will let him do than any one else, that she can allow him to sit up with a candle after eleven o’clock. I really believe that there is not another living creature in the world who could do it in this house. There, you may add your own affairs to the list, Henrietta, for he is going to the Pleasance to meet some man of brick and mortar.”
“O, I wish we could walk there!”
“I dare say we can. I’ll manage. Aunt Mary, should you not like Henrietta to go and see the Pleasance?”
“Almost as much as Henrietta would like it herself, Busy Bee,” said Aunt Mary; “but I think she should walk to Sutton Leigh to-day.”
“Walk to Sutton Leigh!” echoed old Mrs. Langford, entering at the moment; “not you, surely, Mary?”
“O no, no, grandmamma,” said Beatrice, laughing; “she was only talking of Henrietta’s doing it.”
“Well, and so do, my dears; it will be a very nice thing, if you go this morning before the frost goes off. Your Aunt Roger will like to see you, and you may take the little pot of black currant jelly that I wanted to send over for poor Tom’s sore mouth.”
Beatrice looked at Henrietta and made a face of disgust as she asked, “Have they no currant jelly themselves?”
“O no, they never can keep anything in the garden. I don’t mean that the boys take the fruit; but between tarts and puddings and desserts, poor Elizabeth can never make any preserves.”
“But,” objected Queen Bee, “if one of the children is ill, do you think Aunt Roger will like to have us this morning? and the post girl could take the jelly.”
“O nonsense, Bee,” said Mrs. Langford, somewhat angrily; “you don’t like to do it, I see plain enough. It is very hard you can’t be as good-natured to your own little cousin as to one of the children in the village.”
“Indeed, grandmamma, I did not mean that.”
“O no, no, grandmamma,” joined in Henrietta, “we shall be very glad to take it. Pray let us.”
“Yes,” added Beatrice, “if it is really to be of any use, no one can be more willing.”
“Of any use?” repeated Mrs. Langford. “No! never mind. I’ll send someone.”
“No, pray do not, dear grandmamma,” eagerly exclaimed Henrietta; “I do beg you will let us take it. It will be making me at home directly to let me be useful.”
Grandmamma was pacified. “When will you set out?” she asked; “you had better not lose this bright morning.”
“We will go directly,” said Queen Bee; “we will go by the west turning, so that Henrietta may see the Pleasance.”
“My dear! the west turning will be a swamp, and I won’t have you getting wet in your feet and catching cold.”
“O, we have clogs; and besides, the road does not get so dirty since it has been mended. I asked Johnny this morning.”
“As if he knew, or cared anything about it!—and you will be late for luncheon. Besides, grandpapa will drive your aunt there the first day she feels equal to it, and Henrietta may see it then. But you will always have your own way.”
Henrietta had seldom been more uncomfortable than during this altercation; and but for reluctance to appear more obliging than her cousin, she would have begged to give up the scheme. Her mother would have interfered in another moment, but the entrance of Uncle Geoffrey gave a sudden turn to affairs.
“Who likes to go to the Pleasance?” said he, as he entered. “All whose curiosity lies that way may prepare their seven-leagued boots.”
“Here are the girls dying to go,” said Mrs. Langford, as well pleased as if she had not been objecting the minute before.
“Very well. We go by Sutton Leigh: so make haste, maidens.” Then, turning to his mother, “Didn’t I hear you say you had something to send to Elizabeth, ma’am?”
“Only some currant jelly for little Tom; but if—”
“O grandmamma, that is my charge; pray don’t cheat me,” exclaimed Henrietta. “If you will lend me a basket, it will travel much better with me than in Uncle Geoffrey’s pocket.”
“Ay, that will be the proper division of labour,” said Uncle Geoffrey, looking well pleased with his niece; “but I thought you were off to get ready.”
“Don’t keep your uncle waiting, my dear,” added her mamma; and Henrietta departed, Beatrice following her to her room, and there exclaiming, “If there is a thing I can’t endure, it is going to Sutton Leigh when one of the children is poorly! It is always bad enough—”
“Bad enough! O, Busy Bee!” cried Henrietta, quite unprepared to hear of any flaw in her paradise.
“You will soon see what I mean. The host of boys in the way; the wooden bricks and black horses spotted with white wafers that you break your shins over, the marbles that roll away under your feet, the whips that crack in your ears, the universal air of nursery that pervades the house. It is worse in the morning, too; for one is always whining over sum, es, est, and another over his spelling. O, if I had eleven brothers in a small house, I should soon turn misanthrope. But you are laughing instead of getting ready.”
“So are you.”
“My things will be on in a quarter of the time you take. I’ll tell you what, Henrietta, the Queen Bee allows no drones, and I shall teach you to ‘improve each shining hour;’ for nothing will get you into such dire disgrace here as to be always behind time. Besides, it is a great shame to waste papa’s time. Now, here is your shawl ready folded, and now I will trust you to put on your boots and bonnet by yourself.”
In five minutes the Queen Bee flew back again, and found Henrietta still measuring the length of her bonnet strings before the glass. She hunted her down stairs at last, and found the two uncles and grandpapa at the door, playing with the various dogs, small and great, that usually waited there. Fred and the other boys had gone out together some time since, and the party now set forth, the three gentlemen walking together first. Henrietta turned as soon as she had gone a sufficient distance that she might study the aspect of the house. It did not quite fulfil her expectations; it was neither remarkable for age nor beauty; the masonry was in a sort of chessboard pattern, alternate squares of freestone and of flints, the windows were not casements as she thought they ought to have been, and the long wing, or rather excrescence, which contained the drawing-room, was by no means ornamental. It was a respectable, comfortable mansion, and that was all that was to be said in its praise, and Beatrice’s affection had so embellished it in description, that it was no wonder that Henrietta felt slightly disappointed. She had had some expectation, too, of seeing it in the midst of a park, instead of which the carriage-drive along which they were walking, only skirted a rather large grass field, full of elm trees, and known by the less dignified name of the paddock. But she would not confess the failure of her expectations even to herself, and as Beatrice was evidently looking for some expressions of admiration, she said the road must be very pretty in summer.
“Especially when this bank is one forest of foxgloves,” said Queen Bee. “Only think! Uncle Roger and the farmer faction wanted grandpapa to have this hedge row grubbed up, and turned into a plain dead fence; but I carried the day, and I dare say Aunt Mary will be as much obliged to me as the boys who would have lost their grand preserve of stoats and rabbits.
