Katharine Aileve Umfraville becoming the head of the family; for then young Lord Umfraville was in his full health and strength.
And why did Lady Barbara only now feel the charge of the child a duty? Perhaps it was because, without knowing it, she had been brought up to make an idol of the state and consequence of the earldom, since she thought breeding up the girl for a countess incumbent on her, when she had not felt tender compassion for the brother’s orphan grandchild. So somewhat of the pomps of this world may have come in to blind her eyes; but whatever she did was because she thought it right to do, and when Kate thought of her as cross, it was a great mistake. Lady Barbara had great control of temper, and did everything by rule, keeping herself as strictly as she did everyone else except Lady Jane; and though she could not like such a troublesome little incomprehensible wild cat as Katharine, she was always trying to do her strict justice, and give her whatever in her view was good or useful.
But Kate esteemed it a great holiday, when, as sometimes happened, Aunt Barbara went out to spend the evening with some friends; and she, under promise of being very good, used to be Aunt Jane’s companion.
Those were the times when her tongue took a holiday, and it must be confessed, rather to the astonishment and confusion of Lady Jane.
“Aunt Jane, do tell me about yourself when you were a little girl?”
“Ah! my dear, that does not seem so very long ago. Time passes very quickly. To think of such a great girl as you being poor James’s grandchild!”
“Was my grandpapa much older than you, Aunt Jane?”
“Only three years older, my dear.”
“Then do tell me how you played with him?”
“I never did, my dear; I played with your Aunt Barbara.”
“Dear me how stupid! One can’t do things without boys.”
“No, my dear; boys always spoil girls’ play, they are so rough.”
“Oh! no, no, Aunt Jane; there’s no fun unless one is rough—I mean, not rough exactly; but it’s no use playing unless one makes a jolly good noise.”
“My dear,” said Lady Jane, greatly shocked, “I can’t bear to hear you talk so, nor to use such words.”
“Dear me, Aunt Jane, we say ‘Jolly’ twenty times a day at St. James’s, and nobody minds.”
“Ah! yes, you see you played with boys.”
“But our boys are not rough, Aunt Jane,” persisted Kate, who liked hearing herself talk much better than anyone else. “Mary says Charlie is a great deal less riotous than I am, especially since he went to school; and Armyn is too big to be riotous. Oh dear, I wish Mr. Brown would send Armyn to London; he said he would be sure to come and see me, and he is the jolliest, most delightful fellow in the world!”
“My dear child,” said Lady Jane in her soft, distressed voice, “indeed that is not the way young ladies talk of—of—boys.”
“Armyn is not a boy, Aunt Jane; he’s a man. He is a clerk, you know, and will get a salary in another year.”
“A clerk!”
“Yes; in Mr. Brown’s office, you know. Aunt Jane, did you ever go out to tea?”
“Yes, my dear; sometimes we drank tea with our little friends in the dolls’ tea-cups.”
“Oh! you can’t think what fun we have when Mrs. Brown asks us to tea. She has got the nicest garden in the world, and a greenhouse, and a great squirt-syringe, I mean, to water it; and we always used to get it, till once, without meaning it, I squirted right through the drawing-room window, and made such a puddle; and Mrs. Brown thought it was Charlie, only I ran in and told of myself, and Mrs. Brown said it was very generous, and gave me a Venetian weight with a little hermit in a snow-storm; only it is worn out now, and won’t snow, so I gave it to little Lily when we had the whooping-cough.”
By this time Lady Jane was utterly ignorant what the gabble was about, except that Katharine had been in very odd company, and done very strange things with those boys, and she gave a melancholy little sound in the pause; but Kate, taking breath, ran on again—
“It is because Mrs. Brown is not used to educating children, you know, that she fancies one wants a reward for telling the truth; I told her so, but Mary thought it would vex her, and stopped my mouth. Well, then we young ones—that is, Charlie, and Sylvia, and Armyn, and I—drank tea out on the lawn. Mary had to sit up and be company; but we had such fun! There was a great old laurel tree, and Armyn put Sylvia and me up into the fork; and that was our nest, and we were birds, and he fed us with strawberries; and we pretended to be learning to fly, and stood up flapping our frocks and squeaking, and Charlie came under and danced the branches about. We didn’t like that; and Armyn said it was a shame, and hunted him away, racing all round the garden; and we scrambled down by ourselves, and came down on the slope. It is a long green slope, right down to the river, all smooth and turfy, you know; and I was standing at the top, when Charlie comes slyly, and saying he would help the little bird to fly, gave me one push, and down I went, roll, roll, tumble, tumble, till Sylvia really thought she heard my neck crack! Wasn’t it fun?”
“But the river, my dear!” said Lady Jane, shuddering.
“Oh! there was a good flat place before we came to the river, and I stopped long before that! So then, as we had been the birds of the air, we thought we would be the fishes of the sea; and it was nice and shallow, with dear little caddises and river cray-fish, and great British pearl-shells at the bottom. So we took off our shoes and stockings, and Charlie and Armyn turned up their trousers, and we had such a nice paddling. I really thought I should have got a British pearl then; and you know there were some in the breast-plate of Venus.”
“In the river! Did your cousin allow that?”
“Oh yes; we had on our old blue checks; and Mary never minds anything when Armyn is there to take care of us. When they heard in the drawing-room what we had been doing, they made Mary sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ because of ‘We twa hae paidlit in the burn frae morning sun till dine;’ and whenever in future times I meet Armyn, I mean to say,
‘We twa hae paidlit in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine;
We’ve wandered many a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.’
Or perhaps I shall be able to sing it, and that will be still prettier.”
And Kate sat still, thinking of the prettiness of the scene of the stranger, alone in the midst of numbers, in the splendid drawing-rooms, hearing the sweet voice of the lovely young countess at the piano, singing this touching memorial of the simple days of childhood.
Lady Jane meanwhile worked her embroidery, and thought what wonderful disadvantages the poor child had had, and that Barbara really must not be too severe on her, after she had lived with such odd people, and that it was very fortunate that she had been taken away from them before she had grown any older, or more used to them.
Soon after, Kate gave a specimen of her manners with boys. When she went into the dining-room at luncheon time one wet afternoon, she heard steps on the stairs behind her aunt’s, and there appeared a very pleasant-looking gentleman, followed by a boy of about her own age.
“Here is our niece,”
