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 me! ah me!” sighed Mrs. Thorne.
“Now, dear, you will dress and come up to the treaty and I will see that you are comfortable.”
“I come? No, no, no!”
“Yes, dear, Mr. Burge begs that you will. Come, girls.”
This was called up the stairs to her little sisters, who came running down, dressed in white with blue sashes for the first time since their father’s death.
“What does this mean?” exclaimed Mrs. Thorne.
“They are coming with me, dear, each carrying a great bouquet.”
“Never! I forbid it!” cried the poor woman.
“It was Mr. Burge’s particular request,” said Hazel gently; “and, mother dear, you will nearly break their hearts if you forbid them now.”
“There, there, there,” sobbed Mrs. Thorne; “it’s time I died and was taken out of your way. I’m only a nuisance and a burden to you.”
“Mother!”
Only that one word, but the way in which it was uttered, and the graceful form that went down upon its knees before her to draw the head she kept rocking to and fro down upon her breast proved sufficient to calm the weak woman. Her sobs grew less frequent, and she at last began to wipe her eyes, after kissing Hazel again and again.
“I suppose we must accept our fate, my dear,” she said at last. “I’m sure I do mine. And now mind this. Cissy—Mabel!”
“Yes, mamma! Oh, sister Hazel, isn’t it time to go?”
“I say you will mind this. Cissy—Mabel, you are to—But must they walk in procession with those terrible children, Hazel?”
“Why not, dear? They will be with me, and what can be more innocent and pleasant than this treat to the poor girls? There, there, I know, for my sake, you will come up and lend your countenance to their sports.”
“Well, well,” sighed Mrs. Thorne. “I’ll try. But mind me, Hazel,” she exclaimed sharply, “I’m not coming up with that dreadful woman, Mrs. Chute. I am coming by myself.”
“Yes, dear, I would,” said Hazel.
“And mind this. Cissy and Mabel, though you are going to walk behind the school children and carry flowers, you are not to forget that you are young ladies. Mind that.”
“No, mamma!” in duet.
“And—Oh dear me, Hazel, there is some one at the front door, and I’ve only got on my old cap. I really cannot be seen; I—Good gracious me, Hazel, don’t let any one in.”
Too late. Hazel had already opened the door and admitted little Miss Burge, who came trotting in with her face all smiles.
“I thought I should never get through the children,” she panted; “and ain’t it ’ot? How well you do look, my dear! Lavender muslin suits you exactly. And how are you, my bonny little ones?” she cried, kissing the two girls. “But there, I’ve no time to lose.
