Canninge?”
“He might find pleasure in proceedings that are watched over by his friends. And now look here, Beatrice, I am never angry, I never quarrel, and I never say cruel things, but I must say that I do not think George Canninge is so attentive to you as he used to be.”
“Hush, Rebecca,” cried Beatrice; “how can you speak like that? There is no engagement between us.”
“But there ought to be,” said Miss Lambent tartly. “Marriage is a subject upon which I have never thought for myself.”
“Rebecca!”
“Well, not directly,” replied the lady. “I may perhaps have given such a matter a thought indirectly, but in your case I have thought about it a great deal.”
“Pray say no more, Rebecca.”
“I must say more, Beatrice, for in a case like this, your welfare is at stake, and for my part, I do not see how George Canninge could do better than by making you mistress of Ardley.”
“My dear Rebecca!”
“It would be rather stooping on our side, for the Canninges are little better than traders; but Mrs Canninge is very nice, and I said to her, yesterday – ”
“Surely, Rebecca, you did not allude to – to – ”
“George Canninge and yourself? Indeed, I did, my dear. Mrs Canninge and I thoroughly understand one another, and I feel sure that nothing would please her better than for George Canninge to propose to you.”
Miss Beatrice sighed softly, and soon after the sisters went up to dress.
For it was a festival day at Plumton All Saints, being that of the annual school feast.
This school feast or treat was rather an ancient institution, and was coeval with the schools, but it had altered very much in its proportions since its earlier days, when the schoolmaster invested in a penny memorandum-book, and went round to all the principal inhabitants for subscriptions, which rarely exceeded a shilling, and had to be lectured by each donor upon the best way of teaching the children under his charge. Those treats first consisted of a ride in one of the farmers’ waggons as far as a field, where the children were regaled with very thin milk and water, and slices of large loaves spotted with currants, which slices were duly baptised in the milk and water, and called by the children – “cake.”
Then there was a great advance to a real tea in a barn, and again a more generous affair through the generosity of one vicar, who had the children all up to the vicarage, and after they had done no little mischief to his flower-beds, sent them home loaded with fruity cakes, and toys.
Then there was a decadence with a tendency towards thin milk and water and country buns, followed by a tremendous rise when Mr William Forth Burge came upon the scene; and the present was the second feast over which he had been presiding genius.
In preparation for this festival, probably for reasons of his own, the patron had gone about smiling a great deal, and rubbing his hands. He had obtained carte blanche from the vicar to do as he pleased, and it had pleased him to say to Miss Burge:
“Betsy, we’ll do the thing ’andsome this time, and no mistake. Money shan’t stand in the way, and I want Miss Thorne – and Mr Chute,” he added hastily, “to see that we know how to do things at Plumton.”
The result was that for a whole week the children nearly ran mad, and attention to object, or any other lessons, was a thing impossible to secure; and once every day – sometimes twice – Mr Chute was obliged to go into the girls’ school and confide to Miss Thorne the fact that he should be heartily glad when it was all over.
Hazel Thorne participated in his feelings, but she did not feel bound to go to the boys’ school to impart her troubles, having terrible work to keep her scholars to their tasks.
For to a little place like Plumton the preparations were tremendously exciting, and between school hours, and afterwards, the entrance to Mr William Forth Burge’s garden was besieged with anxious sightseers, the wildest rumours getting abroad amongst the children, who were ready to believe a great deal more than they saw, though they had ocular demonstration that a large marquee was being erected, that ropes were stretched between the trees for flags, that four large swings had been made; and as for the contents of that marquee the most extravagant rumours were afloat.
One thing was notable in spite of the inattention, and that was the fact that the schools were wonderfully well filled by children, who came in good time, and who duly paid their pence, many of the scholars having been absentees for months, some since the last school-treat, but who were coming “regular now, please, teacher.”
The morning had arrived when, after receiving strict orders to be at the schools punctually at eleven, fully half the expected number were at the gates by nine, clamouring for admittance; and at last the noise grew so loud that Mrs Thorne cast an appealing look at her daughter, and sighed.
“Ah, Hazel,” she murmured, “if you had only listened to poor Mr Geringer, we should have been spared this degradation.”
“Oh, hush, dear,” whispered Hazel. “Pray say no more. Indeed I don’t mind, and the poor children seem so happy.”
“But I mind it, Hazel,” sighed Mrs Thorne. “It is a degradation indeed. Of course you will not be expected to walk with the children as far as those people’s?”
“Oh, yes,” said Hazel, trying to speak lightly. “They are all going in procession with flags and banners.”
“Flags and banners, Hazel?” exclaimed Mrs Thorne, with a horrified look.
“Yes, dear. Mr Burge wants to give the children a great treat, and there is to be a brass band that he has engaged on purpose. I have just had a note from Miss Burge. She says her brother wished to keep it a secret to the last.”
“But not a regular brass band, Hazel?”
“Yes, dear. It will be at the head of the procession, and the children are to be marched all round the town.”
“But not a brass band with a big drum, my dear? Surely not. Don’t say with a big drum?”
“Really, mother, dear, I don’t know,” replied Hazel, bending down and kissing her. “I suppose so.”
“Thank Heaven, that my poor husband was spared all this!”
“Oh, hush, dear,” whispered Hazel piteously.
“But you will not stoop to walk round the town with them, Hazel? And surely you are never going to put that ridiculous bunch of cowslips in your dress?”
“Mother, dear,” said Hazel quietly, “I am the mistress of the girls’ school, and it is my duty to walk with them. I am going to wear the bunch of spring flowers, for they were brought for me by the girls, who will all wear a bunch like it. Here is a bouquet, though, that Mr Burge has sent for the mistress out of his greenhouse. I suppose I must carry that in my hand.”
“Oh, my poor girl! my poor girl!”
“Now, mother, dear mother, do not be so foolish,” said Hazel. “Why should I be ashamed to walk with my girls? Are we not living an honourable and independent life, and is it not ten thousand times better than eating the bread of charity?”
“Ah
