltzed up the landing-stage 
 from the river and, turning into the station, attempted 
 to grab my hat. I resisted. It was the pink one: I 
 had donned it for the sole purpose of teasing Aunt 
 Menelophe; I had sacrificed my appearance in antici- 
 pation of the real pleasure I should derive from her 
 countenance when her eyes fell upon me. It should not 
 be wrested from me by any wind. With two fingers of 
 the hand which held the hatbox I managed to seize it, 
 and promptly the string of the box snapped in twain. 
 As it fell it was dexterously caught by a hand which 
 unexpectedly shot out from behind me. 
 
 " You seem to be in difficulties. May I assist you ? " 
 
 The offer came in a calm, unruffled voice, from Mr. 
 Inderwick, while the portmanteau was drawn gently 
 but firmly out of my hand. 
 
 "No, thank you," I said. "A porter will carry 
 them." 
 
 "He might if there were one, but he does not seem 
 to exist; in the mean time I will, if you will permit ?" 
 
 " But my trunk ! It is outside." 
 [268]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " No, it is on its way to your train." 
 
 " To my train ? " I echoed. 
 
 "Yes. The pavement of a busy thoroughfare 
 seemed an unsuitable place for it, so I gave a poor 
 out-of-work wretch sixpence to transfer it to the 
 luggage-van." 
 
 I handed him the sixpence. Gravely he took it. 
 
 " How did you know where it was going ? " I inquired. 
 
 "It was on the label, of course." 
 
 "Oh, of course! "I said. 
 
 " Don't you think it would be as well to tie up this 
 box again ? " he next suggested evenly. " It is difficult 
 to carry like this." 
 
 He was hugging it under his arm. 
 
 "Give it to me," I demanded. 
 
 "No," he replied; "I don't mind carrying it. I 
 merely suggested it would be safer with a string in case 
 the hat should fall out." 
 
 " I haven't any string," I said feebly. 
 
 " I have. We will sit down here for a moment. What 
 time does your train go ? " 
 
 " Not for half an hour." 
 
 I watched him as with deft fingers, considering the 
 size of his hands, he made up the box. 
 
 " I think that is firm," he said at length. 
 
 " Thank you very much. Cardboard boxes are tire- 
 some, slippery things, .and don't look well." 
 
 "No," he replied, "they don't. Why don't you 
 have a leather one with a strap ? " 
 
 [269]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Why don't I have a lot of other things ? " I answered 
 him crossly. 
 
 He turned and looked at me. 
 
 "You are cold," he said. "Will you come to the 
 refreshment-room and have some coffee? It will 
 probably be abominable, but it may be hot." 
 
 I began to say " No, thanks," but he was leading the 
 way and I was docilely following. 
 
 He did not speak again, and I nibbled a sponge-cake 
 and drank my coffee in silence. Raising my eyes from 
 a time-table I was making a pretence of studying, I 
 surprised him in one of his long stares. He finished it 
 to the end in no way disconcerted. 
 
 "You have not been well since I last saw you?" 
 he queried. 
 
 " Quite, thanks," I answered lightly. 
 
 "Really? Your looks belie you. You seem very 
 seedy." 
 
 " I was never better," I persisted. 
 
 He looked at me searchingly again, and to my great 
 annoyance my own eyes dropped and I felt the color 
 rush into my cheeks. I defy any one to withstand that 
 stare of Robert Inderwick's without flinching. When 
 I thought he really would have finished I looked up 
 again, but he was still staring at me. 
 
 " Do you know," I said, " that is a very bad habit of 
 yours." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Of staring at people. It is most embarrassing." 
 
 [270]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not know I 
 was; but I find it difficult not to look at you." 
 
 " Why ? " I queried with interest. 
 
 "It is hard to say, but yours is a face one likes to 
 look at. It is not that it is so pretty, but it changes so 
 rapidly; one moment it is sad almost pathetic and 
 the next it is brimming over with gaiety and happiness. 
 I wonder if your character is the same, if your likes 
 and dislikes change with the same lightning rapidity, 
 because if I thought so I would ask you a question." 
 
 "Don't," I interrupted hastily, "there is not time. 
 I must go for my train, I shall miss it." 
 
 I rose precipitately. 
 
 "One moment, please sit down for one moment." 
 He took my arm and pushed me back gently on to the 
 chair. "I must speak. I may not see you again for 
 weeks, and it will be a relief for me to know that I have 
 left nothing unsaid." 
 
 "You have said too much" (I spoke bitterly), "that 
 is the trouble. You have put an end to our friendship 
 and given me nothing in return. For the last week you 
 have avoided me as though I were possessed of a devil." 
 
 "I have offered you all I have, Hazel. It may not 
 be very much, but there it is. The Old Hall Farm may 
 not be large or grand, but my love for you could not be 
 measured by any ordinary standard of cubic feet or 
 inches, it is too big, but you refuse it all." 
 
 I steeled myself against the sad ring in his voice. 
 
 " I want your friendship," I cried querulously. 
 [271]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERL.AND 
 
 " And that I cannot give, it is impossible. Anything 
 else, but not that." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 " Because you have made it too difficult for me. It 
 must be all or nothing. Can't you see," he went on 
 passionately, "that when a man loves a girl as I love 
 you, it is morally impossible for him to be her friend." 
 He leaned across the table. "Can't you understand, 
 or are you too dense ? " 
 
 " I think I must be too dense," I said, trying to laugh ; 
 his vehemence had unnerved me. " But what was this 
 question ? I must go." 
 
 "It was about Heatherland. It struck me after I 
 had left you the other day that there might be other 
 reasons for your refusing me besides the bootlaces and 
 disreputable tie by the way, do you see I am wearing 
 a green one ? " 
 
 "Yes, it suits you admirably; go on." 
 
 "Well, I was wondering if the idea of settling in 
 Heatherland were distasteful to you. I know you are 
 tired of the dulness, and I would live anywhere you 
 liked excepting, perhaps, Brighton," he ruminated 
 for a moment. "No, I couldn't stick Brighton but 
 anywhere else, at home or abroad or wherever you 
 fancied. I could let the Old Hall Farm. Old Crabby 
 has left things pretty comfortable for me; I am not 
 rich, but I could run say to a leather hatbox for you 
 and lots of things." 
 
 He stopped and smiled whimsically at me. 
 [272]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You are very good" (my voice would shake in 
 spite of all my efforts to keep it still), "too good. But 
 it's not Heatherland. I love the dear old village in 
 spite of its dulness. The leather hatbox and all the 
 other things have their attractions, but it's not that. 
 It's " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 His gruff voice was very gentle. 
 
 "It's the same as it was the other day. I'm not 
 quite sure of myself. You see, I have known so few 
 men. How am I to know whether I love you or not 
 till I've " 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 " Till you've sampled a few. Is that it ? " he asked 
 with a funny smile. 
 
 " No, it isn't," I retorted indignantly. 
 
 " What do you mean, then ? " 
 
 "I don't quite know," was my brilliant reply; 
 "but please don't worry me any more." 
 
 Then I got up and made for the door. He picked up 
 my belongings and followed me out. 
 
 "Why did you speak to me to-day?" I asked irri- 
 tably. "You've only gone and got miserable again, 
 and you were quite cheerful with Jerry. If only you 
 had not helped me you would have probably for- 
 gotten all about me in a day or two." 
 
 " It is possible but not probable, and you seemed in 
 such difficulties. I never saw any one look so helpless." 
 
 " Oh, I should have managed," I said with dignity. 
 18 [ 273 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You were not shaping well when I saw you, and 
 your best beaver hat would have been spoiled if I had 
 not caught that box." 
 
 " How did you know it was the beaver ? " 
 
 I was beginning to feel more cheerful, he sounded 
 more like his old self. 
 
 "I guessed; you appear to possess only two hats." 
 
 I laughed. How exactly like him was this remark. 
 
 "How long will you be away?" he asked, as he 
 searched for a comfortable carriage for me. 
 
 "About a month. Aunt Menelophe's eldest son 
 Wellesley, who is a journalist, and Mr. Escourt the 
 man I told you about at the dinner-party are to be 
 down there for a holiday. Wellesley has had influenza, 
 and Aunt Menelophe wants me to help entertain them." 
 
 "Indeed," he remarked dryly. "So you will have 
 your wish gratified and meet one or two men." 
 
 "I was unaware I had expressed such a wish. I 
 should stick to the truth if I were you," I replied with 
 some heat. 
 
 " Here is a carriage," he said. " Will you get in ? " 
 
 He procured me a foot-warmer and some papers 
 and magazines, and then heaved a long sigh. 
 
 "You have been working hard," I said; "I am 
 sorry/ 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " Women do require a lot of things when they travel, 
 don't they ? I suppose you have your ticket ? " 
 
 I looked blank, and he started off down the platform 
 [274]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 with long, swinging strides. In two minutes he was 
 back. 
 
 "Here it is, and don't lose it; and here are some 
 roses" (he thrust them at me). "And I think I'll go 
 now; I dislike waving to people in retreating trains." 
 
 I put my hand into his without speaking, and, as 
 he walked away, the same empty sort of feeling came 
 over me as on Christmas Day the feeling that some- 
 thing valuable had gone out of my life. I shook myself 
 vigorously. 
 
 "Hazel Wycherley, you are a fool," I said. "You 
 refuse a man very properly because you are con- 
 vinced you don't love him sufficiently to marry him, 
 and then you go and want him badly." 
 
 About half-way down the platform he stopped sud- 
 denly, turned round, and walked deliberately back to 
 the carriage. 
 
 " Have you read Browning ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 I looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 " Have you ? " he repeated. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, those two men will probably spout him to 
 you by the yard." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 My surprise was increasing. 
 
 "And they'll make you a Browningite, and you will 
 talk about him. Do you think you are likely to talk 
 about him ? " 
 
 His voice was almost pleading. 
 [275]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "I don't know. Why?" 
 
 The train began to move. 
 
 "It would be such a pity, such a thousand pities. 
 You are not cut out for that sort of thing. Women 
 Browningites talk such infernal rubbish. They tire one 
 so, they " 
 
 The rest of his sentence was drowned in the shrill 
 whistle of the engine as we steamed out of the station. 
 I laughed. What a strange man he was! I thought 
 of him every minute of the way to Blongton, and the 
 more I tried not to think of him the more I thought. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe met me. When she caught sight 
 of me she closed her eyes, as though in pain. 
 
 "What is it, Aunt Menelophe one of your old 
 headaches ? " I inquired sympathetically. 
 
 " That pink abomination ! " she groaned. " I begged 
 of you never to wear it again." 
 
 " But I couldn't travel in your beautiful beaver with 
 all the smuts flying about," I protested. 
 
 She cast another pained look at me, and then turned 
 away quickly. 
 
 "We will burn it to-morrow," was all she said, but 
 there was a note of determination in her voice. 
 
 "Now tell me what is the matter," she commanded 
 as we drove away from the station, "and try and be 
 truthful." 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe!" 
 
 "You may say 'Aunt Menelophe!' but girls are 
 rarely truthful about their love affairs." 
 
 [276]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Who said it was a love affair?" I demanded 
 sharply. 
 
 "You didn't, but your face does. You have a very 
 tell-tale countenance. I suppose it's that Inderwick 
 man?" 
 
 She settled herself more comfortably. 
 
 " Why should you pitch upon him ? " 
 
 She chuckled. 
 
 "Merely because your allusions to him, in your 
 letters, have been conspicuous by their absence, and 
 you appear to be able to write reams about every other 
 person in Heatherland. Why have you refused him ? " 
 
 " Because I don't care about him." 
 
 "That appears to be an excellent reason; but are 
 you sure you don't ? " 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 She turned, and through her lorgnon examined me 
 carefully. 
 
 "I beg to differ from you," she said. "You have 
 marked symptoms of caring for him very much." 
 
 " Aunt Menelophe," I began. 
 
 "We won't discuss it now, child. The subject will 
 probably prove exhausting. Later this afternoon, 
 after I have been stimulated by tea we shall be alone. 
 Did you bring your tea-gown ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Slip into it, then. Tea-gowns are wonderfully 
 soothing and helpful in the matter of love affairs. 
 You can curl and uncurl and expand in them com- 
 
 [277]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 fortably, as your various emotions seize and overcome 
 you." 
 
 "They won't seize me," I broke in; "I haven't 
 any." 
 
 She smiled with gentle patronage. 
 
 " It is difficult to form a correct estimate of one's self. 
 You are bubbling over with emotion. Your color is 
 what novelists describe as fitful; the tears are so near 
 the surface at this moment that I doubt if you will last 
 out till we get home." 
 
 "Yes, I shall," I cried fiercely, swallowing an enor- 
 mous lump; " I don't feel in the least like crying." 
 
 "Poor little Hazel!" she said softly; then she 
 turned and kissed me, and straightway I fell upon her 
 neck and wept. 
 
 1278]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Aunt Menelophe Holds Forth on the Subject of Marriage 
 
 AUNT MENELOPHE and I have had our talk. 
 How adorable she is ! She seems to have the 
 brain of a man and the heart of a woman and 
 the sympathy of an angel. Just when you think she is 
 being a little bit hard on you a beautiful, soft look steals 
 across her face, and there creeps into her voice that 
 note of sympathy and kindliness which one imagines 
 one can hear in the notes of birds on soft evenings in 
 April. And she is prettier than ever. The old lace at 
 her throat looked like a delicate cobweb mellowed in 
 September sunlight, and her hands, as they lay folded 
 on her gray poplin gown, reminded me of snowflakes. 
 
 It was good to be again in that soft-tinted, har- 
 monious, beautiful room; good to feel my feet sinking 
 into the thick carpet, and to drink China tea out of 
 those fragile Wedgwood cups. I told her how good 
 it was, how glad I was to be with her, how nice and 
 soothing to feel I should see her every day for a month. 
 
 "For you will have me for a month, won't you, 
 Aunt Menelophe?" I asked. "You won't tell me to 
 
 [279]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 leave at the end of a fortnight. I want to get braced 
 up for for the spring-cleaning. We are having it 
 early this year on account of Easter." 
 
 "I thought spring-cleanings took place when fires 
 were over," she remarked. 
 
 "We have another then. W T e are prodigal in the 
 matter of cleanings; they are our one extravagance." 
 
 She sipped her tea meditatively. 
 
 " And yet you refuse to marry this man." 
 
 " I should not marry for the sake of escaping spring- 
 cleanings," I said stiffly. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "Now don't get prickly; it's a bad beginning. 
 Nobody suggested you should. I was merely reflecting 
 that there are thousands of girls who would jump at 
 such an offer solely to escape the disagreeables and 
 worries of their home lives. Such marriages are rarely 
 happy; mine wasn't. I am glad to see you have more 
 grit in you." 
 
 " Yours ? " I asked in astonishment. 
 
 "No," and she sighed, "mine was a mistake. It 
 was my own fault. I married your Uncle Archibald 
 to get out of playing bezique every evening with an 
 aunt who lived with us, and who was stone-deaf, poor 
 thing. It was difficult to make her understand what I 
 had, and it was her habit to score my points as well as 
 her own, so she invariably won. It was a small thing; 
 but what annoyed me most was, I had to pay a penny 
 into a missionary-box for every game I lost, while she 
 
 [280]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 sat and chuckled. Your uncle turned up one night at 
 an opportune moment. I had lost four games running, 
 and my aunt's cheating had been excessive even for 
 her. Before your uncle left that evening I was engaged 
 to him. The shape of his nose was very good pure 
 Greek but I never really loved him. Afterward, poor 
 man, he developed gout, and his temper became 
 somewhat uncertain." 
 
 "But he loved you; he must have loved you," I 
 interrupted. 
 
 "Yes, I believe he was very fond of me; but the 
 trouble was I could not return his affection. He was 
 a good man, but he bored me. Even the shape of his 
 nose altered it was the gout," she added in paren- 
 theses. "But he never knew; that was my one con- 
 solation. I did him wrong when I married him, and 
 the rest of my life I spent in trying to right it. It was 
 exhausting at times, but I had my reward when he 
 died." 
 
 " Aunt Menelophe ! " I cried aghast. 
 
 "You misunderstand me, child. Strange to say, I 
 felt his loss deeply. My reward lay in the knowledge 
 that he never found me out. Something he said, just 
 before he died, has always been a comfort to me." 
 Her eyes became reminiscent, and I wondered would 
 she repeat it. She did. "'Mene,' he said, 'you have 
 been a good wife, and I have been a poor sort of hus- 
 band. I was never good enough for you, and could 
 never understand how you could love me; but that 
 
 S281J
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 you have loved me has been the greatest gift of my life, 
 and I have thanked God for it every day.' A person 
 with what is called a strict sense of honor would no 
 doubt have promptly undeceived him; I didn't, and 
 he died happy. Deceit is often infinitely preferable to 
 aggressive honesty. Had I said, 'Archibald, you are 
 mistaken; I have never loved you,' I should have felt 
 that he would have been restless throughout eternity, 
 gone wandering about with bare feet and catching his 
 death of cold; and a man who has suffered from gout 
 in this world deserves a little peace in the next." 
 
 She stared into the fire, and I could see that old 
 memories were crowding in thick upon her. What a 
 wonderfully expressive, beautiful face was hers, crowned 
 with its soft white hair! And she had missed love; 
 she had missed what she had once said was the best 
 thing in life. Presently I asked 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe, do you think you could have 
 loved?" 
 
 She looked at me with a little smile. 
 
 "Most women can love, Hazel. I have not been 
 an exception. Mine came too late ; it was after I was 
 married, and he loved me. So my work was doubly 
 hard, to crush the one, keep it down, trample on it, and 
 build up the other foster and tend and encourage 
 the small growth of affection I had managed to raise 
 toward my husband. It was very hard; but the man 
 he was good helped me, we helped each other, and 
 I suppose God helped us both." 
 
 [2821
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Did he ever marry ? " I asked softly. 
 
 "No, he never married, and he is dead now. Men 
 always die before women. It takes a great deal to kill 
 us ; women cling to life with the tenacity of a cat. You 
 meet about one widower to every hundred widows, and 
 then he marries again. I always contend that the Lord 
 cannot love us as a sex, for He never seems to be in any 
 hurry to summon us to His presence. I have told you 
 my story the small tragedy of my life to make you 
 think, pause, and consider well before either refusing 
 or accepting an offer of marriage. Don't rush at a 
 man ; neither, on the other hand, be in too big a hurry 
 to send him away. The moment he has gone for good 
 you may regret it. Personally, I am of the opinion that 
 girls of your age are unsuited for marriage; your 
 hearts are in too wobbly and pulpy a condition. You 
 never know your own minds, and you change in your 
 opinions as rapidly as members of Parliament. Had I 
 been a little older, I should never have married Archi- 
 bald Menzies to escape playing bezique with an aunt, 
 however deaf. But now tell me about this man; I 
 believe I should like him. Describe him to me; I am 
 very sensitive to looks. Is he big ? " 
 
 "Yes," I said, "very: the kind of man who seems 
 to crowd a room, and he has a slow gait and heavy 
 tread." 
 
 She nodded approvingly. 
 
 "And he has a deep voice and speaks slowly.'* 
 
 She nodded again. 
 
 [283]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " And does he think slowly ? " 
 
 "Very slowly, so slowly that I try to help him out 
 with it sometimes, and then he waves me on one side 
 as though I were a gnat. His very wave is big and 
 all-embracing." 
 
 "Better and better," cried Aunt Menelophe; "he 
 sounds delightful. I like your big, slow of thought, 
 slow of speech men; they wear well. The brilliant 
 ones are so tiresomely alert, and full of themselves, and 
 as to how they are impressing you, that you feel worn 
 out after ten minutes of their society. Besides, they 
 never listen to you, and there is nothing more annoying 
 to a woman than not to be listened to. The less clever 
 ones are much more companionable." 
 
 " But Mr. Inderwick is not stupid," I said quickly. 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "I should imagine his brain to be exceptionally 
 solid and weighty. What should be the normal weight 
 of a man's brain ? " 
 
 "About fifty ounces at least so Butterby says, but 
 probably he has mixed up his figures with something 
 in natural history." 
 
 "Well, presuming him to be correct, I am sure Mr. 
 Inderwick's brain must weigh sixty ounces at least," I 
 said. " He seems to have literally absorbed knowledge. 
 There is scarcely anything he does not know. He took 
 all sorts of things at Oxford." I paused, trying to 
 recollect his degrees, when Aunt Menelophe annoyed 
 me by suggesting measles or typhoid. "Don't you 
 
 [284]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 want to hear about him ? " I asked a little huffily, " or 
 are you making fun of me ? " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Hazel," she said. "It was too 
 bad to tease you, but you looked so pretty and earnest 
 and thoughtful that well, I really couldn't help it* 
 Go on; I am deeply interested." 
 
 Somewhat mollified (it was nice to hear such a com- 
 forting description of one's self after Angela's pointed, 
 personal remarks), I continued at some length. 
 
 " He seems to be a remarkable man," said Aunt 
 Menelophe when I had finished, " but I don't like what 
 you tell me of his brain. Any abnormal development 
 usually signifies the verging on the borderland of 
 insanity. Have you observed in him any marked 
 eccentricities ? " 
 
 " None whatever," I retorted. 
 
 "Well, don't get annoyed about it. The line of 
 demarcation between genius and idiocy is very slight. 
 Butterby, for instance, I am told, is a genius in his way, 
 and yet at times I question his sanity. As I said before, 
 this Mr. Inderwick seems a unique creation. Now, is 
 he good ? or, I should say, has he any vices ? " 
 
 " He doesn't drink, if that is what you mean." 
 
 " You don't think he would beat or kick his wife ? " 
 
 " I'm convinced he wouldn't," I replied chillingly. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe laughed. " Does he swear ? " 
 
 I hesitated, and she laughed again. 
 * " A little," I confessed ; " in fact, a good deal when he 
 is put out." 
 
 [285]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "That is not peculiar to him. It is when they are 
 put out that men do swear. Have you corrected him 
 for this bad habit ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And has he improved ? " 
 
 " He did not appear to hear me.*' 
 
 " More and more I am attracted toward him. If you 
 do not think me presumptuous, do you mind giving 
 me your reason for refusing him, now that I know all 
 about him?" She drew her chair nearer to the fire. 
 I did not speak. "Perhaps you would rather not tell 
 me ? " she said gently. 
 
 "It is not that. I don't mind; but it is difficult to 
 put into words, and you will think me so small." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," she protested. " A girl either does 
 or does not want to marry a man. A hair's-breadth 
 may settle it one way or the other a look, an expres- 
 sion, a word, a touch, a thought." 
 
 "It's his clothes his ties and boots," I murmured 
 in a shamefaced manner. "It may seem petty and 
 ridiculous to you; but he is so untidy. He has worn 
 the same old cap for months, and his coat a Norfolk 
 jacket is green with age. He even wears it at church 
 sometimes, and it is all wrinkly and out of shape. And 
 he looks so nice when he is well dressed. You should 
 have seen him at Mrs. Moss's party in his dress clothes. 
 He looked almost distinguished, though his tie was 
 round at the back of his neck most of the evening. And 
 he never seems to know that his shirt-cuffs are frayed, 
 
 [286]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and the day he proposed to me the inside of his tie was 
 coming out." 
 
 I paused, for Aunt Menelophe was laughing. She 
 signalled to me to stop, and then, quickly recovering 
 herself, motioned me to go on, but I wouldn't. 
 
 "You are laughing at me again," I said, "and I 
 don't wonder. It does sound small and ridiculous. 
 Let us talk of something else. I have already said too 
 much. You cannot understand; you are too broad- 
 minded, too above such littleness, too " 
 
 " Hazel Wycherley, if you say another word I shall 
 slap you," she broke in. "Haven't I told you I am 
 completely sympathetic with you ? If a man had pro- 
 posed to me when wearing such a tie I should well, 
 I should have told him to put on another, and then 
 come back to me. A man has no right to go round 
 proposing to nice girls, looking like a rag-picker. But 
 it is your face which upsets me. Do you know that you 
 had such a worried expression on that one small face of 
 yours that, had I not laughed, I should have been 
 bound to weep out of sheer sympathy. The whole of 
 the cares and troubles of the world lay in your eyes as 
 you spoke of that tie, and I can quite enter into your 
 feelings. It is just these small things which irritate 
 and disillusion a girl. She likes, and quite naturally, 
 that her lover or husband should be smart and spick 
 and span not effeminate or foppish, but to be well 
 shaved, well set up, and clean." 
 
 " He is not dirty," I said. 
 
 [287]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Her lips twitched. 
 
 " I was under the impression you said he was." 
 
 " You are mistaken. I said his clothes were old and 
 shabby; but his linen his collars and shirts are 
 scrupulously clean, and he shaves, and I know he has 
 a bath every 
 
 I stopped in confusion, for Aunt Menelophe had 
 retired behind a small fire-screen she was holding, and 
 her body was undulating gently. 
 
 " Well ? " she said in smothered accents. " The fire 
 is burning my face. I am listening, go on." 
 
 "That is all," I said loftily. "I am tired of the 
 subject." 
 
 She dropped the screen. 
 
 "Come and kiss me, child," she commanded, "at 
 once." 
 
 I rose and did her bidding. She stroked my cheek 
 for a moment or two. 
 
 "What a hot-tempered, touchy little girl it is," she 
 said at length. " Do you fly out at Mr. Inderwick like 
 this ? I wonder he had the courage to say anything to 
 you. Those big men are often so shy." 
 
 I felt a little ashamed, but I made no reply. I was 
 not going to be drawn further. 
 
 " Is he shy ? " she asked softly. 
 
 "No," I answered. 
 
 " Well, then, I expect he is cheeky ?" 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 [288]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Aren't you going to forgive me?" she asked. "I 
 never meant to laugh, but your describing his 
 baths " 
 
 "I did not," I broke in hotly. "It was only when 
 you implied he was dirty. Rose, our housemaid she 
 is the daughter of old Crabby's cowman it was she 
 who told me. One cannot help hearing the village 
 gossip." 
 
 " Of course not," said Aunt Menelophe. " Besides, 
 such interesting information! What an extraordinary 
 place Heatherland must be! Haven't the people any 
 occupation ? " 
 
 " Not much." 
 
 "How bad for them! So they discuss people's 
 bathing ? " 
 
 "They discuss everything. They know how many 
 clean changes of linen we have a week, and that Angela 
 wears her flannel petticoats ten days because of the 
 shrinking. They know how many pounds of butter 
 we consume in seven days, and that we have three- 
 pennyworth of cream every Sunday to eat with our 
 fruit tart at dinner. The fact that Mr. Inderwick had 
 accompanied me on a walk one day was buzzed round 
 the entire village within twenty-four hours. And 
 Sammy Sammy our old gardener actually told me 
 lately that I had every appearance of wanting to mate 
 those were his very words that the villagers had 
 noticed it, had seen it in my face, that I looked 'pale 
 and peaky-like.' Wasn't it horrible ? Can you wonder 
 19 [ 289 ]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 at at my refusing Robert Inderwick? They would 
 say all sorts of dreadful things that I had set my cap 
 at him, that I had run after him, courted him, flattered 
 him. Mrs. Gates would turn up the whites of her eyes, 
 and her elastic-sided boots in, and say girls behaved 
 very differently in her day ; that then they were retiring 
 and maidenly. She would have us believe she was a 
 drooping, modest-sort-of-violet girl, with a heaving 
 bosom and labored breath, and we, knowing her, can't; 
 one's credulity can be taxed too far " 
 
 I paused for breath. 
 
 "So it is not the shabby clothes and disreputable 
 tie and knotted bootlaces only" interrupted Aunt 
 Menelophe; "it is the world's opinion, the little world 
 of Heatherland! I should have thought you would 
 have been above that. You care what Mrs. Gates says. 
 You are going to refuse happiness because of an elastic- 
 sided-booted woman in a village. You are going to 
 cast away the best thing life has to offer you." 
 
 " But I'm not," and I stamped my foot. " Don't I 
 tell you I don't love the man." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 I sat down wearily on the hearthrug. 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe, haven't I just been telling you 
 for the last quarter of an hour ? Haven't you listened ? " 
 
 " I have listened. But you have not made your case 
 out to my satisfaction. You say you don't love Mr. 
 Inderwick because he is shabby and untidy." 
 
 "I didn't say that," I contradicted. "I said it 
 [290]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 proved I had no real affection for him, or such external 
 trivialities would not affect me." 
 
 " But that is where I differ from you. I think it is 
 because you do care for him that these little matters 
 worry you. They would me if I loved a man." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " But my heart never beats suffocatingly, and I don't 
 thrill all over as do girls in love in books when the hero 
 goes near them." 
 
 Aunt Menelophe made a gesture of contempt. 
 
 "You talk like an infant," she said. "You don't 
 understand, and if I explain to you, you will still prob- 
 ably not understand. Perhaps I am silly to try, but 
 really you are so so foolish. Now listen. That which 
 is known as love is made up or composed of many 
 elements. If I were a chemist I should probably have 
 the correct names of these elements at my finger ends, 
 but I'm not. I am just going to divide love up roughly 
 into two sections the spiritual or mental, and the 
 physical or emotional. A man's love, as a rule, cer- 
 tainly pertains more to the latter. I do not say that 
 it is any better or worse for that, it has nothing to do 
 with the question; he loves in the way that Nature 
 intended him to love. But a woman, on the other 
 hand, loves more often with the mental side of her being 
 than the physical; and it is better so, it is Nature's 
 safeguard. Besides, I think such love in a woman is 
 more enduring, more lasting. I don't admire your 
 southern type of woman who thrills and jumps, and 
 
 [291;
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 has flashing eyes, and a stiletto concealed up her sleeve. 
 Her love is passionate and all-absorbing at the moment, 
 but does it last? You won't understand, you are 
 too young, but believe me that the thrills and heart 
 jumps and suffocating sensations the lack of which 
 you complain about in regard to your feelings to- 
 ward Mr. Inderwick are the very least important 
 qualifications necessary in the composition of a love 
 which is beautiful and steadfast and enduring. What 
 you have to ask yourself when in doubt is, 'Does 
 this man bore me? Does he tire me? Does he 
 irritate me? Do I respect him? Can I look up to 
 him as I trust he will look up to me? Shall I be 
 ashamed of him? And, above all, does the mere 
 fact of his presence bring me complete contentment ? ' 
 If it doesn't you are right in saying * No.' ' 
 
 "But it does I think," I stammered. 
 
 "Well, then, why in the name of fortune have 
 you sent him about his business ? " she snapped. " I 
 cannot believe that because of his ties and Mrs. 
 Oates's chatter and a scarcity of dynamite sensa- 
 tions on your part you would send such a nice man 
 away." 
 
 "But I thought you said a few moments ago you 
 sympathized with me, and that a hair's-breadth 
 would turn the scale of a girl's affection?" 
 
 "I was referring to foolish, empty-headed girls. 
 I gave you credit for more sense." 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe, why are you so keen on my 
 [292]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 getting married?" I asked. "Now if you were a 
 mother with five plain daughters " 
 
 "Don't be impertinent," she said, tweaking my 
 ear. "I don't want you to make a muddle of your 
 life. I muddled mine, and I somehow feel you are 
 going to muddle yours. I am convinced that you 
 like this Inderwick man." 
 
 "And I'm convinced of this, that whether I love 
 him or whether I don't, I'm not going to recall him. 
 So there!" 
 
 "You are a pig-headed, obstinate minx," she re- 
 marked; "and if you were my daughter I would 
 keep you on bread and water for a week. But here 
 comes Butterby; he will probably ask you to give 
 him back that beetle, he has talked of nothing else 
 since you went." 
 
 I laughed and hugged her, and wondered if she 
 were right and I wrong. Was I going to make a 
 muddle of my life ? Time would show. 
 
 [293]
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 I Am Confronted with Another Perplexing Situation 
 
 COUSIN WELLESLEY and Mr. Escourt have 
 been here for thirteen and a half days, and 
 since the particular Tuesday on which they 
 arrived I have felt exactly like a railway train, full 
 steam up, flying along at an express speed of sixty 
 miles a minute, going whither I know not, and not 
 daring to pause to think. 
 
 Is there no friendly signalman at hand to pull a 
 lever and turn me on to the right track? For I 
 can see two tracks ahead of me, and I don't know 
 which to take. I am tired and frightened and full 
 of apprehension. I want to slow down, to put on 
 the brake, to turn off steam, and some force outside 
 myself seems to be urging and propelling me along. 
 It is only a few weeks since I felt like a thousand- 
 year-old toad, a weary, lethargic toad, and now to 
 be experiencing the sensations of an express train! 
 It is a little rough on a girl. 
 
 "There is a Divinity that doth shape our ends,' 
 [294]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and I imagined this shaping would be carried on 
 quietly and methodically by gentle, easy stages. I 
 never dreamed that I should be hustled and bustled 
 in this insistent fashion, with a clamoring in my 
 ears of "Make up your mind, take it or leave 
 it, but don't vacillate." It is so ridiculous to say 
 "don't vacillate" in that peremptory manner when 
 such an important issue is at stake, when one false 
 step may make or mar a life's happiness nay, two 
 lives. 
 
 Now if mother were here she would say, "Pray 
 over it. Ask to be guided aright." I have known 
 her to take a wet wash day to God, and then with 
 eyes of faith sit and watch a rift in the clouds; and 
 I believe I should follow her advice if God were a 
 woman a woman might understand. I could say 
 to Mary, had I been brought up in another faith, 
 "Oh, Holy Mother, I am in a dire fix. Here are 
 two men wanting to marry me, and I don't know 
 which of the two I love. 
 
 "One, Robert Inderwick, I admire and respect 
 because I know him to be good, and he would be 
 good to me. He is slow-going, but would be faith- 
 ful. He is careless of appearances, but in heart and 
 mind a gentleman. He is downright in thought, 
 speech, and action, but gentle and tolerant toward 
 the wobbly ones of this world. He is rugged and 
 somewhat ugly, and wears coats of an aged aspect, 
 calling to mind the gnarled, greeny boles of primeval 
 
 [295]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 forest trees, but his muscles are of abnormal devel- 
 opment, and would do away with the necessity of 
 keeping a watch-dog on the premises. His ties are 
 compassed about with cotton wool and thin places, 
 and his bootlaces are full of knots, but his rare smile 
 is better than the sun coming from behind a cloud 
 on a dull winter's day. 
 
 "The other, Eustace Escourt, is the exact an- 
 tithesis. He is brilliant and handsome, quick of 
 speech, lithe and graceful, and faultlessly attired. 
 His elegant patent boots contain trees and not hu- 
 man feet, and one can imagine that his trousers 
 draw long breaths of relief at being released from 
 the confining environment of a heavy mattress or 
 the rack of a wire-stretcher. In thirteen days I 
 have seen him in as many ties. He always seems 
 to wear the right thing in the right place in the 
 right way. He is the type of man who would make 
 a good bridegroom. Then his conversation is a re- 
 velation it bewilders you. He says clever, strange 
 things which seem to have quite hah* a dozen mean- 
 ings, and he appears to take it for granted that you 
 have grasped the lot in all their subtle entirety when 
 you are hopelessly floundering about after one. 
 
 "I sit by him at dinner, and by the end of the 
 meal I am in amazed and dazed condition. I feel 
 as though I had been in for an examination my 
 matriculation or something equally horrible, and 
 had just scraped through by the skin of my teeth, 
 
 [296]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and, with a little gasp, I fall all of a flabby heap on 
 to the drawing-room couch and fan two hectic spots 
 on my cheeks while sedulously endeavoring to evade 
 Aunt Menelophe's glance. And yet he fascinates 
 me fascinates me. So, Holy Mother, help me if 
 you can. Help me to choose between these two men, 
 and so give me peace." 
 
 From the moment Eustace Escourt entered this 
 house he has devoted himself absolutely to me, 
 talked to me, walked with me, read to me, monop- 
 olized me. I have steeled myself against him a 
 dozen times a day. I have reminded myself that 
 I was the only girl in the house, and therefore it was 
 quite natural that he should prefer my society to 
 Butterby and his moths, or to Wellesley whose 
 temper is irritable after influenza, and who at present 
 spends his time in being " picked up " by invalid deli- 
 cacies, and playing ecarte with Aunt Menelophe. 
 
 I have said to myself, "If there were another girl 
 about the place you would go to the wall at once 
 or if Aunt Menelophe were twenty years younger 
 and able to play golf and go for long walks you would 
 be completely left out in the cold, so show a little 
 pride and independence, and don't dance to his piping. 
 He is only playing with you amusing himself. He 
 once said you were a little country girl, by which he 
 meant a gauche, unsophisticated, bumpkinish sort 
 of creature, to be drawn out and dissected for want 
 of something better to do." So I have said firmly 
 
 [297]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 that I don't play golf, and have started off on a walk 
 to think of Robert, and within ten minutes I am 
 receiving my first lesson in putting and driving. I 
 have refused curtly to take any interest in Browning, 
 and five minutes later I am listening eagerly to his 
 beautiful rendering of "Pippa Passes." By storm, 
 stress, and steam I have been whirled along, resisting 
 yet yielding, fighting yet fascinated, drinking in all 
 that he has told me of books, places, people, of that 
 wonderful life in town life lived to the uttermost; 
 and now when I want to sit down and think calmly, 
 dispassionately, weigh things up, commune with my 
 heart, debate with my reason, look into the years 
 to come, a voice keeps whispering, whispering into 
 my ear confusing me, perplexing me, alluring me 
 with its seductiveness "You, too, shall live this 
 life, you shall know people, you shall meet brilliant 
 men and women. You will no longer stagnate, you 
 will no longer dwell like a rabbit in a hutch, a cow 
 in a stall, a potato in a field, vegetating, rusting, 
 drifting into a rustiness and commonplaceness which 
 are worse than death. You will see great pictures 
 and hear divine music. You will have your own 
 salon and wear beautiful gowns. You are clever 
 you shall be educated; you are beautiful your 
 beauty shall be adorned; you are good, though that 
 matters the least of all, and you shall learn that 
 goodness and virtue are possible without the tiresome 
 and old-fashioned restrictions of dogma and creed. 
 
 [298]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 You shall travel and see many strange and interest- 
 ing places; there is nothing, in reason, that you shall 
 not do; and you shall live every moment of your 
 life." 
 
 Was ever a poor, weak girl more grievously tempted 
 a girl who believes in the old-fashioned theory 
 of love, but who wants all these other things as well ? 
 
 And he spoke so beautifully and looked so hand- 
 some. There was only one little jarring note 
 that about goodness mattering the least of all. I 
 am not good, I am not religious, but somehow those 
 words hurt. I think if I were a man I should like 
 a woman to be good. 
 
 The dressing-bell has gone Aunt Menelophe's 
 maid has put out my white frock in readiness it 
 took all the money out of two of mother's tin boxes 
 and one purse to pay for that frock. Dear, kind 
 old mother! When I mean if ever I should become 
 rich, mother shall have her twelve drawing-room 
 chairs covered with pink silk damask she doesn't 
 approve of new-fangled tapestries and the sofa 
 and two easy-chairs shall also be covered, and they 
 shall all have white chintz (with little pink flowers) 
 covers to wear in summer, and so preserve the pink 
 damask from fading, and dear mother will be happy. 
 
 I must hurry. In less than three-quarters of an 
 hour I shall meet Eustace at dinner. He will crack 
 me my walnuts, and he will talk to me. Breath- 
 lessly I shall follow him into that wonderful world 
 
 [299]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 of his, and he will touch lightly upon science and 
 religion and evolution, and things I had never so 
 much as heard of till a fortnight ago; and he will 
 give expression to thoughts and ideas which would 
 cause mother and Angela to regard him in the light 
 of an Antichrist, and fall upon their knees in prayer. 
 
 And then afterward I have promised to meet 
 him in the library and give him my answer. Butterby 
 interrupted us this afternoon; Butterby gave me 
 this blessed hour of respite. He came in to borrow 
 the beetle; I know I shall never see it again. 
 
 "By all means, dear Butterby; I will go for it," 
 I said. 
 
 Eustace caught me as I was slipping out of the 
 room. 
 
 "Come here to-night after dinner," he whispered. 
 
 I nodded. I was afraid Butterby might hear him; 
 but he was engrossed in a picture of British moths 
 which hung upon the wall, and which is an ever- 
 lasting source of interest to that extraordinary young 
 man. 
 
 And what am I going to say? What is to be 
 my answer? The voice keeps on clamorously, per- 
 sistently: "Make up your mind. For Heaven's 
 sake cease vacillating and wobbling. You are old 
 enough to make your own decision." Then another 
 voice breaks in enticingly: "You shall live every 
 moment of your life; you shall cease to vegetate, 
 rust, drift into commonplaceness, if you will consent 
 
 [300]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 to come with me." And now a third comes along: 
 "I have offered you all I have, Hazel. It may not 
 be very much, but there it is. ... My love for you 
 could not be measured by any ordinary standard 
 of cubic feet or inches; it is too big, but you refuse 
 it all." 
 Ah me ! Why was I born a woman ?
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 / Make My Decision, and Am Not AltogetJwr Happy 
 
 I AM engaged to Eustace Escourt. I have prom- 
 ised to many him this coming summer. To 
 marry! As I write the words it seems to me 
 that the earth ought to cease revolving, the sun stand 
 still, and the waters be dried up; but none of them 
 do anything of the kind, and I heard Aunt Menelophe 
 order a suet pudding for the servants' dinner in a 
 most every-day tone of voice. It gave me quite a 
 shock; I almost remonstrated with her. To think 
 that a newly engaged couple should be sheltered 
 by the same roof as a common, lumpy suet pudding! 
 Aunt Menelophe was altogether very matter-of-fact 
 in her manner this morning. The only reference 
 she made to my engagement was to remark that 
 marriage usually led to dulness, frequently to disaster, 
 and once in a blue moon to delight, which I thought 
 she might have left unsaid, and with which sentiments 
 I do not in the least agree. Still, I cannot help 
 wondering to which mine will lead. Of one thing I 
 am assured it won't be dulness. Eustace is not a 
 
 [302]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 dull person, neither from all accounts is London a 
 dull place; and at the worst, should such a sen- 
 sation overtake me, I could pick a quarrel with some 
 one just a small quarrel that wouldn't matter much 
 and ennui would straightway be banished to the 
 four quarters of the globe. I have ever found it a 
 safe rule to go by, "When dulness descends revert 
 to gentle quarrelling." 
 
 Disaster I put from me; it is an ugly-sounding 
 word. So delight only is left. Of course I am going 
 to be happy. What is there to prevent it? Why 
 shouldn't I be as happy as any other girl ? I 
 but there! I won't. I will not begin that self- 
 analysis and examination and heart-searching which 
 kept me awake half the night, causing Butterby 
 at breakfast to tell me I looked like a boiled owl, 
 which was anything but kind and cousinly of him. 
 Eustace is is everything that a sensible girl ought 
 to want to marry. He made me realize this last 
 night in less than ten minutes after joining him. I 
 went to the library fully determined to say "No," 
 and I left him after agreeing that June would be the 
 most perfect of all months for our wedding. 
 
 How beautifully he talked! I wish I could re- 
 member half the things he said. He spoke of love 
 in an abstract, impersonal kind of way, and read a 
 wonderfully beautiful passage out of a book I 
 forget the name of it; and he never once asked me 
 if I loved him, for which I am most grateful. It 
 
 [303]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 seems so material to touch upon one's own earthly 
 affections when your soul is uplifted, and you are car- 
 ried out of yourself by the glowing and impassioned 
 thought and language of a passage almost inspired. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe came into the room just as we 
 were finishing our talk. She stood and stared at 
 us as though she had discovered some new species. 
 
 "So this is what you are up to!" she remarked. 
 
 A schoolmaster, on the track of small boys stealing 
 apples, would probably adopt the same tone on 
 running them to earth. 
 
 Eustace arose and offered her a chair. His man- 
 ners are perfect. 
 
 "Yes," he said, smiling, "this is what we are up 
 to, Mrs. Menzies. I have just asked your niece to 
 by my wife, and I trust that I have your sympathy 
 and approval in so doing." 
 
 " Have you accepted him ? " 
 
 She turned on me with a pounce. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "God bless my soul!" she ejaculated, and there 
 did not seem to be anything suitable by way of reply. 
 "Well," she went on, "Eustace Escourt, you have 
 not lost much time. You are what I should describe 
 as a fairly rapid young man." 
 
 "I invariably make my decisions with a certain 
 degree of rapidity, Mrs. Menzies. Men are unlike 
 women in that respect." 
 
 She gave a little snort. 
 
 [304]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Women look before they leap." 
 
 "Are you implying that I have neglected to do 
 so, for it sounds a little a little rude to Miss Wycher- 
 ley? Believe me I have considered the question 
 carefully, and have every confidence in the future." 
 
 "Oh, I wasn't thinking of you," Aunt Menelophe 
 retorted somewhat discourteously. " You're all right. 
 It was Hazel I was worried about." 
 
 "Indeed!" He smiled, but there was that drawl 
 in his voice which is always to be heard when he is 
 in any way moved. 
 
 "She is young and impetuous, and she has only 
 known you for a fortnight. I had no idea this was 
 going on." 
 
 "Excuse me, Mrs. Menzies, but you must be a 
 little shortsighted. I should have thought the least 
 observant would have noticed the marked attentions 
 I was paying your niece. I am extremely sorry that 
 you should feel I have stolen a march upon you." 
 
 "Of course you paid her attention, she is an 
 attractive girl," snapped Aunt Menelophe; but 
 I have always understood from Wellesley that you 
 were not a marrying man." 
 
 " Neither was I till I met Miss Wycherley." There 
 was a studied calmness about him which made me 
 feel nervous. "You should not have put temptation 
 in my way." 
 
 "I didn't," she contradicted; "it was just an 
 accident." 
 
 20 [305]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Well, at any rate," he persisted, "now that 
 Hazel has consented to be my wife, I hope you have 
 no objection. You have known me for many years; 
 my income is good, my reputation, I trust, is good; 
 my position will enable me to keep a wife in comfort 
 if not in luxury. May I venture to hope that we 
 have your congratulations ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, you have." 
 
 There was just the faintest emphasis on the pronoun 
 which made me look fearfully at Eustace, but he did 
 not appear to notice it. 
 
 "Thanks," he said with a smile. "Now I feel 
 more comfortable. You have not been too encourag- 
 ing, Mrs. Menzies." 
 
 "She knows nothing of your world. I have not 
 wished to be unsympathetic, but she has been brought 
 up simply." 
 
 " That is what makes her so attractive," he replied. 
 
 "I hope you are not forgetting I am here," I sug- 
 gested quietly. 
 
 They laughed, and Aunt Menelophe rose. 
 
 "Come to my room by and by," she said; "I want 
 to talk to you. And Eustace," turning to him, "I 
 suppose you are going to see Hazel's mother?" 
 
 " Certainly, but I shall be obliged to run up to town 
 first on business; then I hope to go to Heatherland 
 and make Mrs. Wycherley's acquaintance." 
 
 My heart gave a jump as he said this. He was 
 going to Heatherland, and Robert would know. 
 
 [S06]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 rt Need you go to see mother?" I asked nervously. 
 "I think 1 would like our engagement to be kept 
 quiet for two or three months. You see, I might 
 I might not know my own mind, as Aunt Menelophe 
 says. I might wish to break off our engagement. 
 Of course, I have no intention of doing anything of 
 the kind, but well, one never knows." 
 
 He looked at me in surprise almost in displeasure. 
 
 "That is rather an extraordinary thing to say 
 to a man to whom you have been engaged exactly 
 half an hour." 
 
 "Of course I'm only in fun," I said, laughing. 
 "You must try to understand when I'm joking." 
 
 "I don't care for that sort of joke, little girl," 
 he said, drawing me to him. 
 
 I eluded his embrace; somehow I didn't feel like 
 that. 
 
 "I must go to Aunt Menelophe," I murmured. 
 "She will be waiting for me. Good-night/' and in 
 a twinkling I was across the hall and up the staircase. 
 
 "I don't think you were very kind to Eustace, 
 Aunt Menelophe," I said, as I entered her room. 
 
 Her reply was to motion me to a low chair in front 
 of the fire and hand me a cup of cocoa which she 
 had just made on her little spirit stove. I accepted 
 both with gratitude. My cheeks were burning and 
 my hands and feet were icy. Getting engaged is 
 rather agitating work. She watched me drink the 
 cocoa, then she rang for her maid. 
 
 [307]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Parkins, bring Miss Wycherley's dressing-gown, 
 comb and brush, and woolly shoes," she commanded. 
 
 "How did you know my head ached?" I asked 
 a little wearily, as she passed me her salts and some 
 Florida water. 
 
 "Emotional people's heads always ache when 
 they shouldn't and it is necessary for them to keep 
 their wits about them," she replied. 
 
 "Are you suggesting that mine have been wander- 
 
 ing?" 
 
 "By no means. Have you not just landed a man 
 with five thousand a year?" 
 
 I sprang to my feet. 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe, I did not think you would 
 have said that to me. Good-night." 
 
 I nearly knocked Parkins over as I bounced toward 
 the door. 
 
 "Sit down, Hazel," said Aunt Menelophe im- 
 peratively. "Don't be ridiculous. Parkins, take 
 Miss Wycherley's hair down and brush it for a few 
 minutes, and then you can go. Miss Wycherley is 
 tired and overwrought, and wants soothing." 
 
 "Yes, m'm," said Parkins, regarding me as though 
 I were some wild animal at the Zoo. 
 
 I fretted and fumed as she fumbled about for the 
 hairpins and stuck her cold fingers into the nape of 
 my neck; but when she once got to work with the 
 brush, the sensation was rather pleasant and soothing 
 than otherwise. 
 
 [308]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Your 'air is very thick and long, miss." 
 
 "Yes," I replied; "I know all about it, Parkins." 
 
 "You find it troublesome to manage sometimes, 
 miss." 
 
 "Very, Parkins. I have been on the point of 
 chopping it off at least a dozen times." 
 
 I could feel her horrified countenance through the 
 back of my head. 
 
 " There is a bit of a tangle here, miss," was her next 
 cheering communication. 
 
 "I am all of a tangle, Parkins. Your information 
 does not surprise me." 
 
 "Indeed, miss!" 
 
 "Yes," and I heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 " Shall I try and get it out, miss ? It won't hurt you." 
 
 "But it does," I said with a yell, and Parkins 
 shot to the other side of the room. 
 
 "That will do," said Aunt Menelophe; "you can 
 go now," and Parkins went, casting furtive looks 
 behind her. 
 
 "I will see what I can do," said Aunt Menelophe, 
 taking up the comb and brush, and I was instantly 
 transported to heaven. Her touch was as balm in 
 Gilead, and it felt as though, with exquisitely gentle 
 fingers, each of my jangled, tired nerves was smoothed 
 out and set at rest. 
 
 "How delicious!" I murmured. "I will forgive 
 you everything, Aunt Menelophe." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 [309]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Thanks," she said dryly. "I was unaware that 
 my behavior called for such magnanimity on your 
 part." 
 
 "After such a remark to which you gave utterance 
 not ten minutes since ? " 
 
 "I was merely voicing what will be the sentiments 
 of the world when your engagement is made known. 
 I may say at once that I do not participate in them. 
 My opinion of you is somewhat better." 
 
 "The world is rarely kind to a woman, it would 
 seem." 
 
 "I don't know," answered Aunt Menelophe. "It 
 is often a source of surprise to me how very decent 
 the world is to women; for some of them are fluffy 
 bits of inanity, and they are forever hankering after 
 something they can't get. It frequently puzzles me 
 to know what they do want; I don't think they 
 know themselves. They indulge in huge aspirations 
 and longings for something outside their environ- 
 ment. They say they feel like skylarks cramped in 
 a small cage, and want to stretch their wings and 
 fly; and they talk of liberty and life with a big L, 
 and hanker after congenial work. Now if the whole 
 truth were known, I am of the opinion they don't 
 want to work at all. They are idle, and anxious to 
 dodge the few duties of home life. What they want 
 are husbands and a good time generally. It is quite 
 remarkable when women do find their congenial 
 work how quickly they tire of it, and then they cry 
 
 [310]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 out their strength is not sufficient to stand it. Women 
 are such humbugs!" 
 
 " But don't you think any of them are in earnest ? " 
 
 "A few here and there the really plain ones 
 and the really clever ones," she replied, as she put 
 down the brush and comb and drew up a chair to the 
 fire. 
 
 "Are not you a little hard on them?" I asked. 
 
 Her face became soft and tender at once. 
 
 "I don't mean to be. I am really very sorry for 
 women, not for the upper and middle classes they 
 have a pretty good time on the whole but the poor 
 working women. My heart aches for them. What 
 lives they lead! But I did not invite you up here for 
 a psychological discussion on the relative positions 
 of women in the world. I want to speak of the affairs 
 of the heart of one particular girl I know. I am 
 glad you have found such a ready solution to your 
 difficulties; I am glad you have found love." 
 
 "Thanks," I said. 
 
 She looked at me quickly. 
 
 " You must feel so thankful that your heart dictated 
 to you aright in prompting you to refuse Robert 
 Inderwick. You might have been carried away 
 by his sincere love for you. Girls are tender-hearted 
 creatures. Your instincts were admirable ; the shabby 
 ties have not played you false. You should sing 
 a Te Deum out of gratitude. Happiness lies before 
 you love and place and power. You cannot fail 
 
 [311]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 to be blissful with these three, and the greatest of 
 these is love." 
 
 My mouth became dry. 
 
 "You did not sound so pleased about it down- 
 stairs, Aunt Menelophe. In fact, as I remarked 
 before, I think you were almost discourteous to 
 Eustace." 
 
 "I was taken by surprise. I felt annoyed at my 
 own blindness and want of perspicacity. No woman 
 enjoys having it brought home to her that her dense- 
 ness, especially in the matter of a love affair, has been 
 colossal. Here was I taking it that you were really 
 deeply attached to this Inderwick, and there were 
 you falling violently in love with my guest." 
 
 I shuffled. Aunt Menelophe could be intensely 
 irritating on occasions. 
 
 "I am tired," I said; "I think I will go to bed." 
 
 She kissed me warmly. 
 
 "Good -night, dear child; needless to tell you to 
 sleep well. It is sorrow and anxiety that keep people 
 awake." 
 
 And I never closed my eyes the whole blessed 
 night. 
 
 [312]
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 / Have Some Little Differences with Eustace 
 
 EUSTACE has returned from London. I had 
 no time to miss him, as Aunt Menelophe 
 insisted upon my writing to tell mother of my 
 engagement, and it took me exactly two days to 
 do this. The waste-paper basket bulged and over- 
 flowed at the end of the first day. How could I 
 make her comprehend that I felt I knew and under- 
 stood a man sufficiently in less than fourteen days 
 to undertake to marry him. Mother is old-fashioned. 
 She believes in a man speaking first to the parents, 
 and then courting the daughter in a back-parlor 
 sort of way. I don't think for a moment father did 
 anything of the kind. Mother will tell you all about 
 her acquaintance with him up to a certain point, 
 and then she becomes reserved. 
 
 As I sit writing I occasionally pause, and neg- 
 ligently pass my left hand over my hair. In the 
 mirror opposite I can see what appears to be like 
 unto a huge dewdrop of great brilliancy, sparkling 
 and flashing in the sunshine. 
 
 [313]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 It seems incredible that this wondrous jewel should 
 belong to me, who still own and wear (certainly un- 
 der compulsion) an exceeding ancient, brown stuff 
 frock which has seen many summers, and at the 
 moment hangs in my wardrobe at home in readiness 
 for the spring-cleaning. But it will be for the last 
 time. No more spring-cleanings and ugly brown 
 frocks, but salons and Liberty gowns for did he 
 not say I should have a salon and wear beautiful 
 dresses ? 
 
 To be strictly truthful, I don't think I should care 
 to undertake a salon. I was under the impression 
 such things were only held by radiantly beautiful or 
 wonderfully brilliant women, who gathered around 
 them, as flies after a jam-pot, ambassadors and cabinet 
 ministers, and from whom they extracted diplomatic 
 and political state secrets of great importance, such 
 as: The alliance of the South Sea Islands and the 
 North Pole with Germany; or that a discovery had 
 been made of the King's intrigue with the Duke 
 of Buckingham's chambermaid, and that the Duke 
 was levying blackmail upon the King, thereby render- 
 ing the latter exceedingly unhappy. Then I suppose 
 there are the literary and artistic salons held by 
 emaciated, green-robed women, looking like so many 
 garden leeks touched by a frost. I wonder which 
 Eustace would wish me to queen a political, artistic 
 or literary. I don't like the sound of any. I think 
 I shall refuse a salon altogether. I want to enjoy 
 
 [314]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 life; but I must go carefully, for I find Eustace just 
 the tiniest bit "difficult." I know it is my fault: I 
 have always been sensitive, and it troubles me to 
 think we have already had two little quar differ- 
 ences. But he laughed when I said so, and quoted 
 something about "O blessings on the falling out," 
 which did not comfort me in the least. 
 
 Our first words were about the ring. It is really 
 magnificent, and I felt he would say something beau- 
 tiful and appropriate as he slipped it on to my finger, 
 and it came somewhat as a shock when he remarked 
 how brown my hand was, that there was no mistake 
 about my living in the country, and I must see what 
 could be achieved with a good toilet cream. 
 
 I felt myself stiffen, and unbidden the thought 
 came to me that Robert would not have said that; 
 but I thrust it from me this was not the moment 
 to think of another man. After all, it was absurd 
 to expect your lover to think you perfect. 
 
 "I am sorry you disapprove of brown hands," I 
 remarked tentatively, "because I never wear gloves 
 in summer. It would be dreadful not to be able to 
 crumble the warm, brown earth with your bare fingers, 
 or allow the hot, yellow sand on the shore to trickle 
 through them, or dabble them in the little, cool streams, 
 or gather flowers. Surely you agree with me it would 
 be a desecration to pick little velvety, soft-cheeked, 
 wild flowers wearing stuffy kid gloves?" 
 
 "Oh, well, you won't be able to indulge in those 
 delights in town." 
 
 [315]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 He spoke quite gently and kindly, but I under- 
 stood that he meant my hands were to grow white 
 somehow, and my heart sank at the prospect. 
 
 "We shan't always live in town, shall we?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "The greater part of the year. I am not happy 
 away from London. But we shall go abroad to 
 the Riviera and places where people do go, but no- 
 where where you will be free to make your mud pies," 
 and he laughed. 
 
 "And won't you ever go to a quiet place, where 
 we can poke about and find lovely things?" 
 
 " What kind of things ? " he questioned. 
 
 "Oh, beautiful growing things in the fields and 
 hedges, little roots and ferns and flowers the banks 
 teem with them; and the pools are full of dear little 
 water-beetles and long-legged flies which shoot about 
 in ridiculous fashion; and there are the fish which 
 rise to the surface on warm, sunny afternoons and 
 lie on their backs and bask in the shallows; and 
 nests in the spring have you ever seen a wren's nest ? 
 It is a miracle of mossy cosiness. You sally forth 
 in search of one on a sunny, springy, clear afternoon, 
 when the white clouds are very high up, and all the 
 hedges and tree-tops are flushed with a delicious, 
 tender green, and you 
 
 I came to a dead stop, for Eustace was actually 
 drumming on the window-pane. 
 
 "You are very enthusiastic," he said. "I had 
 no idea you were so poetical." 
 
 [316]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 There was a suppressed amusement in his tone 
 which irritated me. I did not laugh at him when 
 he raved about Browning. 
 
 "That is not poetry," I answered with a flash; 
 "that is Nature." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "What is the difference?" 
 
 "The difference is " I hesitated. "Why, 
 
 poetry is the art of expressing in beautiful language 
 a beautiful idea, and Nature is a beautiful reality 
 the outcome of the imagination of God." 
 
 "Indeed! I am learning something. And which 
 of the two do you prefer ? " 
 
 "Why Nature of course," I replied, now feeling 
 sure of my ground. "Don't you?" 
 
 "No," he said, "I don't think I do. Nature is 
 frequently most unsatisfactory, but true poetry never 
 is." 
 
 "But surely you would prefer sitting on a gate 
 listening to the song of a lark than to Shelley's ode 
 to it?" 
 
 "It would depend on the gate and the day. Sky- 
 larks, I believe, are at their best in March and April, 
 when the wind invariably cuts you to pieces." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 " But their music is glorious," I said. 
 
 "That may be so, but Shelley's language is an 
 inspiration. The beauty of his language surpasses, 
 to my thinking, the beauty of the note of any bird." 
 
 |317]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You are wrong," I said emphatically. 
 
 To my great surprise, his face darkened. 
 
 "These are early days to be putting me right," 
 he retorted with a light laugh. "I am not to have 
 so plastic a pupil as I expected eh, little girl?" 
 
 " Indeed, I never meant or wished to put you right," 
 I said vehemently. "I am not clever enough; you 
 know that. You are always sounding the depths of 
 my ignorance, and and I cannot make out, under 
 the circumstances, why you should wish to marry 
 me." 
 
 "That is the very reason I do want to marry you. 
 You are what I have been unconsciously searching 
 for: someone fresh and unprejudiced and malleable, 
 and here I find you with quite pronounced views." 
 
 "What does malleable mean?" I asked, ignoring 
 the latter part of his remark. 
 
 "It means something soft and yielding and pliable, 
 or literally that which may be beaten out by a ham- 
 mer." 
 
 "I don't think I want to be malleable," I said, 
 laughing. 
 
 "It is preferable to being opinionated and dog- 
 matic," he answered. 
 
 " You like backboneless jelly-fish ? " 
 
 He smiled, showing his white, even teeth. 
 
 "If you like to put it that way; but I think it 
 would be more picturesque to say that I like my little 
 
 [318]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 girl to be soft and sweet, and young and open to 
 conviction." 
 
 I, too, began to drum on the window-pane. Then 
 the funny side of it struck me; to imagine myself 
 soft and sweet and yielding was more than I could 
 stand, and I began to chuckle softly. 
 
 He looked at me in displeasure, and my chuckle 
 broke into a laugh. He frowned and took up a 
 newspaper, and, seating himself in an armchair, 
 began to read. The winter sunshine, streaming 
 through the window, played amongst his neat, well- 
 brushed hair, and on to his white, shiny collar. It 
 struck me that he was really exceedingly good-looking, 
 and the frown suited him. 
 
 "Do you know," I remarked pleasantly, "you 
 are awfully like a man in a play. I can't describe 
 the sort of man I mean, but he is well, he is just 
 like you." 
 
 His attitude seemed to be endeavoring to explain 
 to me that he was unconscious of my presence; but 
 I am of an amiable and forgiving disposition at times, 
 so I went closer to him. 
 
 "The man is rather nice," I added. 
 
 Still no notice. He crossed one brown-booted, 
 heather-mixture leg and foot over another, and studied 
 the leader with great absorption. 
 
 "Eustace!" with great effort I made my voice 
 plaintive and malleable. " Eustace, won't you speak 
 to me ? " 
 
 [319]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 No notice. A silence as of the dead pervaded 
 the room, and the clock's ticking was simply aggres- 
 sive. 
 
 Then I became angry, and, marching out of the 
 room, banged the door to behind me. I would show 
 him that two could play at that game. If he were 
 going to sulk and be angry about nothing at all, 
 what would he be like when there was a real cause 
 for it ? 
 
 Straightway I went to Wellesley and invited him 
 to play golf. I am getting quite fond of Wellesley 
 now that his influenza irritability is vanishing. He 
 is not in the least like that which my imagination had 
 conjured up as a newspaper-man; for he is quite 
 clean and well-dressed, and seems to like other people 
 to talk. It is easy to see he is Aunt Menelophe's 
 favorite of her three sons, and he is just devoted to 
 her. 
 
 "Isn't she a beautiful old mother?" he asked 
 me one day before her; and when I nodded she told 
 us not to make so much noise as she wanted to have 
 her afternoon nap, but there was an expression in 
 her eyes, as they rested upon Wellesley, which brought 
 a tight feeling into my throat. I hope when I am 
 old I shall be the possessor of a big son who will be 
 proud of me. 
 
 Wellesley looked rather astonished at my invitation. 
 
 "Where's Escourt?" he asked. 
 
 "He's reading," I replied, going scarlet. 
 [320]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " Phew ! " he ejaculated, and then whistled. 
 
 "Would you rather not play?" I inquired with 
 dignity. 
 
 "I would like it above all things, little cousin, 
 but Escourt. Won't he mind ? He's a funny chap." 
 
 "I don't think he will mind," I said steadily; "and 
 if he does it can't be helped." 
 
 My cousin whistled again The Dead March in 
 Saul, which was not inspiriting. 
 
 "Well, I'm going," I said. "I will have a round 
 by myself," and I walked off. 
 
 "Wait a moment," shouted Wellesley. "Give a 
 fellow a chance. I must put on my boots." 
 
 "You'll take all the responsibility now," he said 
 as we walked to the links. "Escourt's got a queer 
 temper, though he is my pal and and a a very 
 decent chap," he added. (Wellesley's more like a 
 great boy than a man of thirty, and he's very tact- 
 less.) 
 
 "Why, I might be suggesting that we should run 
 off and get married," I said with asperity, "instead 
 of a simple round of golf. If Eustace wants a game 
 he knows where to find us: he must have seen us 
 pass the library window." 
 
 "All right, all right," sang Wellesley. "I'm game 
 for anything if you'll take the risks. Now will you 
 tee off?" 
 
 We had a jolly morning, and I made two splendid 
 drives and lost only three balls. 
 21 [321]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 As we were returning from the links I espied Eustace 
 in the distance coming toward us. The fresh air 
 had blown away all my annoyance and pique, and 
 cheerfully I waved my clubs and called to him. It 
 was far too glorious a day to quarrel with your lover; 
 but in the midst of my friendliest " Coo-oo ! " he raised 
 his cap, and deliberately turning on his heel walked 
 back to the house. 
 
 "You've done it," said Wellesley cheerfully. "I 
 told you so." 
 
 Now I could have thumped Wellesley with one 
 of the clubs, for a man to say " I told you so " is base 
 in the extreme; and it was with great strength of 
 purpose I held myself well in hand. 
 
 "I should run after him if I were you," was his 
 next brilliant suggestion. It is hard to believe Wel- 
 lesley earns his living by journalism. 
 
 " Wellesley," I said, turning on him, " please under- 
 stand I have never in my life run after a man, and 
 I don't intend to begin, so kindly suggest something 
 more feasible." 
 
 "Can't," said he feebly; "I'm not imaginative." 
 
 "Well, then, don't say anything," I said, at which 
 he began to whistle The Dead March. 
 
 Aunt Menelophe was coming down the stairs as 
 we entered the house. 
 
 " Where's Eustace ? " she inquired. 
 
 I told her I didn't know. 
 
 " Don't know ? " she repeated. 
 [322]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 'No," I said. 
 
 Every feature of her face thereupon expressed 
 that special brand of surprise which betokens short- 
 ness of breath. I began to walk up-stairs. The Dead 
 March in Saul stole gently after me, accompanied 
 by Aunt Menelophe's labored breathing, but I did 
 not look round. It was absurd to show such astonish- 
 ment at my merely declining, in these early days of 
 our engagement, to be Eustace's keeper. 
 
 I went to my room, dashed cold water over my 
 face, wrestled with my wind-blown hair, looked at 
 Eustace's photograph, and went down to lunch feeling 
 excessively firm. Eustace was already in his place, 
 and with his customary politeness pulled out my 
 chair, found my serviette which invariably leaves 
 me during meals, preferring to rest on the carpet 
 beneath the table handed me the salt and pepper, 
 and then returned to his lunch. 
 
 Twice I made attempts at conversation, but it is 
 difficult to talk to a man who replies in monosyllables, 
 so turning my back on him I devoted myself to Aunt 
 Menelophe, who sat with an amused twinkle in her 
 eye and a little smile at the corner of her lips. 
 
 But I was not happy; I own up to it that I was 
 wretched. It was all so small and absurd, and down 
 in my heart I felt frightened. To what had I engaged 
 myself? I had been led to understand that lovers' 
 quarrels were amusing and entertaining. I did not 
 find this in the least so, and I felt I was being made 
 
 [323]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 ridiculous in the eyes of my relations and the ser- 
 vants. 
 
 As soon as Aunt Menelophe rose I made quickly 
 for the door, and vanished up the stairs to my room. 
 I would write a long letter to mother, and then I 
 would read Browning. I thought of Robert and 
 smiled. He said I should read Browning and talk 
 of him, but I wouldn't do that for his sake. I 
 started what on earth was I saying? A nasty 
 little uncomfortable twinge, not exactly of pain, 
 but of of loneliness shot through me. How nice 
 it would be if Robert were here to go for a walk, 
 just a friendly walk. He always understood me so 
 well, and our very silences seemed like interesting 
 conversations. He never made talk, and and he was 
 such a sympathetic listener. A tear stole down my 
 cheek; I knew I was a fool, but that tear relieved 
 the tension. I felt I would like a real good cry I had 
 not had one since the day Robert had told me of his 
 love but I must not give way to it. Eustace would 
 think I had been crying about him, and that was 
 insupportable. He was a horrid, conceited 
 
 A knock came at the door, and a note was handed 
 in by Parkins. I tore it open. 
 
 "My DEAREST GIRL, 
 
 "Will you come down to the library? I want 
 to talk to you. You looked unhappy at lunch. Per- 
 haps I was a little severe with you. I forget how 
 young you are, and that your temper is a little un- 
 
 [324]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 governed. It was not wise of you to go off this morn- 
 ing; but I will forgive you, so come at once. 
 
 "Yours ever, E. E. 
 "P.S. I have been quite lonely, dearest." 
 
 I went to him. It was that P.S. that did it; the 
 rest of the note I did not like. He was very sweet 
 and nice, and made me feel quite ashamed of myself. 
 Now I come to think of it, it was rude of me to drum 
 on the window-pane and giggle without explaining 
 the cause of my amusement, and I have really for- 
 gotten now what I did laugh at. But we made friends, 
 and had a very happy afternoon. Eustace is really 
 splendid company, and he never seems to get tired 
 of talking. Hitherto, as a rule, I have done most 
 of the talking, and my friends have listened; but 
 now the order of things is reversed. Eustace talks 
 and I listen. He is so clever, and so anxious to teach 
 me that I cannot but be grateful to him. I could 
 wish though that he would suggest easier and lighter 
 books for my delectation than The Origin of Species 
 and First Principles; and it was so much nicer to 
 feel that I was a direct descendant of Adam than that, 
 by various intricate and complicated stages, I had 
 evolved from something horrid and unpleasant like 
 a jelly-fish. But he is so happy when he is pointing 
 out to me our intimate resemblance to fish and birds, 
 and frogs and snails, that I wouldn't interrupt him 
 for the world. 
 
 [325]
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A Walk in the Rain, and Eustace Talks Ruskin 
 
 EUSTACE and I have spent a peaceful though 
 somewhat dull day. 
 In the morning it poured with rain, and 
 we sat in the library and read Sesame and Lilies, and 
 Eustace drew my special attention to "Queen's 
 Gardens" and the noble and beautiful and elevating 
 suggestions there set forth for the guidance and help 
 of women who desire to be pure and cultured ano 
 self-reliant. He was a little put out at my frequen 
 yawning; but, as I explained to him, it had nothing 
 to do with the book. I always yawn on wet days; 
 it is the damp. He said it was a curious and un- 
 fortunate habit, and I agreed with him. 
 
 Butterby returned the beetle to me at lunch. He 
 seemed unwilling to let it go, and kept drawing away 
 his hand just as I was taking it to examine some 
 fresh point of interest in it. I asked him, in a kind 
 voice, if he wouldn't like to keep it for good, and he 
 replied 
 
 "Certainly not. A present is a present, but do 
 be very careful with it; it is a unique specimen, and 
 very valuable." 
 
 (326]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I suggested having it insured, and he said 
 
 "Eh! What's that?" 
 
 I told him again, and after some little considera- 
 tion he said he did not think any company would 
 take it. I pointed out patiently that I did not wish 
 any company to take it, but to insure it against loss 
 or theft, and he went on with his lunch as though 
 he had not heard me. I am sure Butterby is a little deaf. 
 
 In the afternoon it was still pouring, and Eustace 
 taught me chess. He spoke of it as an intellectual 
 pastime, and it seemed a suitable description. I 
 think it is the dullest, dreariest, most complicated 
 game I ever came across. Half an hour at the moves 
 gave me a splitting headache, and I was obliged to 
 borrow Aunt Menelophe's eau-de-cologne and lie 
 down. The only thing I remember of the game is 
 that " Gambit " is a word derived from the Italian 
 gambetto a tripping up of the heels. The expression 
 took my fancy; it sounds so nice and light-hearted. 
 
 I felt a little better after tea, and suggested we 
 should go for a walk. Eustace seemed very surprised, 
 and said it was still raining and nearly dark, and 
 that he thought it would be very unpleasant. 
 
 I told him I felt obliged to go out in the fresh air 
 once a day for the sake of my health, and that I did 
 not mind the rain, as I had a stout waterproof and 
 a pair of goloshes. I spoke with unusual firmness, 
 for I noticed that he had again reached Ruskin out 
 from the bookcase. 
 
 [327]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Unwillingly he came with me, and he was right 
 it was not a pleasant day, though I felt it was pref- 
 erable to being cooped up any longer in the library. 
 The rain and damp had caused the whole of the 
 smoke and smuts of the Potteries to condense into 
 a heavy, black pall, which hung over Blongton like 
 some menacing, evil spirit. In an unguarded moment 
 I pointed it out to Eustace before turning our steps 
 away from the town, and he immediately began again 
 to talk about Ruskin. He spoke of the great teach- 
 er's dream of a Utopia socially, morally, physically; 
 of a land purged of railways, machinery, smoke, and 
 dirt ; of an art which was beautiful only when truthful, 
 natural, pure, and earnest. 
 
 I enjoyed it all so much at first. It was so com- 
 forting, as we splashed through the sticky, black 
 mud, to dwell on the beauty of anything, and Eustace's 
 language was really very fine. But, after a time, 
 my thoughts must have wandered, for it was with 
 a violent start I came back to earth by hearing Eustace 
 ask me to take off my goloshes and he would throw 
 them over the hedge. 
 
 "My goloshes," I murmured dazedly. 
 
 "Haven't you been listening to me?" he asked 
 reproachfully. 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said hurriedly. "You were speaking 
 of smokeless fires and pure air." 
 
 " That was some time ago. For the last ten minutes 
 I have been dwelling on the artistic and beautiful 
 
 [328]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 side of woman's dress, and I was remarking that 
 your goloshes were such an eyesore it would be as 
 well to remove them." 
 
 " Remove my goloshes ? " I repeated stupidly. 
 
 "Yes," he said, a shade impatiently. "You must 
 admit that they are not beautiful. I expect you wear 
 them from force of habit been brought up to them 
 in the country; but they are not necessary if your 
 boots are stout." 
 
 "But they're not; I should catch my death of 
 cold," I said. 
 
 "Oh, well, I don't want you to do that," he said 
 somewhat grudgingly. "But in future you will 
 have stouter boots for my sake, won't you ? " 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 "If you wish it," I said; "but what what an 
 original man you are, Eustace. It seems so funny 
 to mind a thing like a pair of goloshes. 
 
 " Yes, I have always been considered a little original," 
 he replied, taking my arm, "and I am glad you are 
 willing to meet me in the matter. It shows a nice, 
 yielding spirit." 
 
 "Oh, I never mind giving in about little things 
 that don't matter," I said cheerfully, and I was sur- 
 prised to see a shade of annoyance pass over his face; 
 but I did not appear to notice it, and asked him if 
 he could teach me the correct pronunciation of Don 
 Quixote, which he very kindly did, and a lot of other 
 things as well. 
 
 [329]
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 Eustace Annoys Me, and I Retire to My Room to Sew 
 
 I AM sitting up in my room gently fuming at 
 Eustace. We have been engaged barely a 
 week, and we have just quarrelled for the third 
 time. 
 
 Now if we had been married a year, I might have 
 looked upon it as a natural and laudable desire to 
 wish to fling things at Eustace's head. But an engage- 
 ment of a week's standing! Surely there must be 
 something wrong. 
 
 And, of course, it is all his fault. I have been 
 reading Jeremy Taylor and trying to delude myself 
 into believing that it is mine; but I know it isn't. 
 A man who is engaged to a girl has no right to speak 
 so to her; and when I look back upon the provoca- 
 tion given, I marvel at the restraint I showed. 
 
 We had been out for a drive in the dog-cart. The 
 afternoon for the time of the year was perfect, with 
 thousands of little white cloudlets sailing along in 
 a turquoise-blue velvet sky. Eustace drives well, 
 and as we ripped along with the fresh wind blowing 
 in our faces, my spirits, which had been depressed, 
 [330]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 went up with a rush. I love driving, and I love the 
 fresh wind and the white clouds and quiet fields. 
 I was gay, and Eustace expansive, and all went as 
 merry as a marriage bell till our return home, when 
 in getting out he said suddenly, "Not that foot 
 first. How ignorant! Surely you know better?" 
 His voice was so sharp and displeased that in my 
 flurry and agitation I fell out, and scraped my hands 
 and barked my knees on the sharp gravel. I picked 
 myself up quickly, expecting to find him simply over- 
 come with remorse, when to my intense chagrin all 
 he said was 
 
 "You really must be more careful. Of course if 
 you get out of a carriage with the wrong foot fore- 
 most you must expect to fall. I am very sorry, dear, 
 but it will be a lesson to you in future." 
 
 I stared at him for a moment dumfounded; angry 
 tears rushed to my eyes. How could he speak so? 
 
 I stalked into the house without vouchsafing any 
 reply. 
 
 The gong had just sounded for tea, and Aunt 
 Menelophe was crossing the hall to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 "Look where you are going, Hazel; don't walk 
 over me," she said. "What is the matter?" 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe," I answered, "I simply detest 
 men." 
 
 " Already ? w she said, laughing. " I knew it would 
 come sooner or later, but this is earlier than I expected." 
 
 [331]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "What do you mean?" I asked, clutching at her 
 arm. 
 
 "I mean exactly what I say; but I should prefer 
 your not pinching me. Come and have some tea." 
 
 " Of course I was only generalizing." 
 
 " Of course," she agreed. 
 
 Eustace came in a few minutes later with beauti- 
 fully brushed hair, and handed me muffins in the 
 friendliest fashion. He was evidently quite unaware 
 that I was having a deadly quarrel with him; and 
 is there anything more exasperating than to be at 
 loggerheads with a person who is oblivious of the 
 fact? He made a healthy tea, and talked to Aunt 
 Menelophe of Wedgwood pottery. 
 
 "Are you coming to the library, dear?" he asked 
 when we had finished tea and were alone. 
 
 "No," I said. 
 
 " You would prefer staying here ? " 
 
 "No, I wouldn't." 
 
 " Where, then, would you like to go ? " he persisted 
 in a patient voice. 
 
 "I am going to my room. There is a fire there." 
 My tones were chilling. 
 
 " Won't that be a little dull ? " he asked. 
 
 "Not at all. I usually prefer my own society to 
 that of my fellow-creatures." 
 
 "But of course there are exceptions?" he queried 
 with a smile. " You are probably referring to women ? " 
 
 "On the contrary," I retorted, "I find women 
 [332]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 infinitely more entertaining than men. Aunt Me- 
 nelophe now could you mention a man more in- 
 teresting and delightful than she ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Menzies is a charming woman, but yes, 
 
 certainly I Jiave met one or two men who " He 
 
 twisted his mustache and glanced at himself in a 
 mirror. 
 
 I got up and walked toward the door. 
 
 "Are you really going?" he said querulously. 
 " I was looking forward to this little, quiet time before 
 dinner. I have something I want to read to you 
 Flaubert's Salammbo. The writing is magnificent 
 such vivid coloring. It is a classic in its way. 
 Probably you don't know it? Your reading does 
 not appear to have been extensive." 
 
 "No," I replied, "I don't know it, and if it is a 
 classic it is sure to be dull, and I know I shall hate 
 it." 
 
 He looked positively shocked. 
 
 "I don't like to hear you speak so," he said, "even 
 in fun." 
 
 "I'm not in fun," I retorted. "I feel more like 
 Molly Bawn or Comin' Thro' The Rye. I adore 
 Comin' Thro' The Rye. I'll stay if you'll read me 
 some of that, the bit where Paul proposes to Nell." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "You will have your little joke," he said. "They 
 are pretty little stories. But come, take off your hat, 
 and we'll begin Salammbo." 
 
 [333]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "I'm not joking," I almost shouted. His tone 
 of command irritated me beyond endurance. "I 
 won't listen to Salamander, and I'm going to pack." 
 
 " Pack ! " he echoed. " Pack what ? " 
 
 " My clothes, of course." 
 
 " But why should you wish to pack your clothes ? " 
 
 "To go home," I replied. "You say you are 
 going to see mother, and I have written to tell her of 
 our engagement, and of course she'll be expecting us." 
 
 "But I have changed my mind," he observed 
 calmly. "It is an old-fashioned piece of etiquette, 
 this going to ask the parent's consent, especially 
 when the daughter is dowerless." (I thought it 
 would have shown a nicer and more refined feeling 
 if he had suppressed this last.) "I am sure Mrs. 
 Wycherley will see this, and Heatherland, from what 
 you tell me, appears to be an excessively dull, pro- 
 vincial little village." 
 
 "Heatherland is charming," I said. "We have 
 the river Dee and the blue Welsh mountains ever 
 at hand to cheer us on our way. No village could 
 be designated as 'provincial,' to my thinking, with 
 two such possessions." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " he commented. 
 
 "No; and besides, mother will be expecting you. 
 I told her you were going, and she'll be so disap- 
 pointed. At this momnt the spare room will be 
 undergoing a thorough cleansing, the whole house 
 will reek with the scent of soap and furniture polish, 
 [334]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and the white muslin curtains are going up a month 
 before their time." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "I am afraid I shall have to defer the pleasure 
 of meeting these attractive properties till a few months 
 later till our wedding, eh, little girl? I suppose 
 we must do the conventional thing and be married 
 from your home, though village weddings are the 
 dullest and most boring of functions. Popularly 
 they are supposed to be simple and sweet and rustic, 
 whereas they are really heavy and commonplace, 
 attended by much feeding and drinking and dull 
 toasts. But ours must be different. The reception 
 must be under your shady oak trees, and you must 
 wear some soft, illusive, filmy, dim draperies of white 
 chiffon, and not that stiff horror satin. With a 
 dense background of green, and a brighter carpet 
 of green grass at your feet, you ought to look very 
 ch " 
 
 "Grass doesn't grow under trees," I interrupted, 
 "and I shall probably be married in puce-colored 
 alpaca; we are not modish in Heatherland. But I 
 don't want to talk about my wedding-gown; it may 
 nev I mean June is a long way off, but what I do 
 want to discuss is this question of going home. I 
 know mother will be expecting you. She will be 
 hurt and disappointed if you treat her in such in- 
 different fashion; and, besides, I think you ought 
 to go." 
 
 [335]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Don't be unreasonable, dear," and his voice 
 drawled in the way I have learned to dread. "You 
 must try not to be conventional, it is so narrowing. 
 This asking a mother for her daughter's hand would, 
 in our case, be simply an empty formality. You 
 and I have agreed to marry each other. You are 
 of age; there is nothing more to be said." 
 
 "But mother might object to you," I persisted; 
 "and as for conventionality, the boot is on the other 
 leg. It is you who are conventional." 
 
 "That is not a very cultured or refined expres- 
 sion," he said, smiling and showing his white teeth, 
 "and it is a great surprise to me to know that any 
 one could dub me as a conventional being. May 
 I ask in what way I have fallen into such a depressing 
 error?" 
 
 And when I told him he became very annoyed. 
 
 " That is not conventionality," he retorted. " There 
 is a correct way of eating and an incorrect. You 
 would not eat asparagus with a knife and fork. So 
 there is a correct way of getting out of a carriage 
 and, as you know to your sorrow, an incorrect." 
 
 "Yes, but you did not care about my falling; you 
 were only thinking that my awkwardness would 
 make it clear to the world that I was unaccustomed 
 to carriages," I said hotly. 
 
 He colored slightly. 
 
 "You are very imaginative," he said. 
 
 " Well, deny it if you can. I would not have minded 
 [336]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 had you spoken gently and kindly. I am quite will- 
 ing to be taught, but it wounds me when you speak 
 so, Eustace." 
 
 "Well, you must try not to be such a touchy little 
 thing. I think it is only kind to point out to you 
 your little mistakes. You know they are your best 
 friends who tell you of your faults." 
 
 "Then the Lord deliver me from such friends," 
 I said devoutly; "I would prefer a host of enemies. 
 I know those friends, and would gladly attend their 
 funerals." 
 
 "You are very uncontrolled and excitable," he 
 sighed, seating himself on the sofa. "Let me see, 
 how old do you say you are ? " 
 
 "I shall be twenty-two on the 18th of May," I 
 said glibly. 
 
 "So much? I should not have thought it. Well, 
 come and sit down here by me. I want you to try 
 and realize, dearest, that when I speak so it is for 
 your good." 
 
 " No, thanks; I am going. I don't want to realize it." 
 
 " But why go ? I want you to stay with me. This 
 time together before dinner has always been so pleas- 
 ant, hasn't it?" 
 
 "I don't think I have enjoyed it very much," I 
 said slowly as I opened the door. 
 
 His eyebrows took unto themselves such an ex- 
 pression of extreme surprise that I laughed in spite 
 of myself. 
 
 22 [337]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that," he said in a voice which 
 implied he didn't believe me. "What are you going 
 to do in your room that will be more entertaining?" 
 
 "Stitch a new braid on my skirt," I said; "it is 
 fascinating work, and gives me an opportunity to 
 think. Much conversation is a weariness to the 
 flesh when another person does all the talking. 
 Good-by." 
 
 Aunt Menelophe has been talking to me. When 
 I heard her knock, and she came in a beautiful, 
 gracious presence, with her soft grays, and soft rustling 
 of silken skirts, and the faint, clean, sweet smell of 
 lavender, which always clings to her I felt, suddenly, 
 so overpoweringly in love with her that I was obliged 
 to get up and put my arms round her and hold her 
 tightly. 
 
 "How nicely you do smell, Aunt Menelophe," I 
 said, as I wheeled up an armchair to the fire and 
 put her into it. "Somehow you always make me 
 think of the hymn 
 
 "Pleasant are Thy courts above, 
 Pleasant are Thy courts below." 
 
 "Do I? It is lavender home grown. But what 
 are you doing up here alone?" she said, smiling. 
 
 "Sewing," I told her. 
 
 "It seems an unusual and prosaic sort of thing 
 for a newly-engaged girl to be doing when her fiance 
 is in the house," she remarked. 
 
 [338]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Girls must be tidy even if they are engaged," 
 I said evasively. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she asked. 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe, I have noticed that if ever I 
 am quiet or desire to be alone, everybody instantly 
 jumps to the conclusion that there is something the 
 matter with me, or that I am sickening for some 
 illness. It is so depressing. Should I not be gabbling 
 away at home or tearing about with Dibbs, mother 
 invariably asks me if I have a headache. Now it 
 is a little trying, isn't it, that I can never be quiet or 
 enjoy a little communing with my own spirit?" 
 
 "Because it is not natural to you. Any one can 
 see that you are an intensely gregarious creature 
 given the right sort of people with whom to consort; 
 besides, stitching on braids is dull, nasty work. Par- 
 kins would have done it for you." 
 
 "I am enjoying it immensely," I said untruth- 
 fully, " and have had a lovely think." 
 
 "What have you been thinking about?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 "I have been thinking of the descent of man and 
 the ascent of woman. I wonder how it has come 
 about that women are so much superior to men 
 so much bigger and broader." 
 
 Aunt Menelophe sat back in her chair and laughed. 
 
 " It is not a month since I heard you express exactly 
 [339]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 the opposite sentiments, and you say you are con- 
 sistent." 
 
 "A lot has happened in a month, Aunt Menelophe," 
 I said. "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin 
 of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philoso- 
 phers and divines. With consistency a great soul 
 has simply nothing to do." 
 
 "Oh!" said Aunt Menelophe. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "that is from Emerson. Eustace 
 read it to me last night." 
 
 "Oh!" said Aunt Menelophe again. 
 
 "I must now dress for dinner," I observed, getting 
 up and beginning to put away my work; "but you 
 needn't go unless you like." But Aunt Menelophe 
 was moving slowly toward the door and she disap- 
 peared through it still repeating "Oh!" under her 
 breath. 
 
 [340]
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 / Receive Some Letters of Congratulation, and 
 Eustace Again Annoys Me 
 
 WHEN one is going to be late for breakfast at 
 Blongton Hall, you must skip either your 
 bath or your prayers and Bible if you desire 
 to get down before Butterby has consumed the whole 
 of the eggs and bacon. Butterby is so tiresomely 
 absent-minded at meals. Now this morning I chose 
 the latter course. For one thing, the "Children's 
 Scripture Union" authorities have willed that its 
 members should read the book of Numbers for its 
 daily portion, and Numbers is not interesting; and 
 for another well, since I began to read all those 
 strange books of Eustace's my prayers have not 
 seemed so convincing as of old. It seems impossible 
 to believe that God no, this First Cause can be 
 bothered listening to the requests of a foolish girl 
 when He has so much to do and arrange in all these 
 billions of worlds. 
 
 And yet I feel sorry, and somehow I feel lonely. 
 It was always comforting to think that some one 
 
 [341]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 was understanding when I tried to be patient with 
 Angela. Certainly I did not try half enough, but 
 now it seems that it won't matter at all, though Eustace 
 says it will. He says we must do right for its own 
 sake, and from love of humanity. If I am going 
 to do right out of my love for Angela a precious lot 
 I shall get done. 
 
 As I walked down the stairs to breakfast it came 
 over me that it was the very first time in my life I 
 had left my bedroom in a morning without saying 
 my prayers. I had skipped them, it is true, shortened 
 them, but I had never left them utterly unsaid. I 
 stood irresolutely with my hand on the banisters, half 
 inclined to turn back, when Eustace appeared. He 
 asked me what was the matter, and why I was looking 
 so troubled, and like a stupid I told him. My knowl- 
 edge of him might have led me to realize that he could 
 not understand how I felt after all these years of 
 saying my prayers suddenly to leave them unsaid; 
 but it hurt me so badly when he laughed. He stooped 
 and kissed me when he saw my cheeks flame up, 
 and put his arm round me, but I couldn't forget the 
 laugh. 
 
 "Were your prayers such a comfort to you?" he 
 asked, still smiling. 
 
 "No," I replied, "not often," and I tried to walk 
 on. 
 
 "Well, why do you feel it so much, the not saying 
 them?" 
 
 [342]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Supposing," I said, "you had been in the habit 
 of saying 'good-morning' to some one for nearly 
 twenty years, and suddenly one day you found the 
 person had vanished, wouldn't you feel a little lonely ? 
 Especially if there were nothing left to take that 
 person's place." 
 
 "But that is where you make a mistake," he re- 
 torted; "there is." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "There may be for clever people such as you, 
 who are strong and self-reliant and can stand alone, 
 but where do I come in ? " 
 
 "You must lean on me, little one," he replied, 
 again putting his arm round me, "I will help you 
 and teach you." 
 
 "But I don't want you," I cried, wriggling away; 
 "I want my old faith. You you can't take the 
 place of God to me. Can't you see? You have 
 taken everything away from me, and in its place 
 you offer me yourself and some difficult doctrine 
 of which I cannot make top nor tail. I wish you 
 had never read me that old Evolution book." 
 
 "But the theory of evolution does not necessarily 
 take away your Christ," he said, looking deeply 
 offended. 
 
 " It does," I snapped. " It makes me feel as though 
 I had been standing on my head." 
 
 "I think you want your breakfast," he replied, 
 stalking in front of me with his head in the air, and 
 perhaps he was right. 
 
 [343]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 Four letters were lying on my plate, and I guessed 
 their contents. 
 
 "Congratulations, I suppose?" said Aunt Menel- 
 ophe after a time. "What does your mother say? 
 I hope she is surviving the shook." 
 
 "She appears resigned, and is engaged in purchas- 
 ing calico and flannel for my trousseau, and Angela 
 is copying out receipts. They wish to make me a 
 good housewife," and I glanced at Eustace. 
 
 " What a horrible prospect," he said. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed," I replied, laughing; "house- 
 keeping is not my metier." 
 
 "Which is a pity," remarked Aunt Menelophe 
 severely. "Neither of you will be happy if what 
 you say is correct. Eustace will be uncomfortable 
 and hungry, and you will be annoyed at his daring 
 to be hungry, and then he will go to his club." 
 
 "And I shall go to mine. I love meals, what I 
 call, out of doors. I can't remember the occasion 
 on which I have not dined from off our own large 
 table at home. It will be such a pleasant change. 
 But I must continue my letters; they are most inter- 
 esting. Mother's accounts have gone wrong. She 
 is one-and-sixpence out, and wants me to help her 
 if I can." 
 
 "Chimney-sweep," said Butterby, so unexpectedly 
 and suddenly that I spilled my coffee. I sat and stared 
 at him. 
 
 " Whatever made you think of that ? " I asked. " It 
 was very clever of you." 
 
 [344]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Not at all," he retorted, looking pleased. "I 
 heard you read out to the mater in the last letter 
 from your mother that your kitchen chimney re- 
 quired sweeping." 
 
 "Butterby," I said, "you are a genius; I always 
 knew it. I will at once send mother a postcard to 
 that effect. You are the kind of man who will make 
 your mark in the world." 
 
 "Are you wanting that beetle back?" he asked 
 somewhat unkindly. 
 
 I had once again lent it to him. 
 
 "No, I'm not, Butterby. How can you misjudge 
 me so?" I asked in hurt tones, and they all 
 laughed. 
 
 When breakfast was over Eustace asked me to 
 go to the library. 
 
 "There is a little book on monistic and genetic 
 philosophy I want to read to you," he said. "I 
 think it will help you to feel happier." 
 
 " Is it about monasteries ? " I inquired. 
 
 He gave a little sigh. 
 
 "You have a lot to learn, but I shall enjoy teach- 
 ing you. You are fairly quick, but we must lose 
 no time." 
 
 "Couldn't we wait till after we are married?" 
 I suggested, my heart sinking as I saw him reach 
 two awful-looking books out of the shelves. "I 
 want to read you these letters; they are so dear and 
 funny. I shall have heaps of time by-and-by to learn 
 all about this genesis philosophy." 
 
 [345]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Genetic," he corrected me, sitting down and 
 looking resigned. " Are they long ? " 
 
 " Don't you want to hear them ? " I asked in nettled 
 tones. 
 
 "Not very much; but what interests you must, 
 of course, interest me. I must train myself to seeing 
 things with your eyes." 
 
 My first impulse was to fling the letters at his head, 
 but I thought better of it. We must not again begin 
 the day with quarrelling; it seemed so bourgeois. 
 Besides, were we not to be married in six months ? 
 
 "They are not very long, and I think will amuse 
 you," I said, trying to speak gently. 
 
 "Well, come nearer to me; I like to watch your 
 face when you read," he said. 
 
 This was a great improvement. I liked him so 
 infinitely better when he spoke thus than when he 
 was talking about dull things like psychic gradations 
 and the embryology of the soul. 
 
 I seated myself on the arm of his chair, and began 
 with mother's letter: 
 
 SHADY OAK, HEATHERLAND, 
 
 "February 7th. 
 "MY DEAR HAZEL, 
 
 "The news of your engagement in your letter 
 received this morning came to us as a very great 
 surprise; in fact, it has so bewildered me that I cannot 
 get my accounts to balance, though I have been at 
 them for over two hours. I cannot trace what I 
 
 [346]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 must have omitted to enter, and there is a deficit of 
 Is. 6d. Angela has done her utmost to assist me, 
 but I should be glad if you were at hand, for you 
 have, in the past, been so remarkably successful 
 in helping to elucidate matters. Perhaps you will 
 remember the occasion on which I was 2s. 8d. short, 
 and, after endless worry, was about to enter it into 
 my petty cash book as 'sundries,' a thing I greatly 
 dislike doing, when opportunely you came into the 
 room and reminded me of ' fowl food.' 
 
 "But now, my dear child, I must speak to you on 
 a more important subject. I offer you my warmest 
 wishes for your future happiness. I cannot, at present, 
 add congratulations until I have made Mr. Escourt's 
 acquaintance, which I trust will be very soon. 
 
 " I am bound to say that I think it would have been 
 more admirable on your fiance's part had he gained 
 my sanction before approaching you, but possibly he 
 spoke to your Aunt Menelophe as regarding her in the 
 light of your chaperon while you were under her roof. 
 
 " I must confess, too, that I am assailed with grave 
 doubts when I reflect upon the brevity of your ac- 
 quaintance with I suppose I must say Eustace, 
 though it seems somewhat familiar to speak so of a 
 stranger. You say in a fortnight's time you have 
 seen more of him and know him better than you 
 would have done in an ordinary way in fourteen years. 
 Am I to take it from this that you have met him in 
 an extraordinary way ? I do trust that you have been 
 in no way bold or unmaidenly in your behavior. 
 (Your father used to say I was as elusive as a shadow; 
 
 [347]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 of course I was very small. I think it must be more 
 difficult for a tall girl to be elusive.) But I must 
 put such a suspicion behind me. No daughter of 
 mine would be immodest, of that I am convinced. 
 
 " And now that I have fulfilled my duty, as a mother, 
 and read to you my little homily, I must turn to pleas- 
 anter matters. 
 
 "On receipt of your letter, I hastened to the box- 
 room to examine your grandmother's veil. It is in 
 excellent preservation and of a lovely color, old Lim- 
 erick, and a large size. It should reach almost to the 
 end of your train. There is also a Limerick lace 
 flounce. I cannot help feeling that they will cause 
 quite a sensation in Heatherland, and it pleases me 
 to think that Mrs. Boyds will see them. She will 
 then understand that we have come of some family. 
 
 "You say that Mr. Es. Eustace is desirous, with 
 my approval, that your marriage should take place 
 in June. The time is very short in which to prepare 
 your trousseau; but we can engage Phrebe Ellis to 
 come in and help with the plain sewing. Her tucking 
 is superior even to Angela's, and she still strokes her 
 gathers, which, in these days of machinery and slop- 
 work, is a virtue not to be overlooked. 
 
 "It is satisfactory to know that Eustace is a man 
 of means, for I do not think you would have made 
 a very suitable wife for a poor man. Your darning 
 is bad, and there is much to be desired in your cook- 
 ing. However, perhaps you will now begin to im- 
 prove and learn. Angela has already begun to write 
 you out some of our best and tried recipes. 
 
 [348]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "I am looking forward to the day when you bring 
 your fiance to Shady Oak. Angela and I are paying 
 a few calls this afternoon. Some weeks have elapsed 
 since I saw Mrs. Moss. Should any item strike you 
 which I might have omitted to enter into my account- 
 book please send me word. 
 
 " With my love to your Aunt Menelophe and much 
 to yourself, 
 
 "I remain, 
 
 "YOUR AFFECTIONATE MOTHER." 
 
 "Isn't she a dear?" I said. "She will be as sen- 
 timental over our wedding as a girl of sixteen. Mother 
 is such a strange mixture of practicality and sen- 
 timentality. I am sure you will like her." 
 
 " She seems a funny old lady," he remarked. 
 
 "She is not old," I contradicted; "she is only 
 middle-aged, and wears such pretty caps, which, 
 however, are usually on one side, rather detracting 
 from the staid appearance they ought to give to her. 
 Mother's only fault lies in her preference for Angela 
 to me; it seems short-sighted of her." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 "And what is Angela like?" 
 
 I felt pleased at his interest, and when he wasn't 
 looking smuggled the two dry books to the back of 
 the chair. 
 
 "Angela is unlike anything else God ever created," 
 I said impressively. "If you like I will read you 
 her letter?" 
 
 [349]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 He nodded assent, and I began to realize once 
 more what a really nice man he was, though his moods 
 were as numberless as the sands of the sea. 
 
 "MY DEAR HAZEL," I began, reading out loud, 
 
 "I write to offer you my congratulations on your 
 engagement. Naturally we are astonished, and I 
 must confess that I, for one, never anticipated your 
 marrying. 
 
 "Mr. Escourt is, apparently, a man of no small 
 courage; but you inform us that he has a good in- 
 come, so that explains, a little, what would otherwise 
 appear to us incomprehensible, for a man meeting a 
 girl away from home on a visit cannot possibly judge 
 of her capabilities as a housekeeper. However, 
 mother and I must endeavor to do all we can toward 
 overcoming your deficiencies in this respect during 
 the next six months. 
 
 "I have, at some sacrifice to myself, decided to 
 hand over to you the management of the housekeeping 
 and cooking during that period, and I shall always 
 be ready to assist and advise you. I am making 
 out a list of the household work and regulations for 
 each day of the week, which I trust you will implicitly 
 follow. It has taken many years of experience and 
 much anxious thought to arrive at that perfection 
 in the arrangement of the multifarious duties of a 
 household, such as ours, as to permit of Rose's being 
 dressed for the front-door bell by three o'clock. The 
 least alteration, therefore, will upset the entire work 
 of the house. Some housekeepers might be of the 
 
 [350]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 opinion that it was impossible to clean the stair-rods 
 every week, but I maintain that it can be done, and is. 
 
 "I thought you would be glad of some good and 
 economical recipes for your new home (cookery books 
 are, as a rule, misleading and grossly extravagant, the 
 writers of them appearing to be under the misappre- 
 hension that fowls lay all the year round), so I have 
 purchased a 6d. exercise book with sensible stiff cov- 
 ers, and in my spare time, which as you are aware is 
 limited, will copy out all our most valued and proved 
 recipes, among them being 'How to spice a round 
 of beef,' always a great favorite with men. 
 
 " Before closing I must ask if your fiance is addicted 
 to smoking? For if this be the case the muslin cur- 
 tains shall be put up in the dining-room before your 
 arrival ; they will not hold the fumes of tobacco to the 
 same extent as would the heavy damask ones. You 
 will remember that on one occasion after a visit from 
 Mr. Inderwick, who smoked a peculiarly pungent 
 cigar or was it a black pipe? we were under the 
 necessity of taking them down and hanging them in 
 the croft for two days, and even then the smell was 
 exceedingly disagreeable. 
 
 "We shall expect Mr. Escourt immediately after 
 his return from London, as naturally we wish to 
 sanction your engagement, or otherwise, prior to its 
 general publication. 
 
 " As Reas are holding their annual sale this month, 
 mother and I are going up to town to-morrow to 
 purchase some calico and flannel for your under- 
 clothing. The calico shall be fine, as we are aware 
 of your preference for nainsook, but the latter, in 
 
 [351]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 such a climate as ours, is ridiculous and simply invites 
 rheumatism. 
 
 "With love, I remain, 
 
 "Your affectionate sister, 
 
 "ANGELA B. WYCHERLET." 
 
 " Now what do you think of that ? " I said, chuck- 
 ling. "That will be your sister-in-law." 
 
 "She seems very middle-class," he replied as he 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 My cheeks flushed hotly. 
 
 "And that is what we are," I answered. I don't 
 love Angela, but the contempt in his voice got all 
 my pride up in arms. "We are middle-class and 
 so are you." 
 
 He flushed in his turn. 
 
 "That was a little unnecessary," he said; "I did 
 not say you were middle-class. How touchy you are!" 
 
 At once I was sorry. 
 
 "I know I am touchy," I laid my hand on his, 
 "and you must help me to try to overcome it. I 
 am horribly sensitive, Eustace always have been, 
 and you must be patient with me, and and love 
 me. You do love me, don't you ? " I finished trem- 
 ulously. 
 
 He looked at me in surprise. 
 
 " Haven't I picked you out of all the women I know 
 and asked you to be my wife ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes I suppose so, but that doesn't say you love 
 me. I don't think somehow you seem quite satisfied 
 
 [352]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 with me. For instance, yesterday you didn't approve 
 of my frock, and the day before you said I was opinion- 
 ated and dogmatic, and to-day you say my family is 
 middle-class and " 
 
 "At the moment I think you are the silliest little 
 girl in the world, and I'm surprised at you. You 
 must understand that naturally I want my fiancee 
 to be the best-dressed and nicest and most superior 
 woman of my acquaintance. I want my friends to 
 be envying me my luck and wishing they could marry 
 Hazel Wycherley. Now finish your correspondence. 
 I had no idea I was marrying into such an entertain- 
 ing family." 
 
 He picked up the letters which had fallen to the 
 ground and handed them to me. 
 
 Only feeling half satisfied and far removed from 
 that joy and happiness which I had looked upon 
 as my due as being one of the "engaged" ones of 
 this world, I continued to read my correspondence. 
 There had been no note of love in Eustace's voice 
 as he had said, " I want my friends to be envying me 
 my luck." I might have been a something bought 
 with money of whom he was speaking, and from 
 whom he meant to derive as much satisfaction as 
 was possible. He had paid a high price for it; there- 
 fore it must amuse and interest him. He couldn't 
 be expected to amuse and interest it; that was quite 
 outside his calculations. 
 
 "This is from Sammy, our dear old gardener," 
 [353]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I said with a sigh. "Sammy is very fond of me. 
 Sometimes I take him out a glass of beer when he 
 is mowing, though I don't think he loves me for that 
 alone." 
 
 I looked at Eustace, but he was staring out of 
 the window. 
 
 "SHADY OAK COTTAGE, 
 
 " February 7th, A.D. 
 " MY DEAR Miss HAZELT, 
 
 "The mistress tells me as how you are goin' 
 to get married, so I herewith write to offer you my 
 congratulashions, which may seem misunderstandable, 
 as I never got married myself. But I says marrage 
 is for wimin who seems to like it, but not for men 
 who is better single. So I was right in my calcula- 
 shons in the happle-room the day as you wanted 
 to go to a hisland and sit on yaller sands and eat a 
 shrub. I was correct in sayin' you wanted to mate. 
 The symptims never decaves me. I says to myself 
 when I saw you afterwards jumpin' about amongst 
 them cabbages, 'Sammy, you mark my words Miss 
 Hazelt will have catched a 'usband in six months' 
 time,' and you have. You did dredful dammage 
 to those cabbages. I had to boil three of 'em with 
 the pig-food. 
 
 "I do hope as 'ow you'll be happy, Miss Hazelt. 
 I shall miss you dreadful, cos the Missis says you be 
 goin' to live in London. I went to the ' Black Horse ' 
 this mornin' to order a load of minnure from Farmer 
 Bowmphrey, who husually frequents that place about 
 
 [354]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 11 o'clock, and just quite casual-like I mentions as 
 how I knew some one who was goin' to be married, and 
 the company, which was quite select, guessed as how 
 it was you and Mr. Hinderwick, and when I says no 
 it was you and a grand gentleman from London, 
 they was greatly surprised and said as how they didn't 
 think you would have done so well for yourself. Those 
 were their very words. And then Joey Tomlinson 
 hups up and says, 'We will drink their health,' and 
 although it is against my customs of a mornin' I 
 fell in with the suggestion, not to appear onfriendly- 
 loike. So we drinks your 'ealth, Miss Hazelt, you 
 and your young gentleman's. 
 
 " Hopin' this will find you as well as it leaves me at 
 present, 
 
 " From your obedient servant, 
 
 "SAMUEL J. BROSTER." 
 
 "Who is Mr. Inderwick?" was Eustace's first 
 question. 
 
 "A man who lives in Heatherland. I have often 
 meant to tell you about him, but somehow I didn't," 
 I said. 
 
 " Did he want to marry you ? " 
 
 "He does," I corrected. 
 
 " And you refused him ? " 
 
 "Obviously, as I am engaged to you." 
 
 "Well, now for your last letter. Heatherland 
 seems to produce oddities of the first water." 
 
 Now I could have wished Eustace would have 
 shown greater interest and curiosity in Robert Inder- 
 
 [355 J
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 wick. His complete indifference piqued me. He 
 just put him on one side as though he were some- 
 thing not worth considering. Was he so sure of 
 himself, so certain of my affection? Suddenly, to 
 my horror, I found myself saying, "Why, you self- 
 satisfied, conceited ape, Robert's little finger is worth 
 your whole beautiful body." 
 
 I sprang up. Supposing I had said it out loud: 
 supposing Eustace could read my thoughts. I looked 
 at him fearfully, anxiously; but he was standing 
 in front of the mirror twisting his mustache into 
 two spiral points. For the moment he had forgotten 
 my existence. I watched him curiously, thoughtfully. 
 It seemed strange that he should attach greater impor- 
 tance to the training of his mustache than to the fact 
 that there was in the world another man desirous of 
 marrying me. Now if he had so much as mentioned 
 another girl's name I should have been overwhelmed 
 with curiosity and jealousy; I should have wanted 
 to hear every single thing about her, and he stood 
 engrossed in his mustache. I walked over to the win- 
 dow and looked out on to the drive and the links beyond. 
 To the left, nothing but a dreary expanse of chimneys 
 and smoke met the eye; it was depressing and dull. 
 My vision conjured up another scene the Dee and 
 blue Welsh mountains, and soft, snowy fields, and 
 the figure of a big, stalwart man tramping along at 
 my side in silent sympathy with my small troubles. 
 The shabbiness and old tie and knotted bootlaces 
 
 [356]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 faded away; only the kindness and sympathy and 
 and love were there, the rest had gone. Involuntarily 
 I turned and looked at Eustace's face ; absent-mindedly 
 I went nearer to him for a better inspection. I looked 
 up at him. 
 
 " Do you ever wear bootlaces with knots in them ? " 
 I cried sharply. 
 
 "Certainly not," and he stared at me in such utter 
 amazement that I laughed feebly. 
 
 "Are you quite certain?" I repeated. "I I wish 
 you did." 
 
 His mouth opened and shut again, just like a fish's 
 when it has been out of the water for some time. 
 
 "Don't don't look at me like that, or I shall 
 scream," I whispered. 
 
 "Hazel, have you gone out of your mind?" he 
 asked. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "I think I have. I don't know which I want to 
 do most, laugh or cry. I think I must be hysterical 
 I feel all funny and trembling, and my throat is 
 very tight. No, don't touch me; I shall be better 
 soon. It it must be the excitement of my engage- 
 ment. I lead such a quiet life in the ordinary way; 
 and these letters they are too funny, too screamingly 
 funny, in the face of what is coming. But I think 
 I must go away now; I want to be alone. I am sorry 
 you you don't wear old boot-laces," and I fled 
 from the room. 
 
 [357]
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 I Take Decisive Steps. 
 
 PICKING up a wrap of Aunt Menelophe's which 
 lay on the hall table, I rushed into the garden 
 and made for the shrubbery at the side of the 
 house, and there I walked up and down, up and down 
 between the rhododendron and laurel bushes till I 
 became calmer. 
 
 It had been raining, but now the sun was out, 
 and the bay leaves and box edging and damp earth 
 sent forth a deilicous, fresh, wet scent. Raindrops 
 glistened on the ivy which clambered over a lor:, 
 tumble-down wall, and a robin perched on a laures- 
 tinus bush seemed in excessively good spirits. 
 
 Everything but myself seemed happy and cheerful. 
 Only I appeared to possess lobes in my brain stretched 
 to bursting-point. 
 
 I sat down on the wall and, clasping my hands 
 round my knees, settled myself for a good think. 
 I would endeavor to sort up, arrange, classify, and 
 marshal my various emotions to their proper places. 
 It was unsatisfactory, and neither fair to Eustace nor 
 
 [358]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 myself to continue our engagement when I, for one, 
 was in a constant state of volcanic upheaval. I would 
 look the matter fairly and squarely in the face. Had 
 I made a mistake? Was I unduly sensitive? Or 
 was Eustace impossible to me as either lover or hus- 
 band? 
 
 Eustace himself answered my last question. He 
 sauntered down the path with his lithe, graceful 
 swing, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on 
 the bits of blue sky showing through the branches 
 of the trees. I knew, though he did not appear to 
 see me, that he was aware of my presence; he was 
 evidently looking for me, a damp shrubbery was not 
 the sort of place Eustace would haunt. I also knew 
 the exact moment when he would give a start of sur- 
 prise at seeing me, it would be when he arrived at 
 the laurestinus bush. My conjecture was correct, 
 and his surprise was natural and well expressed. 
 
 "Hallo! you here. What are you doing?" 
 
 "Sitting on a wall and soliloquizing," I answered. 
 
 "I expected you to say you were thinking of me." 
 
 "I was." 
 
 "But the expression of your face was not very 
 happy." 
 
 I did not reply. 
 
 He seated himself on the wall beside me. 
 
 "I have been searching for you for some time. 
 I wish you would not dash off in that way, dear, it 
 is so disconcerting. There I had prepared for a 
 
 [359]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 morning's walk and study with you. I had, at some 
 trouble, drawn up a short treatise which I hoped 
 might be of some help to you in your various religious 
 difficulties; and first you take up a good deal of valu- 
 able time in reading those unique specimens of 
 composition, and then, without a word of warning, 
 you are seized with a morbid desire that I should wear 
 old boot laces, go into mild hysterics, and hide your- 
 self in this damp, unwholesome swamp. It is a 
 little inconsiderate of you, and I desire some explana- 
 tion of your conduct." 
 
 To my surprise, instead of feeling violently angry 
 at the tone he adopted, I was seized with an over- 
 whelming desire to laugh. He did sound so ridicu- 
 lously hurt and offended. 
 
 My answer was quite irrelevant. 
 
 " Eustace, do you know you are so different from 
 what I thought you were." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes, isn't it a pity ? I thought your inside matched 
 your outside, and I find it doesn't. It is so disap- 
 pointing." He turned and looked at me, and his 
 brows drew together. "You will wonder what I 
 mean, and I am going to try and tell you if you don't 
 mind staying here with me for a little. But are you 
 sure you are warm enough ? I am so accustomed to 
 being out of doors, and I always like to discuss things 
 that matter out of doors." He made no reply, and 
 my heart gave a little twitter, but I grabbed at my 
 
 [360]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 courage and went on. "Yes, you are so very different 
 from what I imagined." 
 
 "I am not responsible for your imagination," he 
 remarked coldly. 
 
 "No, of course not. I quite agree with you in 
 that. It is I who am to blame, therefore I am all 
 the more wretched. I should not have idealized 
 you. It is not your fault." 
 
 He made a movement of impatience. 
 
 "You speak in riddles. I think you are meaning 
 to be rude, but your language is vague. I don't 
 quite follow you." 
 
 " I will try to make myself clearer, but it is difficult 
 to say " 
 
 I picked up a piece of ivy, and slowly dissected it. 
 
 Suddenly he put his arm round me. 
 
 "What is it? What is the matter, Hazel?" 
 
 He spoke more gently. 
 
 I pushed him away. 
 
 "Don't do that," I cried. "Don't be kind to me 
 now, it will only make it more difficult what I am 
 going to say to you. Eustace, I want you to release 
 me from my engagement." 
 
 He started violently, and I nearly fell off the wall. 
 
 "Impossible! You don't know what you are saying." 
 
 "Yes I do. I am not happy." 
 
 " Not happy ? " he repeated in surprise. 
 
 "No. It may seem incredible to you, but I am 
 really wretched. I cannot marry you. I am sorry." 
 
 [361J
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 He stared in front of him and frowned heavily. 
 
 "If this is a joke of yours it doesn't amuse me 
 it doesn't appeal to me." 
 
 "I am not joking. I am in deadly earnest." 
 
 "But you cannot mean what you say. It's ridicu- 
 lous! We've only been engaged a little over a week." 
 
 "And that has been a week too long. I blame 
 myself very much. I was carried away. You dangled 
 an alluring bait before my eyes and I jumped at it. 
 Now I have begun to realize that to have it I must 
 have you, and, on closer acquaintance, I find I don't 
 want you. Forgive me, but I could not live with you, 
 and we should both be unhappy." 
 
 "It is a pity you did not find this out sooner," he 
 said frigidly. 
 
 "A thousand pities," and my voice trembled. 
 
 "But your letters of congratulation. Your friends 
 in Heatherland. Think of the way people will talk." 
 
 " I am thinking." 
 
 " And you can face it ? " 
 
 "I don't like the prospect, but it is preferable to a 
 life of unhappiness." 
 
 "You don't mince matters." 
 
 "This is not the moment for politenesses. Besides, 
 have you ever spared my feelings ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "What do I mean?" I replied slowly. "Have 
 you ever ceased correcting and instructing me since 
 the moment I said I would be your wife ? Have you 
 
 [362]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 ever ceased making me miserably conscious of my 
 deficiencies ? " 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "You are not fair. That is just like a woman. 
 You expressed a desire to learn. You are how shall 
 I put it? somewhat old-fashioned and provincial 
 in your views. I thought you would feel out of it in 
 my set in London. As my wife you will mix with all 
 sorts and conditions of men and women people of 
 rare culture and I wanted to fit you for the position 
 you would take among them. I wanted to help you. 
 Your simplicity of thought, your freshness, attracted 
 me, they are very charming; but, after all, too many 
 gaucheries of speech and thought become irritating 
 in time and cease to amuse. I desired to spare you 
 this, I wanted to teach you, and I thought you were 
 interested. It seems I was mistaken." 
 
 "No, you were not mistaken," I replied, "I was 
 interested, intensely interested, up to the moment 
 when I discovered " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "That you did not teach me out of love of me or 
 love of your subject of theology, books, art, pictures 
 but because you feared the opinion of your world. 
 Your friends might laugh at your wife, at her old- 
 fashionedness, at her provincialism. She might be 
 guilty of out-of-date religious sentiments and be held 
 up to ridicule. She might go to church in a middle- 
 class sort of way in her best frock and hat. Monism, 
 
 [363]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 or whatever you call it, might be engrossing the atten- 
 tion of your seekers after truth; she has never even 
 heard of the ism, she only possesses an old-fashioned 
 deity called God. Browning might be under dis- 
 cussion; she is ignorant of his works. Music is 
 throwing the whole company into soulful ecstasies; 
 she has no soul for music, and shocks the assemblage 
 by expressing her yearnings for The Garden of Sleep 
 in preference to some dislocating thunder of Wagner's. 
 Art may be causing them to prance round the room 
 and roll eyes heavenward ; she doesn't understand 
 pictures, and abominates the Dutch School and large- 
 faced, heavy-eyed Madonnas. And she keeps you on 
 tenterhooks, wondering what she will say and do 
 next ; so you teach and talk to her a little more, instruct 
 her a little more, read her drier books, and drag her 
 to picture galleries and concert halls, when she is 
 longing to enjoy these things in her own way, not as 
 a means to education crammed down her unwilling 
 throat, but as a new and delightful country unex- 
 plored, and running over with precious gifts. She 
 must be clever and showy and epigrammatic so that 
 she may shine in your set, when she wants to dally 
 and play and be loved." 
 
 Eustace rose and confronted me. 
 
 "Do you know you are talking like an Adelphi 
 melodrama ? " 
 
 "I never saw one, Eustace, but if the drama feels 
 as unhappy as I, it is in a bad way," I said. 
 
 [364]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "And you are extremely illogical; it is not ten 
 days since you were wishing to go to theatres and 
 concerts and picture galleries." 
 
 "And I still wish, but to be amused. Just to go 
 with you and laugh and enjoy ourselves. Not to be 
 instructed for the sake of what other people may think 
 of me." 
 
 " Is it a sin to wish you to shine before my friends ? " 
 
 "Yes, if it is to be achieved at the expense of my 
 feelings. You have hurt me over and over again this 
 week. When have you ever considered my feelings 
 or wishes before your own?" and my voice suddenly 
 blazed into anger. "We have read, you have talked, 
 we have walked, we have driven just as you so willed. 
 You have corrected me half a dozen times a day, 
 kindly and gently I admit, but the correction has 
 stung. I was led to believe that the engagement 
 days of a girl were the most radiant of her life, and 
 I have cried myself to sleep each night. The other 
 evening, for instance, when I said I was sorry for 
 being cross and that it made me miserable to disagree 
 with you, all you did was to quote some line of poetry, 
 which did not seem to my dense understanding to 
 bear upon the subject, when I was aching for you to 
 take me in your arms and love me; and I had found 
 it so hard to say those words, to say I was sorry. A 
 girl likes a little fussing over I am told it is the only 
 time she ever gets it; she has to do the fussing after- 
 ward she likes a little courting, she so enjoys being 
 
 [365]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 queen for the moment, whereas I have had to dance 
 to your piping. I don't mind doing my share of it, 
 but I won't do it all; and yet I was prepared to do 
 so much for you had you gone the right way with me. 
 I can be led but not driven. That is where Angela 
 has always made a mistake, she has bullied me. At 
 first, when you asked me to marry you, I thought it 
 was only your wealth and all that it could give me 
 that was attracting me; but later I found it wasn't 
 that, it was you yourself. How you talked in the 
 library that night! Were you only acting a part, I 
 wonder, and has this been your real self of the last 
 few days ? I think from the very beginning I realized 
 I did not love you, but you attracted, fascinated me. 
 And I was flattered that you should pick me out of 
 all the women you knew, and I was determined to 
 be interested in the subjects in which you were in- 
 terested. Ours should be a soul union. You should 
 always find in me a sympathetic companion. I was 
 prepared even to tackle The Origin of Species, though 
 I had to read each page over five times before I had 
 grasped its meaning. So so it came as a shock 
 to me to find that you did not want me so much as 
 a companion, a wife, but as a pupil to train and mould, 
 as a something of which to be proud to your friends. 
 It came as a shock to me to find that you did not 
 care two brass farthings for me." 
 
 " Why then should I wish to marry you ? " 
 "I don't know," I replied, "it puzzles me. It may 
 [366]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 be that you were flattered by my admiration of you. 
 Aunt Menelophe says I can't hide anything, and that 
 my feelings, instead of being in their proper quarters 
 and under control, are all over the place. You may 
 have thought me malleable. You may have felt as 
 a potter does toward a bit of soft clay that you would 
 like to mould me, lick me into shape. But you began 
 your moulding a little too roughly. But whatever 
 your motives, and I cannot follow the workings of 
 your mind, of this I am convinced you don't love 
 me, and I don't love you." 
 
 He made a movement of impatience. 
 
 "How you harp on love. Love is an old-fashioned 
 sentiment." 
 
 " It is not too old-fashioned for me," I said steadily. 
 
 " But I am sure when we have settled down, when 
 you are older and less emotional, we shall be very 
 happy together. It is wonderful, the adaptability of 
 women, and you always interest me." 
 
 I looked at him carefully from the top of his well- 
 brushed head to the toe of his well-polished boot. 
 And this was all he had to say to my outburst. 
 
 "Thank you," I said, "interest is not enough." 
 
 He sat down again and took my hand. 
 
 "Hazel, dear, I believe I love you as much as 
 I could love any one." 
 
 "I feel honored, Eustace, but strange to say that 
 does not satisfy me. I want something more. You 
 are the type of man who will always love yourself best." 
 
 [367]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Don't all men?" and he asked the question as 
 though he believed it. 
 
 "No," I said, "my father didn't for one, and 
 I know of another." 
 
 "You mean Mr. Inderwick, I suppose the man 
 your gardener said was the cause of your jumping 
 about among the cabbages ? " 
 
 His voice was ironic. 
 
 I struggled against my anger, but my cheeks 
 flamed. 
 
 "Yes," I said quietly, "I mean Mr. Inderwick. 
 You and he are the exact opposites to one another. 
 His exterior is rough, but he has the mind and heart 
 of a gentleman. Your appearance," and I again 
 looked him up and down, "is that of a gentleman, 
 but- 
 
 " Finish it," he said, going white. 
 
 " No, I think I won't," I said more gently, " I might 
 be sorry afterward, and, after all, I must not forget 
 that once I said I would be your wife. That once 
 seems so long ago, and yet it is only a little more than 
 a week. And now I must say good-bye; we shan't 
 meet again. Either you or I must leave here. I 
 am sorry I made such a mistake. More sorry than 
 I can tell you. You probably can't forgive me now, 
 but some day you will thank me." 
 
 "You have placed me in a ridiculous position," he 
 said savagely. "You whom I fondly imagined were 
 a little, simple country girl. All women are deceitful. 
 
 [368]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 You have made me a laughing-stock in the eyes of 
 the world." 
 
 "Your philosophy will help you to bear it," I an- 
 swered wearily, "and you can tell your friends that 
 you broke off the engagement, and not 7. You can 
 tell them you found me too gauche and uneducated. 
 I shan't mind, and it is true. Good-bye, Eustace, 
 and try to forgive me." 
 
 I wonder now how my trembling legs supported 
 me down that long shrubbery, for I was as an old 
 lady; but somehow I got into the house and up to 
 my room and on to my bed. The tears seemed to 
 be stopped up, but my heart and head and body were 
 one gigantic ache. 
 
 24 [369]
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 Aunt Menelophe Scolds and Afterward Comforts Me 
 
 I MUST have lain on the bed, with my face buried 
 in the pillows, for a couple of hours before Aunt 
 Menelophe came to me. I heard the dog-cart 
 drive round to the front, I heard Eustace's voice 
 saying "Good-bye," and then came the tap at the 
 door. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Menelophe," I cried, "I have been 
 such a little fool!" 
 
 "Yes, dear," she said soothingly, stroking my 
 hair. 
 
 " You think so ? " I questioned, sitting up in bed. 
 
 "Certainly, dear." 
 
 I lay down and groaned. 
 
 "But you are doing better now," she said more 
 encouragingly. "Your senses are coming back." 
 
 " You think I have done the right thing ? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly. I am only surprised, knowing 
 you, you did not do it sooner." 
 
 "I have been too utterly wretched," I moaned. 
 "I have nearly cut my throat, Aunt Menelophe." 
 
 [370]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You mean poison, surely," she laughed, "it is 
 more romantic, and the other is so so unclean." 
 
 "Don't," I wailed, "don't laugh at me, Aunt 
 Menelophe. It is no joking matter." 
 
 "No," she said, "now you mention it, I don't 
 think it is. I am trying to imagine the faces of your 
 mother and Angela and all Heatherland, and I am 
 wondering if the calico and flannel have yet been 
 purchased. What will they all say?" 
 
 "What will they say?" I cried, rumpling up my 
 hair. "What will they say? That is the question 
 I have been asking myself for the last two solid hours. 
 I daren't go home." 
 
 "Of course you daren't," said Aunt Menelophe 
 decidedly, "you must stay with me." 
 
 " But I can't always live here." 
 
 " You can if you like." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "I love you wildly, Aunt Menelophe, but I 
 couldn't leave mother." 
 
 "No, perhaps not," she agreed, "and there may 
 be some one else you would like to see sometimes." 
 
 My cheeks became hot. 
 
 "You mean Sammy. Yes, I should miss dear 
 old Sammy." 
 
 "No, I don't mean Sammy," she contradicted. 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe," I observed, "I think it would 
 show greater delicacy of feeling if we did not discuss 
 
 any other man when poor Eustace is barely " 
 
 [371]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 I paused. 
 
 "Cold in his grave? You surely don't mean 
 that ? " she asked. 
 
 "When poor Eustace's tobacco is still lingering 
 about the house," I finished, ignoring her inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "That is Wellesley's tobacco," she said placidly. 
 " I know the peculiar scent." 
 
 " How did he look ? " I asked presently. 
 
 "A little pale," she answered. 
 
 "That was rather nice of him," I said, smoothing 
 my pillow. 
 
 "But he made an excellent lunch. He had two 
 helpings of roast beef and one of cabinet pudding," 
 she added, a little unnecessarily. 
 
 "Of course he had a long journey before him," 
 I remarked. 
 
 "Of course!" she agreed. 
 
 "That reminds me I have had no lunch," I said, 
 jumping up suddenly. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" There was a surprise in her 
 accents which annoyed me. 
 
 "Not very," I replied, lying down again, "only a 
 little sinking." 
 
 "That is not surprising after what you have gone 
 through. Strong emotion always produces a sinking. 
 A cup of tea by-and-by will refresh you." 
 
 Now the thought of roast beef was infinitely more 
 attractive to me than tea, but I could not say so. 
 
 [372]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Do the servants and Wellesley know?" I asked, 
 turning over on my face not to feel the emptiness. 
 
 "Servants know everything, and Wellesley is not 
 an idiot. Parkins and James are at the moment 
 discussing you in the pantry. I overheard them as 
 I came up the stairs. Of course you have behaved 
 badly heartlessly, in fact." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Menelophe, you are cruel," I moaned. 
 "You are very unsympathetic, and I am so miser- 
 able." 
 
 Then, to my own surprise, I burst into tears. At 
 once her arms were round me. 
 
 "Poor little Hazel!" and she drew my head on 
 to her shoulder " have I teased you too much, hurt 
 you? But I wanted to punish you a little well, 
 because I think you have behaved very foolishly, 
 rashly. I am going to preach to you a little. 
 From the very beginning you knew you did not 
 love this man. Did you, now?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You were attracted by his wealth, his appear- 
 ance, the life he offered you; but there was no love 
 in your heart. This, you thought, did not matter, 
 so long as he loved you." 
 
 I nodded again. 
 
 "Well, this was not exactly an ideal feeling for 
 a young girl. Girls are not nice when they are mer- 
 cenary and ambitious. We want our girls to be 
 simple and sweet and tender-hearted and loving, 
 
 [373]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 and not calculating." I shrank a little as she stroked 
 my cheek gently. "I was disappointed in you, 
 grievously so. I had expected something finer of 
 John Wycherley's daughter, for he, in every sense, 
 
 could answer to the grand old name of gentleman 
 
 She stopped and mused a little. "He was the finest 
 man I ever met, and the best. So I was disappointed 
 in you, angry with Eustace, and still more angry with 
 myself for allowing things to come to such [a pass. 
 One thing, however, comforted me I knew the 
 engagement would not last. That is why I insisted 
 upon your writing to your mother. I realized that 
 it might precipitate matters. As soon as the gravity 
 of the step you had taken was driven home to you I 
 felt all would be well." 
 
 "How could you tell?" 
 
 "You have a certain amount of sense. You belong 
 to that type of woman who will always love with 
 her heart and not with her head, which is the best 
 type; and, of course, you discovered Eustace did not 
 love you." 
 
 I started. " Not a little bit ? " 
 
 "Not a bit of it," she said emphatically. "Eustace 
 Escourt is selfish to the backbone. He thinks far more 
 of the set of his tie than the feelings of a woman." 
 
 I lay and pondered this over. 
 
 "I found out he did not love me very much," I 
 said presently, "not as as men do love women. 
 But why why did he ask me to marry him ? " 
 
 [374]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "You must ask me something much easier," said 
 Aunt Menelophe; "I am unequal to coping with 
 the mental processes of such a man. And now come 
 and have some lunch; it is being kept hot for you. 
 You look quite pinched and worn." 
 
 I rose with alacrity. 
 
 "Are you still disappointed with me, Aunt Menel- 
 ophe?" I asked, picking at one of the buttons on 
 her sleeve. "I should be sorry if you were." 
 
 "I think you are the pluckiest little girl I have 
 known, and I am sure your father is smiling down 
 approval on you. It is not an easy thing to break 
 with a man like Eustace," was her comforting and 
 cheering reply. 
 
 She sat and watched me while I ate my lunch. 
 
 "What did Eustace say to you?" I inquired, 
 balancing a roast potato at the end of my fork. 
 
 "He said that you had found out that you were 
 not suited for one another; that you felt unequal 
 to the position of being his wife; that you preferred 
 Mr. Inderwick; and that perhaps, after all, it was 
 better for you to marry a provincial." 
 
 "Oh!" I gasped. 
 
 "Did you say you preferred Mr. Inderwick?'* 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 She reflected for a little. 
 
 "It is incomprehensible to me, Wellesley's liking 
 for that man," she said; "he seems fascinated by 
 him." 
 
 [375]
 
 HAZEL OF^HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Perhaps he Is nicer to men than to girls," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Perhaps he is," she agreed. "He would hardly 
 dare to instruct them to the extent he does women. 
 And, of course, he has helped Wellesley a good deal 
 in his career; he knows a good many people who are 
 by way of being literary. They are not very big, or 
 they would not pose; but they are helpful." 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe," I said, "I am sick of the very 
 words literary and culture. Are all literary people 
 horrid ? " 
 
 " Not all," she replied, laughing. " Wellesley isn't." 
 
 "And do they always talk about things in the 
 abstract, and nothing real ? " 
 
 "Oh, no! They chiefly talk about themselves, 
 and they are anything but abstract, which is the pity 
 of it," she replied gravely, picking a dead leaf from 
 the plant in the centre of the table and throwing it 
 into the fire. 
 
 "I don't think I should care to marry a literary 
 man," I observed. 
 
 "No; they are unpunctual at meals, and when they 
 do arrive they eat more than their share." 
 
 "Does Wellesley?" I asked. 
 
 "I exclude Wellesley in everything," she said; "he 
 is quite an exception, as you must see." 
 
 [376]
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 / Find Happiness 
 
 IT was last evening that Robert came. I was 
 in the library curled up on the white bearskin 
 rug before the fire, in the gloaming. The fire 
 was clear and red, and in its glowing depths I could 
 see many castles, and in each there were always 
 two figures a man's and a girl's. In one they were 
 having breakfast together in an old-fashioned oak- 
 panelled room, and she was talking in her "usual 
 illogical way." In another she was dusting not 
 Parian jugs and bronze horses but a large bowl 
 (which the man called an ash tray), and arranging, 
 in little piles on the mantel -shelf, a gross of matches 
 which the man watched with a jealous eye for fear that 
 perchance she might remove one. In a third, they 
 were in the summer sunshine wading along the brown 
 sands and through the little pools below Dawpool 
 in search of cockles and mussels. In a fourth, they 
 were sitting in a big arm in two big armchairs before 
 a cosy fire, and she was reading aloud to him did I 
 begin to write The Origin of Species? For it was 
 
 [377]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 certainly not that dry stuff, but a beautiful human 
 book, moving them to laughter and tears The Mill 
 on the Floss. They were all homely pictures, but the 
 people in them were very happy, and the man was 
 big and strong and good. ... A scalding tear 
 dropped on to the bearskin, and the fire became a blur, 
 and it was then I heard his step in the hall (I should 
 know it anywhere), and the door open. ... I don't 
 know how I came to be gathered up in his strong 
 arms as I half rose to meet him. I know I did not 
 give him permission to behave in such intimate fashion. 
 Perhaps my "Oh, Robert!" was a little too glad, I 
 will admit that ; he says it was the two big tears shining 
 in the firelight that did it, and that his arms involun- 
 tarily left his side. But whatever the cause, I was 
 very content to be there. We sat so for some time in 
 silence. He did not kiss me, but drew my face against 
 his and held me closely, and I was happy. 
 
 "Can it be true, little Hazel?" he said at length. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Yes, if you will have me," I whispered. 
 
 "Have you? It looks like it, don't you think?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "It does rather," I said, and he laughed. 
 
 "How did you guess? Why did you come?" 
 I whispered again. 
 
 "Mrs. Menzies wired for me this afternoon." 
 
 "Aunt Menelophe wired for you!" I shouted, 
 starting up. 
 
 [378]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "Now don't get excited," he commanded in his 
 old direct way, and pulling me back. " Mrs. Menzies 
 and I have been in correspondence for some time." 
 
 "No!" I gasped. 
 
 "Yes," he said calmly. 
 
 I closed my eyes. 
 
 " Tell me all about it," I murmured faintly. " Aunt 
 Menelophe is a base traitor." 
 
 " Aunt Menelophe is the finest and noblest of women 
 on God's earth. She is an absolute brick," he ob- 
 served with conviction. 
 
 "Oh!" I said. 
 
 "Yes; the very day after you arrived here, in 
 answer to a letter I had ventured to write her, she 
 wrote to me and said " 
 
 My eyelids were glued together. 
 
 "I can bear it," I said in a strangled voice. "Go 
 on. But Aunt Menelophe and I are enemies for 
 life." 
 
 "Mrs. Menzies will visit us twice a year regularly, 
 and we will wait upon her hand-and-foot," he said 
 with determination. 
 
 "Go on," I repeated; "to talk is the easiest thing 
 in the world." 
 
 "In this letter she said, 'Don't give up hope; Hazel 
 is a little wobbly. ' ' 
 
 " She didn't ! " I shouted, again starting up. 
 
 "Do sit still," he said plaintively. "I can't get 
 on with my story if you jump about so; in fact, I 
 
 [379]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 don't think I will tell you any more. I want to talk 
 about many things." 
 
 "I promise I won't move again if you will tell me 
 everything, every word of this shameful story. If 
 you suppress one single item I shall break off our 
 engagement." 
 
 He laughed and told me all, and I sat in silence 
 for a long time considering Aunt Menelophe's du- 
 plicity. 
 
 "Well, little girl?" he said softly after a time, 
 stroking my hair. 
 
 "I say again it is the most shameful story I have 
 ever heard. I could not have believed it of Aunt 
 Menelophe; I trusted in her implicitly. To think 
 that while I had been confiding in her, relying upon 
 her honor, comforted by her sweet sympathy, she 
 has all the time been drawing me out, making me 
 say things and passing them on to you. Oh, it is 
 horrible, horrible!" 
 
 "Not quite that; you exaggerate it. She has 
 never once repeated anything you actually said. 
 She has in all written me four letters " 
 
 "And in the last," I interrupted, "she actually 
 said she thought I was beginning to want you." 
 
 "Those were her words." 
 
 "Followed by a telegram to-day saying that I had 
 put such a wish into words ? " 
 
 He nodded. I made a big effort to wrench myself 
 away. I felt suffocated. 
 
 [380]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 "That is not fair," he said sternly, gripping me 
 tightly. "You promised you would sit still." 
 
 "But this is awful, Robert," I gasped, struggling; 
 "human flesh cannot stand it." 
 
 "Well, then, sit still; it's quite easy if you try." 
 
 " But I have been actually flung at your head." 
 
 "I've liked it," he answered, smiling. 
 
 "What must you think of me?" I asked, covered 
 with shame. 
 
 "Shall I tell you?" 
 
 " Please," I said under my breath. 
 
 And he told me, but I can't write it down, it is 
 too foolish and beautiful ; and then he drew my 
 face to his and kissed me. 
 
 "That is not me," I said, shaking my head. 
 
 "Your grammar is somewhat shaky, but it is you 
 all the same," he said, smiling, "my own dearest 
 little girl." 
 
 "Robert, you are big and kind and magnanimous," 
 I sighed. " Men are nice and superior." 
 
 "All of them?" he asked. 
 
 "Not quite all," I corrected myself. "Did Aunt 
 Menelophe tell you I had been engaged ? " 
 
 "Yes." His voice was grave. 
 
 '* And yet you still care for me ? " 
 
 "And yet I still care for you," he said, his face 
 becoming very tender, "and am glad about it now." 
 
 "You are glad?" 
 
 " Yes, for I think it taught you to love me, or rather 
 [381]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 to realize that you loved me, for I believe that you 
 have cared for me a little all along without know- 
 ing it." 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "I believe I have." 
 
 And then one of those silences, which are more 
 beautiful and completely satisfying than words, fell 
 between us. I gazed at my castles, and Robert 
 gazed at me. 
 
 "By the way," he said after a time, "have you 
 noticed my new suit and boots and tie ? " 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 He regarded himself gravely. 
 
 " Do you think they fit ? " he inquired anxiously. 
 
 "Perfectly. I hardly knew you," I said, trying to 
 suppress a choke in my voice. But his quick ear 
 detected it. 
 
 "Why, my little Hazel," he cried, "what is the 
 matter ? I believe you are crying. What have I said ? " 
 
 "Nothing, nothing," I whispered, burying my face 
 in his shoulder; "but please do not ever mention 
 those clothes again. I am too ashamed. It was 
 so mean and petty and horrid of me. Promise me 
 you will forget it, I want you to so much, and to for- 
 give me. You don't know how I have ached to 
 see you in the old, wrinkly, shabby coat and moulting 
 tie and knotted bootlaces. I have pined for the 
 sight of a knotted bootlace." 
 
 "My poor, little girl," he said tenderly, hugging 
 
 [382]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 me to him closely, "my silly little girl. I didn't 
 mind; you were quite right, I was too careless of my 
 appearance. I should be dissatisfied if you were not 
 fresh and pretty and dainty. I shall never forget 
 how you looked that day in church." 
 
 "You have told me before," I interrupted; "it 
 was the day you were so snubby and unkind to me; 
 but haven't you anything ancient now not a single 
 primeval garment?" 
 
 A twinkle crept into his eyes. 
 
 "Well, to tell you the truth," he confessed, "I did 
 keep the old, wrinkly coat just to smoke in. It is so 
 confoundedly comfortable. I gave instructions for it 
 to be thrown away, and afterward I fished it out of 
 a heap of rubbish stowed away in the boxroom. I 
 don't know what led me up there, it must have been 
 instinct in conjunction with a tightness across my 
 chest, caused, I suppose, by my new coat. So I 
 sneaked it away one night under cover of the dark- 
 ness, and hid it before Mrs. Egerton found me out, 
 and if you don't mind I will wear it occasionally 
 in an evening just to smoke in." His face was whim- 
 sical and pleading. 
 
 "You shall wear it every night as long as it hangs 
 together," I vowed; " and then we will have it patched. 
 And if ever you miss putting it on I shall refuse 
 to sit with you." 
 
 "I'll never miss," he said with promptitude; and 
 then we heard Aunt Menelophe's step, and she paused 
 
 [383]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 outside the door while she hummed a little tune, which 
 was quite unnecessary, as Robert and I were sitting 
 on opposite sides of the hearth as she entered. 
 
 Her attitude was one of airy unconcern, almost, I 
 was going to say, of brazenness. She advanced 
 toward the coalbox, still humming. 
 
 "I came to see how the fire was getting on," she 
 said, picking up the tongs, "some people have a way 
 of letting it out." 
 
 " Aunt Menelophe, you are a base traitor," I observed, 
 seizing her hand and kissing it. " Your and my ways 
 in life will now lie apart." 
 
 "Well, then, you must leave my house at once," 
 she replied, a little smile hovering round the corners 
 of her sweet mouth, " but Mr. Inderwick may stay." 
 
 [384]
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 The Eve of My Wedding-day 
 
 ROBERT and I are to be married to-morrow, the 
 21st of June, and I am so happy I can hardly 
 bear it. Every now and again I have to 
 screw up my eyes and pinch myself to make sure it 
 is all true. I wander from one room to another, and 
 I don't know them, for there are roses everywhere: 
 pink of that heavenly tint only to be found inside 
 tiny sea-shells and in the faint flush of dawn on early 
 summer mornings, and in roses; yellow pale on 
 the outside, and with hearts of a deeper glow ; crimson 
 great big luscious fellows, velvety and dewy; white 
 dear little sweet-scented monthly roses, very wide 
 open and wide awake; and even little starry wild roses 
 peeping out from their lovely foliage of green at their 
 bigger and more important brethren. I give my- 
 self another little pinch. Can these be our rooms 
 our dining- and drawing-rooms ? Hitherto Angela has 
 not permitted roses to enter them, for roses drop 
 petals, and petals are untidy; but Robert asked for 
 them (at my request), and Angela is wonderfully 
 25 [385]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 submissive to Robert, though she says things behind 
 his back at times. Then, too, the twelve faded 
 damask chairs have new, sprightly chintz covers, 
 strewn with dainty, wee roses. I bought and paid 
 for the chintz out of my trousseau money. It meant 
 doing without another new hat and a second-best 
 parasol; but one could not possibly require two new 
 hats and two parasols, all at once, in Heatherland; 
 it would be wilful extravagance. Besides, I never 
 use a parasol; I only carry one to church on Sundays 
 to impress people. 
 
 Mother is radiant over the new covers. Phcebe 
 Ellis made them; and I know mother goes half a 
 dozen times a day to peep at them, and there is a 
 beautiful look of satisfaction on her dear face every 
 time she enters the room. I catch her surreptitiously 
 closing the laths of the blinds. A stray sunbeam 
 has been caught dancing over the chair near to the 
 whatnot; it must be banished at once. It seems 
 funny to think that soon I shall have the blinds up 
 all day at the Old Hall Farm, sun or no sun; the 
 Dee and the banks of yellow sand and the blue Welsh 
 mountains will never be shut out from our view. I 
 shall look across at the shrouded windows of Shady 
 Oak, and give a gentle, little chuckle of satisfaction. 
 
 From the roses in the house Dibbs and I wander 
 to the garden and Sammy, and I find roses there, 
 roses everywhere. He and I keep having last little 
 gossips, he assuring me that "wimin" (barring my- 
 
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 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 self) are "dry hash." He forgets that I shall be 
 living quite close to him, and that there will be fre- 
 quent opportunities in the future for impressing 
 this depressing and mournful fact upon me. This 
 morning I said 
 
 "Sammy, you are really jealous that you yourself 
 are not being married. It seems sad that no young 
 woman would ever have you." 
 
 I thought it wise to slip away the next moment to 
 my room to have another peep at my wedding-gown. 
 I take a chair to it and sit down and gaze. It is 
 Aunt Menelophe's wedding gift. Reas, of Basnett 
 Street, call it chiffon, but it is nothing of the kind; 
 it is a bewildering mass of filmy, frothy, billowing 
 sea-foam. When I am not peeping at it I know 
 Rose and Elizabeth are, so it is never alone. I try 
 to imagine what use it will be to me in the future. 
 It will not harmonize with Robert's smoking-coat. 
 He says we shall go to London once a year, and I 
 can then wear it; and Angela suggests my selling 
 it. The romantic side of my sister has never been 
 strongly developed. 
 
 The written recipe book is voluminous and fat. 
 I notice the page given over to pickled onions is heavily 
 scored, especially the parts referring to the weight 
 of peppercorns. Mrs. Egerton will wonder at it, as 
 she is to remain on with us, for a time, and house- 
 keep. Robert says he wants us to have the long 
 days of summer and autumn to ourselves quite 
 
 [387]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 to ourselves and that their harmony would be com- 
 pletely spoiled were I to be worried with things like 
 butchers and the paraffin oil giving out. Robert 
 takes a sensible view of life, and does not think it 
 essential that a woman should know exactly how 
 many times a week her saucepans are scoured out 
 with boiling soda water. Mother and Angela shake 
 their heads over the retention of Mrs. Egerton. They 
 say it is gross extravagance, and will get me into bad 
 ways. Mother has made me promise to keep accounts, 
 and has presented me with a black American-cloth 
 covered book containing ruled lines of three columns, 
 a green purse, and two tin cash-boxes. She says 
 the boxes won't be sufficient for properly kept accounts, 
 but that Robert's empty Navy-cut tobacco tins will 
 fill up the breach. Now I reflect upon it, I have 
 frequently observed mother regarding tobacco boxes 
 with a sort of introspective eye. 
 
 Frederick Moss is engaged to Rosabel Hawthorn, 
 and is very pleased and proud at having found some- 
 one who will marry him. She is very happy, and 
 says being engaged to a poet gives her funny feelings. 
 I am not surprised. Frederick has, as a wedding 
 present, given me a copy of his own poems bound 
 in white leather. The paper is thick and the margin 
 of the leaves is broad, and the book does not seem 
 to contain much else of importance. 
 
 Butterby has given me the beetle for a wedding 
 present. He forgot to return it to me after bor- 
 
 [388]
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND 
 
 rowing it for the fourth time. It came in a registered 
 parcel, with a few lines mentioning its value and the 
 care I should take of it. He and Aunt Menelophe 
 arrive this evening. Dear Aunt Menelophe, a lump 
 rises in my throat whenever I think of her. 
 
 I can hear mother and Angela away in the spare 
 room. They are debating as to whether Aunt Menel- 
 ophe would prefer a feather bed to a mattress. The 
 mattress isn't springy, so I have yelled "feather 
 bed." Angela has called back that it is unladylike 
 to shout. She seems to forget how often she has 
 told me this. 
 
 The front gate has just banged, and through the 
 oak trees and sycamores and across the lawn, shim- 
 mering in the afternoon sunshine, I can see Robert. 
 He wears the old coat, and I am quite sure now that 
 I like old coats. Now he has spied me at the open 
 window. ... I can almost feel his smile. Now he 
 is calling to me. . . . And I must go to him. 
 
 THE END 
 
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