"Oh, I do look beautiful!" she said aloud, and at the naive remark the whole party shouted with merriment. Nancy cried, "Long life to the queen!" and Joe the Fiddler burst into his merriest strains; it was with the greatest difficulty that the desire for dancing could be suppressed, for the little ceremony was not yet quite over. It was Nancy"s turn to come forward.
"Queen of the night," she said, "we hope that you will like what we, your subjects, have done for you, and we hope that you will never forget your happy birthday. There is just one thing I have to say. When the flowers fade--and they are fading already--you, dear queen, will have no longer a kingdom, so we have brought you something; we have subscribed among us for something that will not fade--something that you can always wear in memory of us. Look! isn"t it beautiful?"
As Nancy spoke, she took a morocco case from the table, touched a spring, and revealed to Pauline"s dazzled eyes, a necklace of thin pure gold, to which a little locket, with a diamond in the centre, was attached.
"This won"t fade," said Nancy. "You can keep it all your life long. You can also remember that there are people in the world, perhaps born a little lower than yourself, who love you and care for you."
"Oh, you are good!" cried Pauline. "I will never forsake you, Nancy, or think myself better than you are."
"Didn"t I say she was a brick?" said Nancy. "Stoop your head, queen; I will clasp the necklace around your neck."
Pauline did stoop her head, and the necklace was put in its place. The little diamond in the centre glittered as though it had a heart of fire.
The flowers smelled sweet, but also heavy. Pauline was tired once again; but the music was resumed. Fiddler Joe played more enchanting music than before, and Pauline, suddenly rising from her throne, determined to dance during the remaining hours of that exciting night.
But all happy things, and all naughty things come to an end, for such is the fashion of earth; and by-and-by the farmer said that if they wished to be home before morning they must get into the wagonette and the dogcart, and their guests must take themselves away. Now it was the farmer"s turn to come up to Pauline.
"You have given us all pleasure to-night, Miss Pauline," he said; "and it warms our hearts to feel that, whatever the circ.u.mstances, you will always be true to us, who have been true to you and yours for generations. For, miss, the history of the Dales is almost bound up with the history of the Kings. And if the Dales were gentlefolks and lords of the manor, the Kings were their humble retainers. So, miss, the Dales and Kings were always good to each other; the Kings over and over again laying down their lives for the Dales in the Civil Wars, and the Dales on their part protecting the Kings. So, after all, miss, there"s no earthly reason, because a grand aunt of yours has come to live at The Dales, why the traditions of your house should be neglected and forgotten. I am proud to feel that this will never happen, and that your family and mine will be one. We do not consider ourselves your equals, but we do consider ourselves your friends. And if I can ever help you, Miss Pauline, you have only to come to me and I will do it. That"s all I"ve got to say. I don"t want thanks. I"m proud that you and your little sisters have trusted yourselves to us to-night, and I leave the matter of whether it was right or wrong to your own consciences. But whatever happens, what you did to-night is the sort of thing that Farmer King will never forget."
CHAPTER XVIII.
VINEGAR.
It was certainly not at all remarkable that the entire party should be drowsy and languid on the following day. Pauline had dark shadows under her eyes, and there was a fretful note in her voice. Nurse declared that Briar and Patty had caught cold, and could not imagine how they had managed to do so; but Miss Tredgold said that colds were common in hot weather, and that the children had played too long in the open air on the previous night. In short, those who were out of the mischief suspected nothing, and Pauline began to hope that her wild escapade would never be known. Certainly Briar and Patty would not betray her.
They had all managed to climb up the tree and get in at her window without a soul knowing. Pauline therefore hoped that she was quite safe; and the hope that this was the case revived her spirits, so that in the afternoon she was looking and feeling much as usual. As she was dressing that morning she had made a sort of vow. It was not a bit the right thing to do, but then poor little Pauline was not doing anything very right just then. This was her vow. She had said in her prayer to G.o.d:
"If You will keep Aunt Sophy from finding out how naughty I have been, I will, on my part, be extra good. I will do my lessons most perfectly, and never, never, never deceive Aunt Sophy again."
Now, Pauline, unaware that such a prayer could not possibly be answered, felt a certain sense of security after she had made it.
In addition to the beautiful chain with its locket and its diamond star in the middle, she had received several other presents of the gay and loud and somewhat useless sort. Nancy"s friends, Becky and Amy, had both given her presents, and several young people of the party had brought little trifles to present to the queen of the occasion. There was a time when Pauline would have been highly delighted with these gifts, but that time was not now. She felt the impossible tidies, the ugly pin-cushions, the hideous toilet-covers, the grotesque night-dress bags to be more burdens than treasures. What could she possibly do with them? The gold chain and locket were another matter. She felt very proud of her chain and her little heart-shaped locket. She was even mad enough to fasten the chain round her neck that morning and hide it beneath her frock, and so go downstairs with the diamond resting on her heart.
Miss Tredgold had wisely resolved that there were to be very few lessons that day. The girls were to read history and a portion of one of Shakespeare"s plays, and afterwards they were to sit in the garden and do their fancy-work. They were all glad of the quiet day and of the absence of excitement, and as evening progressed they recovered from their fatigue, and Pauline was as merry as the rest.
It was not until preparation hour that Pauline felt a hand laid on her arm; two keen black eyes looked into her face, and a small girl clung to her side.
"Oh, what is it, Pen?" said Pauline, almost crossly. "What do you want now?"
"I thought perhaps you"d like to know," replied Penelope.
"To know what, you tiresome child? Don"t press up against me; I hate being pawed."
"Does you? Perhaps you"d rather things was knowed."
"What is it, Pen? You are always so mysterious and tiresome."
"Only that I think you ought to tell me," said Penelope, lowering her voice and speaking with great gentleness. "I think you ought to tell me all about the things that are hidden away in that bandbox under your bed."
"What do you mean?" said Pauline, turning pale.
"Why, I thought I"d like to go into your room and have a good look round."
"But you have no right to do that sort of thing. It is intolerably mean of you. You had no right to go into my bedroom."
"I often does what I has no right to do," said Penelope, by no means abashed. "I went in a-purpose "cos you didn"t tell me what you wished to tell me once, and I was burning to know. Do you understand what it is to be all curiosity so that your heart beats too quick and you gets fidgety?
Well, I was in that sort of state, and I said to myself, "I will know."
So I went into your room and poked about. I looked under the bed, and there was an old bandbox where you kept your summer hat afore Aunt Sophy came; and I pulled it out and opened it, and, oh! I see"d---- Paulie, I"d like to have "em. You doesn"t want "em, "cos you have hidden "em, and I should like to have "em."
"What?"
"Why, that pin-cushion for one thing--oh! it"s a beauty--and that tidy.
May I have the pin-cushion and the tidy, Paulie--the purple pin-cushion and the red tidy? May I?"
"No."
"May Aunt Sophy have them?"
"Don"t be silly."
"May anybody have them?"
"They"re mine."
"How did you get them?"
"That"s my affair."
"You didn"t get them from me, nor from any of the other girls--I can go round and ask them if you like, but I know you didn"t--nor from father, nor from Aunt Sophy, nor from Betty, nor from John, nor from any of the new servants. Who gave them to you?"
"That"s my affair."
"You won"t tell?"
"No."
"May I tell Aunt Sophy about the bandbox chock-full of funny things pushed under the bed?"
"If you do----"
Penelope danced a few feet away. She then stood in front of her sister and began to sway her body backwards and forwards.
"I see"d," she began, "such a funny thing!"
"Penelope, you are too tormenting!"