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 OOMIN' THRO' THE RYE. 
 
 2^ ilavel 
 
 Had we never met sae kindly. 
 Had we never loved sae blindly. 
 Never met and never parted. 
 We had ne'er been broken hearted. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1875. 
 
 {AU rtijiits resvrveiJ.)
 
 Caxton Pnntinf} Works, Becchs.
 
 ?33 
 
 l?7S 
 • •I 
 
 ^ 
 
 4 
 
 SEED TIME 
 
 X
 
 COMIN' THRO' THE RYE. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 "It is the admirer of himself and not the admirer of 
 virtue that thinks himself superior to others." 
 
 " ' Poor Martha Snell, her's gone away ; 
 
 Her would if her could, but her couldn't stay ; 
 Her'd two sore legs and a baddish cough, 
 But her legs it was as carried her off ! ' 
 
 That's mine. Have you got anything 
 to-day, Alice?" 
 
 ** Nothing/' says our lovely sister, lifting 
 her head from ^^Paley's Evidences," ^'hut 
 Nell has." 
 
 ** Bring it out, then ! " says Jack, rapping 
 the tahle smartly with his ruler. 
 
 Happy Jack ! who is deterred from 
 amusing himseK hy no such considerations 
 concerning Scripture exercises and the like 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 COMIN' THIIO' THE KYE. 
 
 as lie heavy upon the rest of us ; he is home 
 for the hoHdays, and as his soul is supposed 
 to be well weeded and watered by his 
 pastors and masters while he is away, it is 
 left in peace while he is at home. 
 
 ^' It is a little vulgar," I admit, look- 
 ing round, '^but then you know you all 
 like vulgar jokes. Not that this is a joke, 
 — far fi'om it, it is a veritable, properly 
 authenticated family " 
 
 *^ Business is business," says Jack, inter- 
 rupting; ''give us the epitaph first, and 
 your remarks after." 
 
 *' ' Here lies the body of Betsy Binn, 
 Who was so very pure within, 
 She bust this outer shell of sin, 
 And hatched herself a cherubim ! ' " 
 
 ''There! hurst, not bust," says Jack, re- 
 provingly; "don't expose youi' ignorance, 
 Nell." 
 
 " It is not," I say stoutly ; " burst is quite 
 a leisurely way of doing things. Bust gives 
 you the idea of cracking all over Hke a 
 chrysalis and flying straight up through 
 the air, as Betsy did." 
 
 "I don't think it's as good as Thomas
 
 SEED TIME. 3 
 
 Woodhen," says Alice, gravely. "His 
 widow showed so much sense in adapting 
 herself to circumstances." 
 
 "Or that other one," says Milly, looking 
 up— 
 
 " 'Poor Martha Kitchen ! her days were spent, 
 She kicked up her heels and away she went.' " 
 
 "I like the baby's best," says Jack; 
 "that one on an infant three months old, 
 you know — 
 
 ' Since I am so quickly done for, 
 I wonder what I was begun for ? ' " 
 
 "Nurse told me of one yesterday," says 
 Milly, resting her elbows on a Pinnock, 
 " that she saiu with her very own eyes — 
 
 ' Here lies the unworthy son of a worthy father. ' 
 
 The stone was erected by the father." 
 
 " That is nasty," says Alice ; " the others 
 
 only show extraordinary levity. I wonder 
 
 what the people were like who made them 
 
 up?" 
 
 " Shaky as to their grammar," says Jack, 
 
 " and sadly in want of a dictionary ! " 
 
 "Would you like a grammatical one," I 
 
 ask, " and a jyrojwrhj spelt one ? I don't say 
 
 it's a particularly good one."
 
 4 COMIN THRO THE RYE. 
 
 ^^ Good heavens ! " says Jack, leaning 
 forward. ** Nell is, — yes — no — yes, she is 
 positively blushing ! " 
 
 *' I am not ! " I say, looking at them all 
 steadily. ^' No one ever accused me of such 
 a thing before ! " 
 
 '' Then, to what," asks Alice, laughing, 
 "may we ascribe this sudden access of 
 colom-? Heat, modesty, shame, or pride 
 at having made a rhyme ? for I do believe 
 you have." 
 
 '* Heat ! " I say shortly; "how we shall 
 broil in church ! " 
 
 "Now then," says Jack, "we must not 
 permit the first literary effort of the family 
 to die for want of air, let's have it." 
 
 "It is not much of it," I say, apologetic- 
 ally, " but our riddles and epitaphs were 
 nmning sb low that I thought it was high 
 time some new ones were ]• 'vented, and 
 anything is better thun nothii '.; you know ! 
 Here it is — 
 
 * Here lies the bn >/ of 
 
 Helen Adair, 
 
 Cruelly slain in the Flo\\-o. -^ "ler 
 
 Youth and Beauty, by 
 
 Amberley's Nags. 
 
 P.S. — Amberley's Nags were the only horses visible at, 
 
 her funeral, for she died a Pauper.' "
 
 SEED TIME. O 
 
 ''Ha! ha! lia ! " goes Jack. '"Youth 
 and beauty,' first-rate that." 
 
 "And Amberley does nag at Nell shame- 
 fully," says Alice. 
 
 "And you all say," I put in, standing up 
 for my bantling, "that my extravagant 
 tastes will bring me to want some day, do 
 you not ? Only I don't see how I can ever 
 be very lavish on nothing." 
 
 " The governor tells us every day that we 
 shall come to the — imion," says Milly. "I 
 wonder if it is very bad ? " 
 
 " They separate the sexes," I say, looking 
 fondly at Jack who is whittling away at a 
 pencil in utter ignorance of my affectionate 
 glance, " and I should never like that.'' 
 
 " What's the matter with Amberley ? " he 
 asks, looking up. " Has she got spasms ? " 
 
 " Bihous," I say, nodding. " She calls it 
 sick headache, but I know better. She 
 won't be able to get up till to-morrow, 
 therefore can't harass our akeady too highly 
 cultivated brains with Paley and Pinnock. 
 I wonder why Sunday is called a day of 
 rest ? It is not to us" 
 
 " I wish the hohdays would come," says
 
 6 comin' thro' the m-E. 
 
 Milly, sighing. ''Why should we have 
 them in July instead of June ? It can't 
 make any diiference." 
 
 "Ambeiiey is not going away for her 
 holidays," says Ahce ; " her brother, who is 
 sixty, has got the measles. Did I tell you 
 about her boots yesterday ? " 
 
 "No; what was it ? " 
 
 " You know we walked into Silverbridge ? 
 Well, she went into Summer's to buy a pair 
 of boots, and she managed to squeeze her 
 feet into a pair much too small for her, then 
 said to the old man who was standing by 
 with his month screwed up on one side, 
 ' I think these ^ill do, though they uxslj 
 hurt me a little at first.' ' Lor, miss,' said 
 old Summers, ' that don't siggerfy, that 
 ain't of no account, but I liuoics they'll 
 bust ! ' " 
 
 " And after that delicate warning did she 
 take them ? " asks Jack. 
 
 "She did!" 
 
 "Let us hope then," saj^s Milly, "that 
 she will not wear them in one of our breath- 
 less scampers behind the governor, or she 
 will come back without them ! "
 
 SEED TIME. Y 
 
 ^'I liave done my exercise," says Dolly, 
 speaking for the first time, '' and so has 
 Alan." 
 
 '^Of com^se you have," says Jack; ''did 
 either of yon ever do anything without the 
 other? You eat, drink, weep, wipe up the 
 blots from your coj^y-books with your noses, 
 and, I believe, snore simultaneously ! " 
 
 '' I wonder how soon the bells will strike 
 up," I say, walking to the window and look- 
 ing out into the broad, peaceful fairness of 
 the Sabbath morning. There is no sound of 
 work or voices abroad, the court is very still 
 save for the voice of a thrush in the yew tree 
 yonder, who sings as gaily and loudly as 
 though it were not Sunday at all, but com- 
 mon, homely week-day. The shrill bark of 
 the grasshoppers sounds quite plainly from 
 the lawn, the flowers are ruffled gently by the 
 soft light wind ; they have not changed their 
 lovely garments or put on a different colom* 
 because it is Sunday, happier in this than 
 we mortals who make it a point of honour 
 to smarten ourselves up for the Lord's day, 
 and yet never emulate those dainty blossoms 
 in their dehcate, heaven-dyed tints. The
 
 8 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 cocks and hens pace gravely by, diiiy and 
 disreputable as on any other day, and I 
 look at them with attention, wondering 
 whether either of them has laid an egg, a 
 practice in very great disfavour among the 
 tribe, and am inclined to think, from the 
 sidelong strut and complacency of a youth- 
 ful matron of the Brahma species, that she 
 has done her duty in that state of life to 
 which it has pleased Providence to call her. 
 
 " I shall kill that pair of black Hambui-ghs 
 to-morrow," says Jack, nodding towards two 
 straggling wretches (Why are all his fowls 
 so lean?), who are scratching in blessed 
 unconsciousness of the Nemesis of im- 
 pecuniosity that walks behind them. *^ I 
 want three shillings, and I don't know any 
 other way of getting it." 
 
 *^ Mamma won't buy any more of you," 
 I say with conviction, ^'the last were so 
 stringy and thin that she said she dared 
 not, the governor would call on the poultry 
 woman, and it would all come out." 
 
 ^^f he only knew," says Milly, ^^that 
 after feeding their bodies in life he had to 
 pay for their carcases in death, how com-
 
 SEED TIME. 9 
 
 forting it would be to liis feelings ! and 
 every morning, regularly, he says their 
 heads shall be cut off before night." 
 
 ^' And they deserve it," says Jack with 
 unusual viciousness, ^'for of all the ill- 
 behaved brutes I ever came across, they 
 are the worst. They never lay eggs, or 
 grow fat, or do any of the things all other 
 well-regulated fowls are supposed to do." 
 
 ^'Mr. and Mrs. Skipworth are coming to 
 dinner," says Alice, '^to theu' quarterly 
 festival, you know, and, thank goodness, we 
 shall not be expected to talJc. I wonder," 
 she adds with the gay laugh that never 
 degenerates into a bellow like Jack's, or a 
 cackle like mine, '^whether she will wear 
 her pm-ple satin gown ? ' ' 
 
 ^*I hope so," says Jack, unkindly; *^for 
 sooner or later I am certain that she will 
 blow up in it, as Betsy Binn did, and sit 
 calm and smiHng in the midst of the purple 
 ruins. Why should not the event take place 
 to-day, indeed? " 
 
 Ding-dong ! ding-dong ! goes a squeaky 
 little bell hard by, it is the voice of Silver- 
 bridge church, summoning its flock to
 
 10 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 worship. We are so near the churchyard 
 that from our windows we can throw a 
 pebble at the raihngs that close in the 
 vault of our ancestors, by whose side we 
 must all lie some day (if there is room), 
 every one. There are so many of us 
 though, that some will have to lie in state 
 and some simply, as poor folks do ; those 
 who go first will have the best place, those 
 who go last the lower one. We do not 
 pause to put away our books, but set off 
 down the long passage and up the stairs and 
 down more steps and up others, for the 
 Manor House is built with the especial 
 purpose of breaking the necks, legs, and 
 arms of the inhabitants thereof, and though 
 we from long acquaintance escape scot free, 
 so do not stranger servants, who usually 
 pitch head foremost down one or other of 
 the many pitfalls, and come hea\'ily to grief. 
 Our bed-rooms are low and wide, opening 
 one out of the other inconveniently enough, 
 and they have latticed casements, through 
 which the queen of flowers herself nods 
 gaily in, reflecting herself in myriad shapes 
 of crimson, yellow, white, and pink. Out
 
 SEED TIME. 11 
 
 of her beautiful breast di'op those ugly 
 parasites the earwigs, and make them- 
 selves very much at home among our hair- 
 brushes and the simple appointments of our 
 dressing tables. As yet these latter are 
 primitive enough, they hold a glass of 
 flowers, a pincushion, a few trinket-cases, 
 a ribbon or two, and that is all. We have 
 no powder, or cosmetics, or apphances 
 for painting the lily, but look in oiu' glasses 
 and see om- faces, pretty or ugly, just as 
 God made them. Ahce's mirror gives back 
 a dainty picture enough as she stands before 
 it, tying the brown strings of her quakerish 
 brown bonnet that is just the colom* of the 
 soft love-locks that lie rich and smooth 
 beneath. I wish that you could see her 
 as she is at this moment, with the fi'esh- 
 ness of a wild rose in her exquisite 
 cheeks, with the bloom of perfect health in 
 her blue eyes, with the lovely severity of a 
 sculptured Yenus in the low white brow, and 
 curved lips, and perfectly modelled cleft 
 chin, and slender neck. We are very proud 
 of our sixteen-year-old sister, our eldest and 
 our only beauty ; we are not a bad-looking
 
 12 comin' theo' the eye. 
 
 family, people say, but none of us come 
 within a mile of Alice. Milly is handsome, 
 after a sturdy, square, determined fashion, 
 with a fine pair of dark blue eyes, black 
 lashed, and a shock of Hghtish hair that 
 sets straight out from her head in every 
 direction. Now, if there is one thing for 
 which we owe gratitude to the governor, it 
 is for providing the family with such real, 
 good, blue eyes. Beckoning his own and 
 mother's we number just twelve pah'S among 
 us ; and by blue I do not mean that mixture 
 of slate and gi'ey, or green, so commonly 
 misnamed blue, but a colour as pure and 
 vivid as the tint of a flower, from the clear 
 saucy blue of the forget-me-not to the deep 
 purple that lurks in the heart of the violet. 
 We are eleven boys and girls altogether, 
 and I have said that we number twelve 
 paKS of eyes of one colour, so it is plain 
 there must be one exception to the general 
 rule, and that is me. My eyes were gi'een 
 fi'om the day of my birth, and will be green 
 to the hour of my death ; mamma calls them 
 grey, but where one's pei'sonal aj^pearance 
 is concerned it is always safer to beheve 
 one's enemies than one's friends.
 
 SEED TIME. 13 
 
 " The governor is brushing his hat ! " 
 exclaims Jack, bursting in upon us spick 
 and span in his correctly fitting gloves and 
 boxer, and we follow him precipitately. 
 In the hall are assembled mamma, Dolly, 
 Alan, and such of the young ones as are 
 old enough to go to church, and the 
 governor. He has finished brushing his 
 hat and put it on his head, but as he is 
 rummaging in a drawer for his gloves he 
 does not notice our late arrival. And now 
 he sets out, mamma by his side, the pro- 
 cession is formed, and we all tail two and 
 two behind them. Across the lawn, through 
 the wicket-gate, in at God's Acre, past our 
 ancestors Geoffry and Joan, who lie in 
 duplicate marble effigy above ground, 
 bleached bones below, flat on their backs, 
 with their toes turned stiffly up, and their 
 prim hands folded palm to palm. If the 
 effigies are good Hkenesses, I should say 
 that Geoffry must have been an obstinate, 
 uncomfortable sort of old fellow, while 
 Joan was pleasant to live with and very 
 much under her lord's thumb. An im- 
 pertinent rose-bush planted by Geoffry' s
 
 14 comin' thro the rye. 
 
 side is holding its sweet red blossom to 
 his marble nose, and from it he seems to 
 be turning away disdainfully, just as, maybe, 
 he did in life from all fair and pleasant 
 things. Under the porch, along the cool 
 dark aisle we go, and file into the long 
 pew that seems expressly made for a man 
 with many childi'en. Mamma sits at the 
 top, papa at the bottom ; and the great 
 object of our Sunday morning existences 
 is to get as far away from him and as 
 near to her as we possibly can, hence 
 various silent and rapid manoeuvres behind 
 his back that is as well for us that he 
 does not suspect. To-day I am the hapless 
 left-behind, and take my seat with a wrath- 
 ful heart and a sickly smile that seeks to 
 convey to my brethren the fact, that I do 
 not mind my situation at all, indeed rather 
 like it than otherwise ; there is, however, 
 a covert grin on the row of triumphant 
 faces to my right, that plainly informs me 
 my little hypocrisies will not go down in 
 that quarter. We all look upon the 
 governor as a kind of bombshell, or volcano, 
 or loaded gun, that may blow up at any
 
 SEED TIME. 15 
 
 moment and will infallibly destroy what- 
 ever is nearest to him, therefore our fears 
 are usually Hvely when ill-luck plants us 
 very close to him. 
 
 As usual we are early, so we sit and 
 watch the old village people come in, prayer- 
 book in hand, with the clean handkerchief 
 folded on the top, and a rose or sprig of 
 wallflower laid between, at which they will 
 sniff between whiles, when they are not 
 listening to an exposition of their sins, or 
 looking to see if the quahty has any new 
 clothes on. The village hind comes in 
 rosy faced and well greased, he has taken 
 his weekly wash, put on his weekly clean 
 boiled rag, and with the bit of roast beef 
 and pudding provided for his dinner lurking 
 in his memory and tickling his nostrils, 
 feels not unamiably disposed towards the 
 wife of his bosom, and has no incHnation 
 to beat her as is his wont on week-days 
 when he has a little spare time. In the 
 gallery opposite sit the Sunday-school 
 giiis and ploughboys, an unruly tribe, 
 impervious to the verbal remonstrances 
 of Prodgers the schoolmaster, of which
 
 16 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 fact he is well aware, and possesses a 
 more substantial claim to their regard 
 in the shape of a stout cane, with which 
 he discourses sweet music on their rustic 
 backs, coming down with an inspiriting 
 whack ! in a pause of the sermon or 
 interval of prayer. 
 
 Last Sunday he made a faux ims, for, 
 being at the back of the gallery, and spying 
 the unmannerly conduct of an obstreperous 
 purple-cheeked lass in the first row, he 
 leant forward to take summary vengeance 
 on the same, but alas ! she was ^' so near, 
 and yet so far," and in striving to reach 
 her he overbalanced himseK, and fell upon 
 a cluster of maidens of tender years, who 
 howled dismally, while the cane succeeded 
 in doing no more than poking the crown 
 of the offender's bonnet in ! We did 
 not smile, and papa could detect no 
 unseemly mu'th on our faces when he 
 glanced sharply up and down our pew, 
 for we have by long practice acquu'ed the 
 art of laughing inwardly, and can be in 
 ecstasies of amusement without moving 
 a muscle of our countenances.
 
 SEED TIME. 17 
 
 At last Mr. SkipTvorth is in his place 
 and tlie service begins. The governor 
 makes his amens as fervently and loudly 
 as the clerk, and we all follow, down to 
 the very smallest child ; in fact, such a 
 wave of hearty sound runs along our 
 ranks as might almost suffice to blow a 
 thin man off his legs if placed dii'ectly 
 before us. And now we have all settled 
 our backs against the hard pew, we have 
 planted our feet firmly on our respective 
 stools, and we have opened oiu' hearts and 
 ears widely for such spnitual comfort as 
 Mr. Skip worth may think fit to administer. 
 Papa turns himself about and, resting his 
 elbow on the edge of the pew, has us all 
 safely under his eye. The sermon begins, 
 and though we fix our attention upon our 
 pastor unwinkingly, we cannot foUow his 
 meaning, or indeed discover that he has 
 any; his words beat upon our ears with a 
 sense of wear}dng, empty babble. Is not a 
 man supposed to select a text for the pur- 
 pose of expounding it ? But Mr. Skipworth 
 does nothing of the sort. He walks up 
 to it, it is tiTie, and looks at us over tlie 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 other side, he ambles round it, makes 
 dashes at it, repeats it over and over again, 
 but never really grasps its meaning and 
 brings it home to us. In his ramblings 
 he mentions Methuselah, and the name 
 catching my wandering thoughts I fall to 
 speculating about that old world-weary man, 
 who must have been so tired of his life 
 before God permitted him to lay it do\sTi. 
 Surely his latter days were ghastly, grey, 
 and lonely, with all his people and the 
 friends of his youth lying in their graves 
 and no new ones to fill their places? 
 At what period of his life, I wonder, may 
 he have been considered to be growing 
 a trifle elderly, and did his father whip 
 him after he was a hundred years old ? 
 What must his tailor's bills have come to, 
 and how many Mrs. Methuselahs and little 
 Methuselahs may there have been ? Papa 
 is not much past forty, and he has eleven 
 children ; if he lived until he were nine 
 hundred and sixty-nine years old, how 
 many might he be reasonahlu supposed to 
 have? That is a sum, and more than my 
 head, unaided by slate or pencil, is good for.
 
 SEED TIME. 19 
 
 I have not half exhausted the subject 
 when Mr. Skipworth blesses and dismisses 
 us, and we are out again, pacing along the 
 narrow path that divides these soft swelhng 
 green mounds that we call graves. 
 
 How I pity you, poor, patient, forgotten, 
 dead folk ! I know that you are not here, 
 that your spirits are transplanted to greater 
 bHss or greater misery than the w^orld ever 
 gave you, but with my human heart I think 
 of your bodies laid away in the earth's 
 breast, not of your deathless freed souls. 
 They have buried you away so deep that 
 not a glimmer of God's sunshine can pierce 
 through to your dark, narrow beds. You 
 are hidden -away so close that the gurgling 
 song of the thrush, or the shrill call of 
 the blackbird, can never reach or thrill 
 you ; though your best beloved were passing 
 by, you could not stii' one hair's breadth 
 fi'om your bondage; though you are cradled 
 in the very heart of the earth, you cannot 
 feel her throbbing pulses, smell her fresh 
 flowers ; her joy, her riches, and her 
 sweetness are not for you — not for you ! 
 I am sorry for you, oh dead! just as some
 
 20 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 day some one \\all, perchance, be sorry for 
 me, and looking down at the - grass that 
 grows over me, heave a sigh and say. Poor 
 soul ! and turn back as I am doing to the 
 breath of God's air, the caress of His south 
 wind, and the thousand thousand treasures 
 that He has so bountifully poured into the 
 hands of the living. 
 
 We pass into the garden, cool wdth the 
 shadow of the dark-leaved beeches, a ram- 
 bling queer old place, with many odd 
 twists and corners infinitely dear to our 
 hearts, for by their aid do we contrive 
 to dodge the governor vnth. surprising 
 success. Away to the left is the kitchen 
 garden, ample, well-stocked, closely guarded, 
 before which we are wont to sit down 
 with watering mouths, and hearts as 
 sighing as ever was that of Petrarch after 
 Laiu'a. This, our paradise, is enclosed 
 by an envious and abhorred wall, too high 
 to climb, too dangerous to jump, over 
 which w^e have all in turn jeopardized our 
 necks and legs and come to cruel grief, 
 as many a bruised shin and dismal lump 
 attest, while the potato bed, which we
 
 SEED TIME. 21 
 
 always select to fall upon under a mistaken 
 impression that it is softer than gooseberry 
 bushes, could tell many a tale of shame 
 and disaster. At the present moment, 
 however, we are indulging in no such 
 monkey tricks, we are walking two and 
 two behind the governor, dutifully listening 
 to his fulminations against Dorley, who has 
 permitted two sticks and a stone to disgrace 
 the velvet smoothness of the lawn. Dorley 
 has been discharged mthout a character, 
 departed from here to the union, from the 
 union to gaol, and fi'om gaol to the gallows, 
 before we reach the house. 
 
 ^^ There will be some fun at dinner 
 to-day," says AHce as we go upstairs, ^^ for 
 Mrs. Skip worth had on her pm-ple gown 
 in church ! "
 
 22 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 " There is no slander in an allowed fool though he do 
 nothing but rail, nor no railing in a discreet man though he 
 do nothing but reprove. " 
 
 We may not be a very uncommon family, 
 I do not say we are ; and we may be a 
 very handsome family (mth one or two 
 exceptions), I do not say we are not ; but 
 I defy our worst enemy to accuse us of 
 being a sociable family. We care for no- 
 body, no, not we, and nobody cares for us ! 
 If we ever had any fiiends, which I strongly 
 doubt, they have betaken themselves to 
 foreign j^arts, or melted like snow, or died of 
 a '^ waste " or — something ; and as we have 
 no relations — uncles, aunts, or cousins — we 
 never see a soul. The truth is, papa 
 quarrels with every man and woman he 
 knows, on principle, and has come to the 
 very end of his acquaintance, being (I
 
 SEED TIME. 23 
 
 think) heartily sorry that there is no one left 
 that he can get a chance of being rude to. 
 
 Once a year, or so, some determinately 
 peaceful neighbour, who is fond of mother, 
 and wishes to know how she fares, drives 
 through our hospitable gates, and in fear 
 and trembling pulls the creaking body of 
 our front-door bell, rusty with disuse as was 
 ever that one belonging to poor, down- 
 trodden, cowardly Mariana, who, in my 
 opinion, was never worthy of the honom' of 
 being sung in verse. The sound of that 
 bell when it does ring strikes as much con- 
 sternation to our souls as the last trump 
 might ; from far and near we gather to see 
 the fun, doors open, heads are popped round 
 corners, the footman rushes hither and 
 thither, seeking to ascertain the whereabouts 
 of ^' master," lest unhappily he usher the 
 daring intruder into that awful presence, 
 and thereby secure his own instant dis- 
 missal. In the distance is seen papa furi- 
 ously dashing his hat upon his head and 
 rushing out of the house by some back door, 
 while the air is pleasingly filled with liis 
 shouts of welcome. (It is needless to say
 
 24 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 that he hates callers even worse than liis 
 friends, and with an intensity that you will 
 find nowhere, save in the hreast of a well- 
 born, well-educated English gentleman, 
 whose house and family are all that could be 
 wished, and who has nothing in the world 
 to be ashamed of.) Meanwhile the cause 
 of the commotion cools her heels upon the 
 door-step, and is at last admitted, much as 
 though she were something dangerous, or 
 had come from a fever hospital, or was 
 suspected of having intentions on the 
 spoons. 
 
 Once in every three months the Skip- 
 worths are invited to dinner, and there 
 our entertainments end, for no other 
 strangers eat of our salt from January to 
 December. How it is papa has not suc- 
 ceeded in quarrelling with the reverend 
 gentleman, I cannot imagine, for goodness 
 knows he has tried hard enough. Mr. Skip- 
 worth, however, is one of those dear affec- 
 tionate souls who find it absolutely impos- 
 sible to quarrel with any one who has it in 
 his power to bestow certain substantial 
 gifts ; and when the governor slaps him on
 
 SEED TIME. 25 
 
 the one cheek he is Christian enough to ojffer 
 to him the other, and what is more, look 
 as if he Hked it. He is talking to mother 
 now ; a stout, sleek, pear-shaped man, whose 
 legs always seem to me to have been 
 swallowed up by his body, as the lesser rods 
 were by Aaron's. He has a smile that would 
 butter the whole neighbourhood ; a smile 
 that Jack and I hate, and would wipe off his 
 face with a duster if we could. Papa is 
 talking to Mrs. Skipworth. How the broad 
 June sun is flooding her purple gown and 
 purpler face ! How hot and kind and uneasy 
 she looks, for her dress is stretched across 
 her tight as a drum ! Poor soul, she squints ; 
 not harmlessly, wonderingly, inoffensively, 
 but diabolically , while one eye appears to 
 be surveying the person she addresses, the 
 other is firmly fixed on some one the other 
 side of the room. Jack and I have worn 
 ourselves out in speculations as to w^hether 
 she can see with both eyes at once, or only 
 one, whether she is literally able to keep 
 her eye on two people at once, or whether 
 she vialics iij) her mind which eye she 
 means to look out of, and drops that one
 
 26 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 and takes up the other at a moment's notice ; 
 in short, shifts the seeing power at will; 
 whether — but our marvellings are not worth 
 the wiiting clown. Plain as she is, there is 
 yet something very unique and interesting 
 about her, — she has no children ! And as 
 she is probably the only parson's wife on 
 record who has not half a dozen, she 
 deserves to be chronicled as an amazing and 
 historical fact. Greatness has its draw- 
 backs, however, and she is not satisfied 
 with her childless home, her husband does 
 not like it either, and I have seen him 
 glance at our overflowing numbers with a 
 scarcely concealed bitter envy that sends 
 a pang, I am sure, to the womanly heart 
 beating so warmly under the gorgeous 
 satin yonder, that would never be on her 
 back if little feet were gathered about 
 her, little voices clamouring for milk 
 and bread and butter. And now we are 
 walking in to dinner, and Jack, taking an 
 unfair advantage of my proximity to him, 
 trips me up in such wise that I take a 
 header into my pastor's ample back, and 
 am only saved from ignominious disgrace b}'
 
 SEED TIME. 27 
 
 the fact that the governor is too far ahead 
 to notice the slight scuffle. 
 
 I wonder why people always feel so much 
 more hungry on Sundays than any other 
 day ? Is it the sermon, or is it because we 
 have kept our mouths shut so long that we 
 have not taken in enough air ? Anyway, 
 we settle to our dinner in earnest, and there 
 is a long satisfied silence. I come to the 
 surface first and glance around me, thinking 
 how very like animals we all look, though 
 we do use knives and forks and dinner- 
 napkins. 
 
 Mrs. Skipworth looks uneasy ; her dress 
 certainly is tighter than it was in the 
 di'awing-room. Surely there will be an 
 explosion soon. There is ! She lays down 
 her knife and fork, gives a mighty sneeze — 
 a loud crack, as of hooks and eyes being 
 violently divorced, is heard, then she settles 
 herself in her chair and looks relieved. It 
 is very strange, but there is no gaping 
 fissure visible in fi^ont, therefore there must 
 surely be one heliind ; yet James, who is at 
 her back, has no speculation in his eye, and 
 he does not offer to fetch a shawl to hide
 
 28 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 her ruins, so it can't be there. It is cer- 
 tainly very mysterious. How delightful it 
 is to sit still and to know that we shall not 
 be called upon to provide conversation ; for 
 of all the hard tasks the governor sets us, 
 that is the hardest. When we were small 
 children we were ordered to be silent, and 
 bade never to open our lips in his presence. 
 We never went to him in any of our childish 
 joys or troubles, he took no interest in us ; 
 and we, who would have loved him if he 
 had let us, came to have no feeling for 
 him save that of fear. Now that we are 
 growing up we are not afraid of him, but 
 the old restraint lies heavy about us, and 
 upon his bidding us to talk, lo ! we find that 
 the fountain is dry, and the harder we pump 
 the less we bring up, and it is the daily 
 puzzle of our lives to find *' something to 
 say," or to hit upon some safe subject 
 concerning which we may furbish up a few 
 remarks. We are not afraid of him ; but, 
 nevertheless, it is a degrading and morti- 
 fying fact that whereas, behind liis back we 
 are bold as lions, before his face we are 
 meek as lambs, while our voices remain
 
 SEED TIME. 29 
 
 obstinately in our boots. If onr lives 
 depended on it we could not give one such 
 "Whoop in his presence as we utter a hundred 
 times a day when he is out of earshot. 
 
 The butler and footman hurry hither and 
 thither, executing impromptu shdes in their 
 flights across country, that move us to 
 admiration ; but woe betide them if, in their 
 slavish haste, they cHnk one plate against 
 another, or fail to appear at papa's elbow, 
 vegetable or sauce laden, the very moment 
 he is ready for a fresh supply ; while, as to 
 the dishes, if, as soon as one disappears 
 another does not instantly take its place, 
 his face becomes such a study of scorn 
 and disgust as any living actor might seek 
 in vain to imitate. We all sit round and 
 watch him with a never-ending amaze- 
 ment not unmingled with admiration, and 
 wonder how on earth he does it. His face 
 geems to be made of india-rubber, and takes 
 every inflection and shade of ill-temper and 
 un charitableness. I believe if we watched 
 him till doomsday we should see some fi'esh 
 contortion every day. He does not confine 
 himself to loolcs though — he acts. A dish-
 
 30 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 cover in his hand becomes a shuttlecock 
 that the battledore of his wrath may send 
 into the grate, or out of the window, or 
 after James's rapidly vanishing calves; it is 
 impossible to tell where, we can only watch 
 his eye and speculate as to the probable 
 direction it will take. 
 
 To-day, however, there are no such com- 
 pliments flying ; and, if Mr. Skipworth does 
 now and then intercept a diaboHcal look 
 intended for Simpkins, what then ? He is 
 used to the governor's Kttle ways. And now 
 dessert is on the table, and papa is telling 
 the reverend gentleman (who occasionally 
 hunts on a cob as fat as himself) a pleasing 
 little anecdote about a parson who came to 
 
 grief last winter in shire. Taking an 
 
 awkward jump, he rolled off his horse into 
 a pond, fi'om whence he piteously besought 
 a passing squire to extricate him. '* No, 
 no ! " cried the squire, dashing his rowels 
 into his horse's sides, "lie where you are ! 
 You won't be wanted till next Sunday ! " 
 
 Mr. Skipworth, who, in his travels across 
 country, has explored every pond, ditch, and 
 brook for ten miles round, utters a feeble
 
 SEED TIME. 31 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " at which the governor, who 
 is one of the pluckiest and hardest riders in 
 the county, chuckles unkindly. Blessed 
 hunting, that in winter takes him from the 
 bosom of his family twice a week ; and oh ! 
 long-tarrying first of September, when will 
 you come and set his feet among the 
 stubble? We are eating strawberries, which, 
 to my fancy, always smell and look so much 
 more delicious than they taste. A jerk of 
 papa's thumb presently dismisses us with 
 our mouths half filled, and we walk deco- 
 rously past his chair, but once outside the 
 shut door, scamper away like the wind to 
 vent the spirits that have been so tightly 
 bottled up for the last two hours. We all 
 go our different ways — Alice and Milly to 
 stroll about the garden, Dolly and Alan to 
 some mysterious haunt knoA^^l only to them- 
 selves. Jack and I to our birds and beasts. 
 They are a rascally lot, consisting of the 
 lame, the halt, and the blind, and in any 
 eyes but ours would not be worth a pinch of 
 snuff. We have a dog without a tail, a 
 canary without an eye, a raven without a 
 leg, a crippled rabbit, and various other
 
 32 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 poor wretches who have been compelled by 
 the force of circumstances to part with one 
 or another of their natural appendages. 
 
 Papa is safe for another two houi's. He and 
 Skippy will tell tales one against the other 
 that would beat Munchausen into fits and 
 make him green with envy ; so we let out 
 the rabbits, the parrot, and the raven, and 
 they follow behind as we take our way 
 through the garden and paddock into the 
 orchard. 
 
 ^' Don't you feel rather patriarchal. 
 Jack?" I asked, looking over my shoulder 
 to see that the rabbits are not nibbhng at 
 the raven, '' like Noah ? " 
 
 ^'No, I can't say I do," says Jack. ''How 
 he would grin if he could heai' you com- 
 paring our measly little menagerie to his. 
 Why, he had thousands of 'em ! " 
 
 " So he had, I say, considering ; and 
 how they all managed in the ark I can't 
 imagine. They went in two and two, but 
 of course they all had families ; and, if 
 there was only just room at first, they must 
 have found it a tight fit after a bit." 
 
 ''Very," says Jack absently. ''I say.
 
 SEED TIME. 33 
 
 Nell, will you get up early to-morrow morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 ^' I don't know," I answer doubtfully. 
 *' You don't want me to go fishing, do 
 you ? " On such occasions I enjoy the 
 proud distinction of fixing wrigghng worms 
 on the hooks, while he has all the honour 
 and glory of the undertaking, and eats the 
 fish afterwards. 
 
 " No, you little silly, I'm not ! It's some- 
 thing much better. Can you keep a secret ? " 
 (holding my arm tight). 
 
 '*0f course I can!" I say indignantly; 
 and extraordinary as such an assertion may 
 appear from a female, I can. 
 
 " Well," says Jack deliberately, '' if 
 you're not nervous, you know, or squeamish, 
 like other girls, I'U take you with me ; but 
 you must not caU out or scream, or any- 
 thing of that kind, or we shall be caught, 
 and there will be a shine in the tents of 
 Shem." 
 
 ''I won't scream," I said eagerly; ^' and 
 you know I am not a bit like a real girl. 
 You always say I am more than half a 
 boy." 
 
 YOL. I. D
 
 34 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 '^'m going," says Jack, eyeing me closely, 
 *' to see a pig killed." 
 
 ^' A pig ? — oh, Jack ! — you don't mean it! 
 They squeak so dreadfully! I'm sure it 
 must hurt them very much ! " 
 
 ^' Nonsense ! " says Jack philosophically. 
 ^^ They are noisy brutes, and always make a 
 fearful row over everything; besides, it's a 
 very good thing they do squeak ; for, if you 
 happened to be frightened and called out, 
 you know — for you are only a giii — the men 
 would think it was the pig, not you." 
 
 '' Oh ! " I say dubiously, for the idea that 
 my voice cannot be mistaken fi'om that of 
 an expiring pig has not before occm'red to 
 me. 
 
 ** The fact is, Nell," says Jack, glancing 
 sharply at my face, ^' you're afraid, and I 
 didn't think it of you — no, I didn't. How- 
 ever, I'll let you have till to-morrow to 
 think it over ; and if, when I throw a hand- 
 ful of gravel up at your window at five 
 o'clock, you are not dressed and ready, I 
 shall know you are a coward." 
 
 " No you won't, I say," rebelHng against 
 this injustice, '' if I don't go it won't be
 
 SEED TIME. 35 
 
 because I am afraid, but because I don't 
 want to see the — the — mess." 
 
 '* Make up your mind one way or the 
 other," says Jack carelessly; ^'if you don't 
 come, I shan't say anything to you about 
 it, but I shall know." 
 
 We fall into a silence, and sit down 
 under a tree, and the parrot who has been 
 gravely walking behind with the rest of the 
 riffraff, hops on to Jack's shoulder and 
 swears fluently. His name is Paul Pry, and 
 he is a sharp and ungodly bird, who has 
 picked up many wicked sayings but never 
 a good one. Jack brought him from school, 
 and we are obliged to keep him dark for 
 fear the governor should overhear his talk, 
 and make his head pay the penalty of his 
 manners. He gets very drunk when he has 
 a chance, and reels about in his cage like 
 a very disreputable, tipsy old man, muttering 
 ^' Polly very drunk," in a boozy voice. He 
 is smart, but he never said anything half 
 as clever as that parrot of which Jack told 
 me, who attended a show of his brethren, 
 held for the purpose of giving a prize to 
 the owner of the cleverest bird present.
 
 36 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 He arrived last of all, looked round at the 
 collection of feathered bipeds, cocked his 
 eye at the company, and ejaculated, '^ Wliat 
 a d — d lot of parrots ! " Alas ! for morality, 
 he won the prize, or so says Jack. 
 
 Under the trees it is very cool, very quiet. 
 The sunbeams flicker faintly through the 
 screen of green leaves and unripe fruit over- 
 head; the gnats whirl giddily rouijd and 
 round, spending their one summer's day in 
 ceaseless revolutions ; the birds are singing 
 their blithe clear song, and though they 
 sing all at once and each in a different key, 
 there is not one note of discord in the 
 whole concert. The sky is one stretch of 
 deep intense blue, flecked with clouds that 
 show white as snow against its vivid colour ; 
 a rustling, creeping Httle breeze, warm vdth. 
 the breath of new-mown hay and dog roses, 
 is stealing about us, fi'olicking softly with our 
 hair and lips; and as I lie flat on the grass 
 that makes so yielding and luxurious a couch 
 for our young bodies, I am lulled into an 
 exquisite dreamy sensation of delight at the 
 mere fact of existing on this bountiful, rich- 
 hued, glorious June day. The parrot ceases
 
 SEED TIME. 37 
 
 to make naughty remarks, he puts his head 
 on one side and appears to be thinking ; 
 perhaps he is remembering the days of his 
 youth, perhaps he too enjoys the perfect 
 day and hour, who can tell ? The rabbits 
 wander about, the raven stands motionless 
 on the one slender leg that must ache so 
 often ; Jiack is silent, but for some prosaic 
 reason I am certain, not because his soul is 
 filled with pleasure. 
 
 " Nell," he says presently, while I am 
 wondering why the clouds fall into grotesque 
 likenesses of earthly things, not heavenly — 
 human faces, castles, cities, hills — " I'm 
 going to the top of Inky field, will you 
 come ? " 
 
 Never yet did I disobey Jack's behest, 
 so I sit up, but very unwillingly. '' The 
 governor will see us," I say suggestively; 
 *' Inky field is right before the dining-room 
 windows, you know." 
 
 But Jack takes no heed to my caution, 
 so we return to the garden by the way that 
 we came, and inveigle all our animals into 
 their abodes, save our crippled rabbit, who 
 escapes to a verbena bed and there disports
 
 38 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 himself. A rabbit is an aggravating beast to 
 catch ; he has a way of remaining perfectly 
 still till one's hand almost touches him, and 
 then starting suddenly off in a jiggetty-jog 
 fashion highly impertinent, while the pur- 
 suer measures his length upon the sward, 
 angry and empty-handed. At last, however, 
 he is caught, and Jack carries him away, 
 while I sit down on an adjacent seat, and 
 fan myself with the top of my double skirt, 
 which I use as duster, fan, or for ornament 
 indiscriminately. Mother and Mrs. Skip- 
 worth have just gone in, but every one else 
 is walking about in a leisurely way ; AHce 
 and Milly under the south wall, Dolly and 
 Alan sitting close together in the sun Hke 
 two plump little partridges, dogs straying 
 about, and fry dimly visible in the distance, 
 everything in short looks peaceful and 
 comfortable, when from the verandah issue 
 two black figures, can it be ? — Yes, it is 
 Skippy and the governor I Is the vrme corked, 
 or have their stories run diy? I am too close 
 to them to escape ; not so, however, the 
 rest, who vanish round corners, behind trees, 
 over palings, anywhere, and the garden, that
 
 SEED TIME. 39 
 
 a moment ago was full, is now empty. 
 Papa's approach may usually be known by 
 the flight of everybody else in an opposite 
 direction ; and I think he has a vague 
 suspicion of the fact, for he looks about him 
 sharply, as he approaches. Jack, lucky 
 fellow, has hidden himself in the rabbit 
 hutch, and from a well-known loophole, I 
 see his eye fixed upon me with a mixture 
 of pity and self-gratulation. I have pulled 
 my hat straight, set my feet in the first 
 position, and am doing my utmost to look 
 modest, sabbatical, and cool. The last is 
 the most difficult of all, and papa stops 
 short and surveys me with the admiration 
 that any new or particularly starthng phase 
 of my ugliness always evokes from him. 
 
 ^* What a 77iaivJc!'' he says contemptu- 
 ously, ^^ can't you keep your mouth shut ? " 
 
 I close it with a snap and a rebellious 
 glance that he is about to call me to account 
 for, when an unwary fry, venturing into the 
 open, attracts his attention, and away he 
 goes like a shot; horribly active is he, as 
 any one can aver to whom he has given 
 chase. I heave a deep sigh of relief, and
 
 40 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 tm-n away to make good my escape, when 
 Mr. Skipworth lays a fat and detaining 
 hand on my arm, and in an unctuous voice 
 bids me sit down. He has got me into the 
 the seat, and wedged me in with his over- 
 flowing body before I got my breath back 
 and recognise the fact that I am in for a 
 sermon, and that he will presently come 
 back and finish me off. I cast a despairing 
 glance at Jack, who is close prisoner as well 
 as I, but oh ! the rabbits won't stand upon 
 their hind legs and preach him a sermon. 
 
 "My dear," says Mr. Skipworth, closing 
 his eyes slightly, whether overcome by the 
 sun or Madeira it would be hard to say, 
 (how I hate being *'my deared"), " did you 
 hear the sermon to-day? " 
 
 ^^ Yes, sir." 
 
 ''And what did I say?" 
 
 '' Something or other about Methuselah." 
 
 ''No. I spoke of grace, the effects of 
 grace. Without grace," he continues, fold- 
 ing his fat hands, and simmering gently in 
 the hot sunshine like a seal, we are lost, 
 vile, miserable creatures, lower than the 
 beasts of the field."
 
 SEED TIME. 41 
 
 ^'You and I may be," I say stoutly, 
 '^ but mother isn't, slie is much more like 
 an angel." 
 
 ^' You are a wicked girl," he says, turning 
 slowly and surveying me, ^^you are also 
 ignorant. Do you not know that all man- 
 kind is born in sin, and that even a new- 
 born babe is tainted mth evil? It would 
 appear that the infant is aware of that 
 fact, for what is the first thing it does on 
 coming into the world ? " 
 
 *^ It howls," I say briefly. 
 
 *^ It weeps," says Mr. Skipworth rebuk- 
 ingly, *' and why does it weep ? " 
 
 " Because it's hungry," I say promptly. 
 
 *^It does nothing of the sort," he says 
 irately, ^'it weeps because it hnoivs it is 
 horn in sin.'' 
 
 ^' Oh, poor Kttle soul," I say, laughing 
 immoderately, I — I — beg your pardon, Mr. 
 Ski^Dworth, but — but it's such a ridiculous 
 idea, as if it knew anything.''' 
 
 '' Your levity is exceedingly unbecoming, 
 miss," says my pastor, in a voice that 
 reminds me of vinegar tasting through oil. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I do really," I say
 
 42 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 again, stifling my mirth as well as I can, 
 *' but when you were a baby — I suppose you 
 were a baby once, Mr. Skipworth ? " 
 
 ^* I suppose so," he says stiffly. 
 
 ^' Did you never ciy ? " 
 
 ** I have always been told," he says pom- 
 pously, *' that I was an unusually reason- 
 able infant, and that my voice was seldom 
 heard." 
 
 " Then you could not have been born in 
 sin," I say triumj)hantly, "for you said 
 just now babies cried because they were 
 sinful, and of course if they don't cry they 
 can't be sinful; don't you see, sir? " 
 
 But Mr. Skipworth does not see ; my 
 impudence has at last had the desired effect 
 of making him tm-n his back upon me, and 
 as he stiffly rises I make my escape, barely 
 in time though, for I am scarcely hidden 
 w^hen the governor appears round the corner, 
 looking red and heated, and as though the 
 fry had led him a chase for which there will 
 be a heavy reckoning to pay by-and-by.
 
 SEED TIME. 43 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " The morn in russet mantle clad 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill." 
 
 It is five o'clock in the morning. Through 
 my open window come the pure notes- of 
 the lark's first song, the cloth-of-gold roses 
 nod their creamy heads in at me, heavy 
 with dew-drops, and whisper, '' Come out ! 
 come out ! " Yes, hut surely they don't 
 mean to say, " Gome out and see a pig 
 Tcilled.'" My mind has somehow or other 
 made itself up, and though I every moment 
 expect to hear Jack's footfall helow, I am 
 attired in a nightgown, no more. Who 
 that has tasted the first spotless freshness 
 of the early morning could go hack to dull, 
 senseless sleep in that white bed, yonder? 
 When Jack is gone I will di'ess and go out 
 into the lanes and fields, and get a bunch of
 
 44 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 fresh mid flowers. I will there is 
 
 Jack. I moimt the window and present 
 my white-robed form to his astonished and 
 disgusted gaze. 
 
 *^ So you're not coming ? " he asks in an 
 indignant whisper, heedful of Amberley, 
 whose room is below mine, but reassui'ed 
 by the rhythmic regularity of her snores. 
 
 '' So you're a " 
 
 "Don't be angry," I say, imploringly, 
 "I'm not a coward, and I'll do anything 
 else you like, but I can't do that." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say," he says, scornfully, " I 
 dare say 1 Well, I'm going, but before I 
 go I may as well tell you that I'm dis- 
 appointed in you. I thought, mind you, 
 NeU, I thought you were plucky enough to 
 be a boy ; but I was mistaken, you're only 
 a girl." 
 
 "I know I am," I say, almost in tears, 
 " that's just why I can't go and see it, boys 
 feel differently about those things ! " 
 
 "I should hope so," says Jack, sig- 
 nificantly, " I should hope so," and tm-ns 
 on his heel and goes his way, pigsty- wards, 
 leaving me to the miserable conviction that
 
 SEED TIME. 45 
 
 he is perfectly riglit, and I am a very small 
 aud cowardly person indeed. 
 
 By-and-by I pluck up sufficient spirit 
 to put on the despised female garments that 
 I hate so thoroughly. How cumbrous, and 
 useless, and ridiculous they are ! how my 
 gowns, petticoats, crinohnes, ribbons, ties, 
 cloaks, hats, bonnets, gloves, tapes, hooks, 
 eyes, buttons, and the hundred and one 
 et ceteras that make up a girl's costume, 
 chafe and m'itate me ! what would I not 
 give to be able to leave them all in a heap, 
 and step into Jack's cool, comfortable, easy, 
 grey garments ? When I am dressed I go 
 through AHce and Milly's room on ti^^-toe. 
 A sunbeam is lying on AKce's nut-brown 
 head ; a blackbird is singing on the window- 
 sill, but she sleeps soundly on. Out in the 
 garden the grass is all silvered over ^^ith 
 dew, and the flowers are opening theii' 
 beautiful eyes one by one ; all night they 
 have stood pale and still, but now, with 
 the first quivering beams of the sun, they 
 have awakened, and stirred, and trembled, 
 turning eagerly towards their king, who is 
 rising in such pomp of amber glory out
 
 46 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 of the great eastern plains of translucent 
 sea-green sky. As yet there is that faint, 
 chilly freshness in the morning air that is 
 like some strange, intangible, wind-blown 
 perfume, as though the breath of the moon- 
 lit night had tarried behind and was 
 merging itself into the dawning warmth of 
 the morning. 
 
 There is a nameless stir and throb of 
 expectancy in the air, as though all nature 
 were awaiting the advent of her master ; 
 field and meadow, flower and garden, 
 stretching out towards his golden splen- 
 dour and svdft vivifying beams. 
 
 When I have fed the animals, — who are 
 as wide-aw^ake as though they had the work 
 of the world to perform, instead of nothing 
 to fill the long hours but sleej^ing and 
 eating, while, strange contradiction ! the 
 human beings who have their lives to carve 
 out, their names to make, and their souls 
 to save, sleep soundly and long, awakened, 
 not by the sun or the birds, or because 
 they have had rest enough, but because (oh, 
 prosaic reason!) they are called, — I take 
 my way across the dew-spangled meadows,
 
 SEED TIME. 47 
 
 where the cows are being milked, and 
 John the milkman and Molly the dairy- 
 maid are sitting on contiguous stools, and 
 flirting at the top of their voices, loudly 
 confiding to each other those gentle secrets 
 that are usually supposed to be of a some- 
 what private character. There is nobody to 
 Hsten though, save the brook, the bhds, 
 and me ; and as I am behind them they are 
 not put out of countenance by discovering 
 that I have been an involuntary listener to 
 their love talk. After all, I dare say, flota- 
 tion at five o'clock in the morning is as 
 agreeable and amusing as at any other 
 time, and a great deal more sweet and 
 wholesome than in the evening. I do not 
 get much of a nosegay, for June, bountiful 
 month as she is, gives not half the wild 
 flowers that follow spring's footsteps and 
 gem her mantle so preciously ; I only find 
 some dog roses, travellers' joy, a few ragged 
 robins, a handful of moon daisies, some 
 meadow-sweet, and honeysuckle. 
 
 Turning into the orchard, I run against 
 Jack coming from the opposite direction ; 
 he withdraws himself with dignity, but does
 
 48 comix' thro' the rye. 
 
 not look very angiy, so I proceed to try and 
 make my peace after a sneaking feminine 
 fashion. 
 
 '*Was it very nice?" I ask in a pro- 
 pitiatory tone. 
 
 ''First-rate; wouldn't have missed it for 
 anything." 
 
 '' Did it squeak much ? " 
 
 "Awfully; didn't you hear him? There 
 will be some prime bacon though, and I 
 shall take a ham back to school." 
 
 Bacon ! ham ! Three hoiu's ago it 
 was a breathing, enjoying, reasonable pig, 
 now 
 
 ''It is Pimpernel Fair to-morrow," I say, 
 suggestively, hoping by a change of subject 
 to divert Jack's thoughts fi'om my delin- 
 quencies, upon which I am cei-tain they are 
 running. 
 
 " I know ; but it's no good, the governor 
 won't let us go." 
 
 " Mother is going to ask him ; let us pray 
 that the answer may be favourable." 
 
 Eight o'clock strikes as we turn in at the 
 back door, and at the sound we both start 
 as if we had been shot. To di'ag off our
 
 SEED TIME. 49 
 
 hats, and make a rush for the breakfast- 
 parlour, is the work of a moment ; and by 
 the skin of our teeth are we saved, for by 
 great good luck the governor this morning 
 enters the room at ten seconds past the 
 hour, instead of on the stroke, as is his 
 wont. 
 
 Now there are laws and laws in our 
 house, to break either of which is a very 
 serious matter, but to be late for prayers is 
 crime. To fall sick, tear our clothes, tell 
 lies, steal fruit, and roll in the flower-beds, 
 is bad, and will be punished accordingly, 
 but to be late for prayers ! — far better were 
 it for that luckless wight that he or she 
 had never been born. I wonder if, when I 
 am quite old, I shall ever be able to forget 
 that awful sickening moment, when, having 
 torn down the stairs at headlong speed, I 
 found the door shut, and heard papa's voice 
 booming away with angry fervour inside ? 
 
 Our family devotions are conducted in a 
 curious fashion, but one that is eminently 
 satisfactory to our 3^outhfal and irreligious 
 minds. The governor goes through chapter, 
 prayer, and benediction as hard as he can 
 
 VOL. 1. E
 
 50 comin' thko' the rye. 
 
 pelt, without a moment's pause, from be- 
 ginning to end, and when the chapter is 
 ended, and we have rapidly reversed our- 
 selves, we are scarcely settled on our knees 
 when the book, closing with a smack on 
 Amen ! shoots us all up into the perpen- 
 dicular again. Every now and then the 
 morning scamper is agreeably diversified by 
 the unseemly conduct of the canaries, who, 
 when papa begins to read, begin to sing, and 
 the louder he reads, the more shrilly they 
 shriek, until he pauses to say, in a voice 
 of thunder, ^' Take those wretched birds 
 down ! " then settles to his stride again 
 with a furious countenance, while the 
 culprits, from an abased position on the 
 floor, twitter derisively. 
 
 Prayers being over, breakfast is brought, 
 and partaken of much as the Jews partook 
 of the Passover (save that we have seats), in 
 hot haste and the shortest possible time. 
 
 I think papa's digestion has been mur- 
 dered long ago, and ours are on the high 
 road to destruction, but, fast as we eat our 
 meals, we heartily wish we could do it faster 
 and get away.
 
 SEED TIME. 51 
 
 This morning \Ye are cudgelling our brains 
 as usual to find a remark that shall be 
 neither too fresh, nor too stale, nor too 
 familiar, nor too dangerous, for ventilation, 
 and every natural subject that suggests 
 itself to our minds we reject in turn. The 
 governor would not understand it, or he 
 would wonder at our impudence, or — some- 
 thing. We are all nervously anxious to 
 talk ; it is from no obstinacy or contuma- 
 ciousness that we sit tongue-tied, but 
 somehow the stream that flows so over- 
 bountifuUy among ourselves is in his ])Ye- 
 sence reduced to a few scant}' drops. 
 Amberley is pouring out the cofi'ee, limp, 
 and meek, and drab, and fair, with putty- 
 coloured curls, concerning which we have 
 never ceased to admire the seK-restraint 
 that has restrained the governor from 
 pulling them in his frequent rages. 
 
 '' Do you think it is going to rain, papa?" 
 asks Alice, making her small votive offering 
 in a voice that refuses to come boldly forth, 
 but seems to be strangled half-way. The 
 sky is one clear vault of blue, and it has not 
 rained for a week. 
 
 iilUyiHSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 i.lBRARY
 
 52 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 '^ I don't know," says the governor 
 crossly. Apparently he has seen the 
 pumping-up process, and is not grateful for 
 the effort. 
 
 Alice looks over at Milly with a glance 
 that plainly says, " Your turn now; " for it 
 is a point of honour with us that when one 
 makes a remark, each shall follow in turn, 
 and thus divide the labour of conversation. 
 
 '' Dorly killed a lot more snails last 
 night," says Milly, looking at papa; but the 
 snails go the way of the weather, and no 
 notice whatever is vouchsafed to this 
 delicate morceau. 
 
 It is Jack's turn now, but he is stoUdly 
 eating his breakfast, ^ith a mean and 
 reprehensible indifference to his duty ; 
 therefore it devolves upon me. 
 
 " The pig was killed this morning," I 
 say, starting with a tolerably loud voice, 
 and dying gradually into a very little one. 
 " It made such a noise ! " But, alas ! the 
 pig goes the way of the snails and the 
 weather. 
 
 There is an anxious silence, broken only by 
 Amberley's meek voice offering the master
 
 SEED TIME. 53 
 
 of the house more coffee, but upon being 
 told it is filthy stuff she collapses, as do we, 
 and sit counting the moments to our depar- 
 ture. Jack sneezes violently, and we look 
 at him gratefully ; it makes an agreeable 
 Kttle diversion, but he must not do it twice, 
 or he will be ordered out of the room. Papa 
 has finished his bacon and coffee, and we 
 are just tliinking we may venture to rise and 
 make our escape, when his angry voice 
 makes us bound in our seats. 
 
 '' Can't you talk, some of you ? " he asks, 
 eyeing us wrathfully. " There you sit, 
 gobble, gobble, gobble, with never a word 
 among the whole lot, and behind my back 
 you can bawl the house do^m ; a set of 
 wretched dummies ! " And so he dismisses 
 us with a few more expressions of admira- 
 tion and good- will. 
 
 '* I am afraid Pimpernel Fair looks rather 
 bad," says Alice, when we reach the school- 
 room. 
 
 ''After all it is not much of it ! " says 
 Milly. 
 
 No, it is not ; and in our heart of hearts 
 we despise it, with its one cii'cus, its penny
 
 54 comin' thro' tpie rye. 
 
 peep-show, and its fat woman ; but it is 
 better than nothing, and when one has 
 looked upon nothing but the face of one's 
 own family for twelve months, anything is 
 agreeable to the eye, and now that it seems 
 to be receding in the distance, Pimpernel 
 Fair looks very attractive indeed ! 
 
 Amberley comes in — Amberley to whom 
 it is given to labour heavily at the tillage of 
 our brains, and whom w^e look upon as a 
 sedate and amiable old cow, who never kicks 
 up her heels or does anything unexpected, 
 but gives down knowledge in any quajntity 
 or quahty whenever we choose to apply for 
 it. She is a queer creatm'e, Amberley. We 
 used to play her tricks, and try to drive her 
 out, as we did all our other governesses; but 
 she opposed a passive resistance to all our 
 endeavours, that in the end conquered us. 
 We might as well have knocked our heads 
 by the hour against a stone wall. For oh ! 
 she is so meek ! Give us a passionate 
 person, an impulsive person, a person who 
 loudly declares she mil have her own way, 
 but a meek, obstinate woman, no one can 
 stand against her !
 
 SEED TIME. 55 
 
 Lessons begin, and after oui' different 
 fashions we attack the Tree of Knowledge. 
 Alice goes at it gaily, and with a good 
 heart; Milly weeps at its prickly rind; I 
 skirmish round it ; and Dolly and Alan sit 
 down before it with moderate appetite. 
 Happy Jack! who goes by with his dog at 
 his heels ; and, nnliicky me ! who possess the 
 tastes and spirit of a boy and the useless 
 body and petticoats of a girl !
 
 66 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
 And merrily hent the stile-a ; 
 A merry heart goes all the way, 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a." 
 
 We are waiting in the school-room for 
 mother, who has gone with a serene front, 
 but (we believe) trembling knees, to ask her 
 lord and master's gracious consent to our 
 setting out for Pimpernel Fair. She has 
 been absent a quarter of an hour, which we 
 are inclined to think a hopeful sign, as his 
 *^ Noes " are usually short and sharp, and 
 for him to condescend to argue a matter 
 promises well. Here she comes ! We 
 tumble one over the other to the door, 
 and fling it wide. No need to ask her; 
 she has ^^Yes!" written all over her in 
 big capitals. As she sits down we swarm
 
 SEED TIME. 57 
 
 round her until she looks like something 
 good encompassed by a hive of buzzing, 
 noisy bees. 
 
 ^^ You are coming ^dth us, eh, mother ? " 
 I ask eagerly. 
 
 "No, dear, I think not; there is baby, 
 you know." 
 
 " We are not going to have all the fry at 
 our heels, I hope ? " asks Jack, with some 
 anxiety. 
 
 " The tw^o nurses are going with four of 
 them, and Miss Amberley Tsill take you 
 elder ones." 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cries Jack; " if there's any- 
 thing I hate it's going out in dozens. And 
 what time are we to be back ? " 
 
 " Six o'clock. And don't make youi'selves 
 ill with gingerbreads, dears." 
 
 " 111 ! " we all echo in chorus ; ''who could 
 get ill on nothing ? " 
 
 " We have not a rap, mother," I put in 
 on my own account. ''There was a shilling 
 somewhere among us last week, but it was 
 so valuable, and we took so much care of it, 
 that somehow it got lost. One of us hid it 
 away, and forgot where we put it."
 
 58 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 ^^ I will give you a sliilling each," says 
 mother, '' and you must make it do." 
 
 She takes out her purse that is so much 
 too slender for the size of her family; 
 and though we all scorn the scanty shilling 
 that is to fall to our share, we do not say 
 so. Shall we give one additional pang to 
 that tender, gentle heart ? The governor 
 must have his hunting, his shooting, his 
 horses. We must he kept so long without 
 a sight of the Queen's countenance as 
 almost to forget what she is like ; and I am 
 certain that when we are grown up we 
 shall he spendthrifts. "When mother has 
 given us our shillings and kissed us all 
 round, she goes away^ and we also depart 
 to make our toilets, and beautify ourselves 
 according to our scanty means and several 
 lights. Alice puts on a white hat with a 
 long white feather, sole tail of an ostrich 
 that the family possesses, and considered 
 by us Adair s to be the ne jjIus ultra of 
 beauty and fashion. Whatever our other 
 shortcomings may be in the matter of 
 dress, when that feather is in our midst, 
 and Alice's blooming face is under that
 
 SEED TIME. 59 
 
 feather, we feel respectable, and defy any- 
 body to beat us. She also wears a 
 white cloak and a black silk dress, and 
 when it is all put on, where will you in 
 the whole of England find a fairer, sweeter 
 sixteen-year-old, than oui' Ahce ? Milly 
 has put on her out-door gear as uncom- 
 promisingly as usual. Jack appears with 
 a button-hole the size of a small cabbage, 
 that gives him an uncommonly gay and 
 festive air, and I, having tilted my Leghorn 
 hat to the back of my head, for the better 
 observation of men and matters, we de- 
 scend and find Amberley awaiting us in a 
 green bonnet and with a large smut on 
 her nose. We admire the former, but are 
 all much too dehcate to point out the 
 latter to her, so it goes to the fair with 
 the rest. 
 
 Pimpernel is only a mile away, but a 
 noonday mile in June is a long one, and 
 by the time we reach the High Street we 
 are very hot indeed, and very thirsty. It 
 is the second day of the fair, and the fat 
 farmers and their fatter beasts have wad- 
 dled off the scene, while their smart wives
 
 60 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 and daughters have appeared upon it, and 
 are walking about in raiment compared 
 with which Joseph's coat was a mere joke, 
 exchanging jests and cracking jokes Tvith 
 their friends and looking, thanks to the 
 exceeding heat, very sticky and exceed- 
 ingly moist. Behind and about prance 
 their maidservants and hinds ; every Jill 
 who has a Jack hangs fondly to his arm, 
 and while her large crinoHne hangs affec- 
 tionately against his legs, she casts scornful 
 and triumphant glances at the unappro- 
 priated Jill who sidles by, deeply conscious 
 of her forlorn and degraded state. 
 
 Hard by Punch is setting a bright ex- 
 ample to the British householder as to the 
 management of his wife and family, and we 
 pause under the shadow of lawyer Trask's 
 door to see the instructive little di-ama 
 played out, and the ends of justice defeated. 
 
 In the market-place is a queer edifice that 
 looks Hke a gigantic house of cards, and 
 upon the steps thereof, apparently too solid 
 for the shabby structure, stands a man 
 beating a gong that rends the air with its 
 hideous tom-tom ! — that is the cii'cus. To
 
 SEED TIME. 61 
 
 our right a crowd of white-waistcoated, 
 blue-coated, shiny-faced youths are shooting 
 for nuts at a gallery which is presided over 
 by a young person with black eyes and 
 blacker ringlets, a brazen countenance and 
 a nimble tongue. She seems to have as 
 unlimited a supply of chaff as of nuts, and 
 holds her own against all comers. Farther 
 on is the peep-show, beyond that the 
 merry-go-round, upon whose wooden horses 
 the boys and girls are cHnging with such 
 giddy, dehghted grasp, and round the cor- 
 ner the fat woman bursts upon our view, 
 or rather her picture does, which has much 
 the same effect. She wears a low-necked 
 gown and short skirts, displaying a calf of 
 which the circumference is about equal to 
 
 our united waists. Her neck We turn 
 
 away shuddering. 
 
 ^' Now what are we going to see first?" 
 asks Jack. 
 
 What, indeed ! it is an evibarras de 
 richesses. 
 
 *' The circus," says Alice. 
 
 '' The fat woman," says Milly, who has 
 been much struck.
 
 62 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 " The peep-show," says Jack. 
 
 "Anywhere out of the sun," say I; so 
 Jack, being the only male present, gets his 
 own way, and we are speedily lifting the 
 dirty red curtain, and standing on forms 
 arranged in a circle, beholding improving 
 illustrations of battle, murder, and sudden 
 death. 
 
 The first scene represents a field, strewn 
 with dead bodies, whose heads, arms, 
 and legs, are scattered around them in 
 graceful confusion ; a few horses seem to 
 have got into the melee by mistake, and 
 lie on their backs with all four legs turned 
 up piteously to the gory sky, as who should 
 say, '* We kicked to the last ! " 
 
 The beauties of this affecting picture are 
 forcibly pointed out to us by the showman, 
 who describes it as being the scene of a 
 " most 'orrible massacres," as depicted by 
 a " hi witness. ' ' 
 
 We are next treated to an artistic study 
 of murder in low life, the murderer being 
 in hot pursuit of a young female in a 
 night-gown, whose hair sets out straight 
 as porcupine's quills from her head, and
 
 SEED TIME. 63 
 
 within an inch of the itching fingers of her 
 pursuer, while behind him are laid out in 
 an ascending scale the dead bodies of an 
 old man, an old woman, and a child, the 
 same being the victims he has just finished 
 off. 
 
 In the midst of the showman's descrip- 
 tion of this tableau viva7it, his voice 
 suddenly ceases ; turning to ascertain the 
 cause of his silence, we find that he has 
 temporarily retii*ed behind a j)ot of beer, 
 ^^ Not before it was requii'ed," as he 
 remarks w^hen he returns to his duties. It 
 strikes me that before the day is over, 
 his explanations wiU be somewhat hazy 
 and obscure. And we see several more 
 horrors which Amberley regards with ex- 
 treme disfavoui', as being possibly subversive 
 of our morals. 
 
 When his stock of delicacies is exhausted, 
 we adjourn to the pastry-cook's, and eat 
 sandwiches, buns, and tarts with extreme 
 relish, due heedfulness, and the nicest 
 discrimination, for we are hmited as to 
 money, and must get its worth, if we can. 
 
 '* I could eat 'em all!" murmured Jack,
 
 64 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 on our first arrival, gazing fondly at a 
 pyramid of jam tarts before him, but experi- 
 ence soon teaches him that his eye is de- 
 cidedly larger than his stomach, and after 
 a decent tuck-in he is satisfied. Having 
 drunk our lemonade, we betake ourselves 
 across the square to where the circus man 
 is still stiu-dily beating his gong for the 
 one o'clock performance, and mount the 
 rickety steps, and go through the entrance 
 to the red baize-covered seats that circle 
 round the arena strewn with saw-dust. 
 Although we know it all by heart, and just 
 what is coming, what a thrill of excitement 
 runs through us as we glance around us, at 
 the eager faces of the poor follvs and their 
 children seated in the lowest place ; at the 
 dissipated pieces of orange peel that are 
 strewn hither and thither, suggestive rem- 
 nants of the visits of those who could enjoy 
 themselves without striving to be *' genteel ;" 
 at the men with their brazen instruments, 
 that will presently burst forth in a volume 
 of sound more startling than dulcet; at our 
 neighbours and their olive branches, who, 
 like us, possess the upper seats in the syna-
 
 SEED TIME. 65 
 
 gogue, but who do not look at us, oh ! dear 
 no! The governor's sins are visited very 
 fally upon our heads, and though he never 
 goes abroad to encounter either good looks 
 or bad, his sins will be visited on his luck- 
 less children to the third and fourtli gene- 
 ration. 
 
 And now the enteiiainment has begun ; the 
 pretty httle girl in pink is takmg her flying 
 leaps through the hoops, and our hearts beat 
 high with pride and delight as she clears 
 them successfully, but a shiver runs through 
 us as once she jumps short and faUs. What 
 a piteous quiver there is on the poor little 
 painted face as the frowning, black-browed 
 man who cracks the whip, scolds her in a low 
 fierce voice ; how we hate him and would 
 like to make him suffer as he is making her ! 
 The clowns come in and make their jokes ; 
 old as the hills, no doubt, but to us exqui- 
 sitely h'esh, and we greet them with the 
 hearty zest and admiration that no laughter, 
 save that of childliood, ever knows. Pre- 
 sently something very dreadful happens ; 
 the hero of the j)ieco (it is a grand piece, 
 
 with robbers and horses and ladies and a. 
 VOL. r. I.'
 
 OG comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 splendid fight) who has been killed is bein*^- 
 carried out, laid very straight and stiff on 
 the shoulders of four men, with his eyes 
 tightly shut, and the band is playing the 
 Dead March in Saul very slowly and impres- 
 sively, with a pause of several seconds be- 
 tween each note, when the music abniptly 
 ceases, and with a discordant crash, musi- 
 cians, instruments and all, vanish from om* 
 sight, and nothing is to be seen of them 
 save a gi'eat dust that rises from theii* ruins. 
 What has happened? The dead man is 
 lowered to the ground, upon w^hich he sits 
 up and stares. We all gaze with fascinated 
 and dilated eyes at the box fi'om which 
 the men have vanished. Are they killed ? 
 But sounds of wrath, of disgust and vitupera- 
 tion, mingled with a rattHng of bones and 
 brass instruments, speedily reassure us on 
 that point, and before long the missing 
 gentlemen creep out one by one, very red 
 in the face and dusty in the throat, and take 
 up their station on the benches, which may 
 possibly be trusted not to serve them the 
 dirty trick the box has done. Once settled, 
 they take up the burden of their Dead March
 
 SEED TIME. 67 
 
 where they laid it down, the dead man care- 
 fully stretches himself out on his bearers' 
 shoulders, and the piece is brought to a 
 decent conclusion with *^ God save the 
 Queen," to cover all deficiencies. 
 
 The sunshine makes our eyes blink as we 
 emerge into it, and bend our steps towards 
 the fat woman, to whom we must assuredly 
 make our bow. The apartment in w^hich 
 that august lady receives us is out of all 
 proportion to her charms, being in fact but 
 a caravan upon wheels, across the hinder 
 part of which is drawn a musty curtain, 
 that we dimly imagine hides unsavoury 
 sights. As she lifts it and stands before 
 us, I involuntarily draw back and get 
 behind Jack, and Dolly gets behind me ; 
 her ponderous foot shakes the boarding as 
 she approaches, and her Imgh body oscillates 
 from side to side, like a badly filled sack 
 set upright in a cart. It is imj)ossible to help 
 feehng that if she happened to tread on one 
 of us, w^e should be cnished into pulp ; for 
 once report has not lied and her picture has 
 failed to do her charms justice, or represent 
 her as she really is. '* Look at 'er ! " cries the
 
 68 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 showman in a voice of rapture, liitcliing up 
 her aheady short petticoats ^dth his cane, 
 and indicating first one colossal leg, then 
 another : " Look at 'er, ladies and gentlemen t 
 Did ever yer see sich flesh, sich size, sich 
 j[)Toporslmn ?■ And mind yer, it's all real 
 genuz7zc bony-fidy fat ; no make-believes, 
 shams, or saw-dust in this exliibition ! Look 
 'ere ! " and he prods her with his stick in 
 lier overflowing sides, and he i)inches her 
 fat neck and arms as though she were a 
 prize ox or sheep. '' Turn round ! " he says, 
 and she turns slowiy as though on a pivot, 
 and displays a back that is such a mountain 
 of flesh as I have seen nowhere, save on the 
 body of a prize pig. As she faces us again, 
 a fat smilo of pleased complacency dawois on 
 her features at marking our amazement 
 and admiration of her manifold beauties. At 
 her knee, but overlooked in the neighbour- 
 hood of her mountainous presence, stands 
 a tiny dwarf, who nearly dislocates liis neck 
 in peeping up at her. It is plam that he 
 admires her beyond all earthly things, and 
 that she is to him, not only the lode-star of 
 his existence, but the type of everything
 
 SEED TIME. 69 
 
 that is comely and pleasant to tlie eye in 
 woman. Decidedly impressed, we take our 
 departm'e, and repair to seek our fairings in 
 the smartly laid out stalls in the shadow of 
 the old grey market-house. We buy mother 
 a thimble, not that we are aware she is in 
 want of one, but a silver thimble is a nice 
 useful, comfortable sort of thing, that is sure 
 to come in handy if you w\ait long enough, 
 and we have no notion, we Adau's, of spend- 
 ing our infi-equent money in kickshaws, or 
 merely ornamental presents. We some- 
 times give her a purse by way of a change, 
 and when she has had enough of them, we 
 present her with a prayer-book ; so there 
 is a good deal of variety after all. 
 
 We pause for a minute or two to listen 
 to the amazing lies of a cheap Jack, com- 
 pared with whom Ananias was the most 
 veracious man on record ; and I, at least, 
 look with some envy at the merry-go- 
 round, remembering a day many years ago 
 when I escaped from nurse, and surrepti- 
 tiously took a ride on a side-saddled 
 wooden pony that stood beside one ridden 
 by Johnny Stubbs the sweep's son, and
 
 70 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 was enjoying myself with all my heart, 
 when a hea^T- hand made a clutch at my 
 vanishing garments, and nurse's voice said 
 in deepest wrath, '^ I'm ashamed of you,. 
 Miss Nell ! " 
 
 The fun of tlie fair is just beginning 
 as we turn our faces homeward towards 
 Silverbridge. By-and-by it wdll become a 
 frolic, later on grow into a carouse, last of all 
 degenerate into a hurly-burly, where women 
 will be seeking their husbands, and the 
 same will be shaking hands with the to^-n 
 pumps, and attempting to walk home in a 
 circle. Most of the sober folks are leaving 
 hke us, and in the cool lanes, athwart which 
 the sun is laying dark shadows, Lubin 
 is kissing Phillis's ruddy and sticky cheek, 
 blessedly imconscious of our near vicinity. 
 With what honest delight do they gaze 
 on each other's ugly red faces, and how 
 enjoyingly does the smack ! smack ! of 
 their salutes come to our ears ? The lady 
 is not coy, and kisses him full as often as 
 he does her, and almost as loudly. They 
 are beautiful in each other's eyes, and long 
 may their love last !
 
 SEED TIME. 71 
 
 ^^1 wonder," I say to myself, looking at 
 Alice's flower-like face, ^ if any one will ever 
 love her like that ? or — or — me ^ " 
 
 Presently we overtake the fry whom 
 we have once or twice come across in 
 the fair and avoided successfully ; very 
 gummy and warm and dirty and happy 
 they look. If the governor could only 
 see them ! Fortune smiles on us to-day ; 
 we do not meet him in the coin*t or in the 
 hall or on the stairs, so we are able to retire 
 in peace to change our dusty clothes. 
 
 " Thank goodness, there won't be a walk 
 to-night ! " says Alice, sitting down rest- 
 fully in her white petticoat on the broad 
 mndow sill. Thank goodness, indeed ! 
 Walks are the plagues of our lives and the 
 terror of our existence. I do not mean 
 those nondescript leisurely rambles that 
 Jack and I are partial to taking, or the 
 saunters that AHce and Milly affect, I mean 
 a three or four-mile race over hill and dale 
 at the governor's heels, which leaves us 
 with aching, blown bodies, sore hearts, and 
 angry souls. We resort to various cowardly 
 and sneaking devices to get out of these
 
 72 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 excursions, but altogether in vain ; severe 
 stomach-ache even, and a prompt retire- 
 ment to bed, avail us nothing. Papa is up 
 to that trick, and we are promptly un- 
 earthed, dressed, and sent forth with the 
 rest. We have even, on occasions, tried 
 the desperate expedient of salts and senna, 
 but even that cruel remedy failed us, for 
 papa, believing our illness to be only another 
 form of humbug, insisted on our accom- 
 panying him ; therefore, from that day to 
 this, we have left Messrs. S. & S. alone. 
 
 The x\dah' family out a-walking is a 
 sight to be seen. The governor leads the 
 way, steaming on in front all alone, like 
 a ship in full sail, while behind him his 
 family stretch out like a pack of beagles, 
 puffing, blowing, groaning, gasping, the 
 elders well up to the fore, the youngsters, by 
 reason of the shortness of theii* miserable 
 little legs, straggUng behind, while last of 
 all comes Amberley, doing her duty Hke the 
 Christian woman that she is, and praying 
 that her second wind may come quickly. 
 From time to time papa turns and surveys 
 our scarlet and distressed countenances with
 
 SEED TIME. 73 
 
 a grim sinile After all I believe he has 
 some sense of humom*, and only manages to 
 support his own discomforts by witnessing 
 the infinitely greater ones of his children. 
 Past cool sweet fields, where the cows are 
 taking their meals at their leisure — happy 
 cows, who have no father to harry them ! — 
 past easy stiles and broad flat stones to 
 which our bodies seriously incline ; up hill 
 and down dale, across fields and down lanes, 
 with never a pause for breath or flower or 
 fern, and so home again ^^in hnked sweet- 
 ness long drawn out." 
 
 Next to those scampers we hate diives. 
 Papa has several conveyances in which he 
 jeopardizes the lives of his family, and 
 makes our ^^too fretful hair" rise fi'om 
 our heads. First in danger is a very 
 high gig, in which he drives a powerful 
 rakish chestnut with a rolling eye, who 
 invariably runs away twice or thrice when- 
 ever he goes out. In this, knowing her 
 fears, he loves to take out mother, wlio 
 has some respect for her own neck, seeing 
 that it is the only one she is ever likely to 
 possess, and by hook or by crook, she
 
 74 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 usually manages to get out of going. Now 
 and then, however, she is fairly caught, and 
 drives from the door with a backward look 
 at her assembled flock, that has in it the 
 solemnity of a dying farewell. Next in 
 danger to the gig is a mail phaeton, drawn 
 by a pail' of flery cobs, thoroughbreds, and 
 matched to a hair, in which two of us girls are 
 always made to sit, occupying ingloriously 
 enough the seat intended for a man-servant. 
 Many and many a time have we clung to 
 each other with our breath gone, while the 
 horses thundered on in their mad career, 
 and the snapping of a rein or the smallest 
 obstacle in the way would have probably 
 sent us all to kingdom come. Pro^ddence, 
 however, who a2i2:)arently keeps special 
 angels to watch over reckless people, has 
 always brought us safely home, and will, I 
 hope, continue to do so ; for it is an ugly 
 thought to be dashed into little bits on a 
 heap of stones, with a horse's grinding hoofs 
 hammering your face. Mother has a basket 
 carriage with two fat grey ponies, which 
 are so far beneath papa's notice that they 
 enjoy a meed of peace no other animals in
 
 SEED TIME. 75 
 
 the stable possess, and behind them we 
 youngsters have many a pleasant amble 
 and comfortable confab. 
 
 ^^Are you gh-ls coming down to tea this 
 evening or to-morrow morning ? ' ' asks 
 Jack, putting his head in at the door. 
 " The governor is just coming up the 
 carriage diive ! ' '
 
 70 COillM' TUKO' THE KYE. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 " Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotcli jig, a 
 measure, and a cinque-pace : the first suit hot and liasty, like 
 a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical ; the wedding mannerly- 
 modest as a measure, full of state and ancientry ; and then 
 comes repentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque- 
 pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave." 
 
 Jack and I went to see a wedding tliis 
 morning that began yesterday, and was 
 only finished to-day. It was not a man- 
 nerly-modest one though ; far fi'om it. We 
 make a rule of attending all the weddings 
 and fimerals we can, but school hom's are 
 a sad hindrance to me, and Jack often has 
 to go by himself. We always watch the 
 mourners mth great attention, and have, 
 after careful study of then* countenances, 
 made up our minds that it is almost always 
 those who care least who are most demon- 
 strative, and that diy-eyed grief is far more
 
 SEED TIME. 77 
 
 deep and deadly than a tempest of sobs and 
 cries and wails. Not that poor people as a 
 rule regret their dead very passionately ; 
 their hard, dull, working hves ai'e so heavy 
 to bear, that a little more or less misery 
 matters but little. You will even see a 
 mother T\T.th many children taking some 
 comfort from the thought that the Lord 
 has *' provided " for the httle ones taken 
 away from her. 
 
 But I am forgetting all about yesterday's 
 wedding. It was at a convenient horn*, nine 
 o'clock. So, ha\ing watched papa safely 
 into the stables, we were soon across the 
 lawn and chiu'chyard, and in om* usual 
 hiding-place in the organ-loft. Mr. Skip- 
 worth was already waiting before the altar, 
 book in hand, and looking decidedly cross, 
 when the bride and bridegroom came in, 
 followed by a few people. We couldn't see 
 theii* faces, but there seemed something- 
 very wrong about the bridegroom's back, for 
 he was lurching, tripping, and roUing from 
 side to side, and, strange to say, the bride, 
 a stout and buxom young woman, was 
 supporting him ! They reached the; altar.
 
 78 COMIN THEO THE RYE. 
 
 and Mr. Skipworth began to read the 
 service, but when it became necessary for 
 the young man to make his vows, nothing 
 was heard but a series of hiccoughs; and 
 although the bride pinched and shook and 
 whispered him energetically, no responses 
 were forthcoming, and in another minute 
 he had fallen an inert mass upon the 
 chancel floor. 
 
 " Oh my ! " exclaimed Jack in high glee, 
 ^' he's clrunJc.'' 
 
 Mr. Skipworth shut the book in disgust 
 and walked away ; but the intrepid bride, 
 with no trace of anger, raised her man, and 
 with her fiiends' assistance conveyed him 
 to the door. 
 
 We followed the couple to the village as 
 far as we dared, and dm'ing the day con- 
 trived to get posted up as to the latest 
 particulars. At noon he was fast asleep, 
 with his head on the bride's lap ; at tln-ee he 
 was recovering, and calling loudly for beer ; 
 at five he was locked up by her friends for 
 safety ; at nine he was sitting with his head 
 in a basin of cold water, forced thereto by 
 the same in hopes of enabling him to go to
 
 SEED TIME. 79 
 
 clmrcli on the morrow. And their indefa- 
 tigable efforts have been rewarded, for this 
 morning he came up to time, and was able 
 to make his vows, if somewhat unsteadily, at 
 least audibly. The bride's beaming face 
 Avas a study as she bore her swinish and 
 sulky mate away. Truly matrimony must 
 have had charms for lier. 
 
 It is a never-ending puzzle to Jack and 
 me how people can like being married. 
 Dorley has a wife, a very fine w^oman, wdio 
 beats him, and of whom he is intensely 
 proud. Once she rather overdid it ; and as 
 a worm will turn so did Dorley; and, having 
 represented to her that her httle attentions 
 were incompatible with the respectabihty of 
 appearance Colonel Adair required from his 
 gardener, it was agreed that they should 
 separate, she possessing one half of his 
 wages and household goods, he the other. 
 They had not been apart a week wdien 
 Dorley came and gave papa warning. "• He 
 could not live without his missus," he said, 
 *' and he w^as going to her." And go he 
 did ; but matters were ultimately arranged, 
 and Dorley came back to us with his spouse,
 
 80 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 wlio beats him more than ever, to liis gi'eat 
 satisfaction and content. 
 
 Doiiey, however, if meek at home is not 
 meek to us. He is a tyrant, and looks upon 
 the fruits and flowers of the garden as his, 
 while we are little thieves and pickpockets, 
 who menace the same. And oh ! he has to 
 he sharp, has Dorley, or there would he 
 never a gooseberry, peach, or apricot to 
 send in for dessert. I wonder where he is 
 this afternoon ? I wonder where everybody 
 is? Though I have been prowling round 
 the garden for haK an hour I have not met 
 a soul. 
 
 It is very mean of Jack to go off and 
 leave me in this way — on a Wednesday 
 afternoon too. I did 7iot think he would bear 
 me so much mahce about the pig ; bo^'S 
 aren't forgiving hke girls. I wonder what 
 he is doing ? Fishing ? Bathing ? Taking 
 a scramble across country with Pepper ? It 
 is too hot for that, for Jack loves his ease 
 as well as anybody else. I wonder if any 
 apples have fallen from the quarantine tree ? 
 I turn my steps toward it and look about ; 
 tlierc is not one on the grass. I cast my
 
 SEED TIME. 81 
 
 eyes upwards, and mark with approving 
 eyes the rosy fruit hanging so stirlessly on 
 the boughs. If only a breeze would spring 
 up, and give those boughs a gentle shake, 
 down would fall the apples at my feet, but 
 the sky is one hard, fierce glare, and there 
 is not the ghostliest shadow of a breeze 
 abroad on the land. 
 
 Looking begets longing, longing in a 
 depraved and energetic mind begets acting ; 
 and seeing that the gentle gale my soul 
 craves refuses to blow, I conceive the 
 daring thought of myseK acting the part 
 of gentle zephyr. I look around ; no 
 one is be seen. Dorley is invisible ; the 
 governor I saw fast asleep in the library 
 a while ago ; the coast is clear. In the 
 twinkling of an eye I have swung myseK 
 up into the tree, and am shaking with a 
 wiU. The fruit is falhng in a boimteous red 
 shower, when a voice directly below me 
 makes me start so violently, that I di'op the 
 bough and lose my footing. But, alas ! 
 instead of respectably smiting mother earth 
 with my nose, I remain suspended, petti- 
 coats above, legs below. Even in this awful 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 moment, the verse over the harber's shop 
 comes into my mind — 
 
 '' O Absalom ! Absalom ! my poor, ill-fated son, 
 If thou hadst only worn a wig, thou hadst not been 
 undone." 
 
 Only in this case, if I had been clad in 
 Jack's clothes, not my own, I should not be 
 undone. My face has disappeared into the 
 crown of my sun bonnet in my abrupt 
 descent, so I cannot see my discoverer. 
 Can it be — can it be the governor ? No, 
 for if it had I should have received palpable 
 evidence of his wrath before this. 
 
 " I wish your pa could see you," says 
 Dorley's deliberate voice, sounding more 
 sweetly in my ears than ever did song of 
 nightingale ; ^' 'ow he would whack you ! " 
 
 '^I know he would," I murmur indis- 
 tinctly from the depths of my bonnet. 
 ''Do, there's a good, kind Dorley, take me 
 down ! " 
 
 But Dorley has suffered many things at 
 my hands, and now his day has come, he 
 means to enjoy it for a little while. 
 
 "You've been a bad young lady to me. 
 Miss Ullen," he says slowly (and at the
 
 SEED TIME. 83 
 
 sound of his leisurely voice I aim a sudden 
 kick at liim -with my dangling legs, for oh ! 
 at any moment he may appear on the scene, 
 
 and then ). ^' You and your beasts has 
 
 tramjDled my flower-beds and messed my 
 lawn beyond beheving, and you've stole my 
 paches, broken my glass, and misbehaved 
 yerself ginerally; and if it wasn't for yer 
 pa, and his being so vilent, I'd leave you 
 there for an hour. Miss Ullen, I would. 
 Pr'aps, with the Lord's mercy, it might be 
 a warning to yer. But I don't want to 
 have nothing to do with murder, so I'll take 
 yer down this time ; only if ever I finds yer 
 a disgracing yerseK in this misbecoming 
 manner again, I'll leave yer there. Miss 
 Ullen, sure as my name's Dorley. And 
 kickin' won't do no good when you're in the 
 wrong, miss ; leastways, it won't wi' me.'" 
 
 He departs slowly in search of the steps, 
 while I dangle at my ease in creeping, 
 curdling terror, lest even now the governor 
 may be tm-ning the comer. 
 
 Dorley comes back at last, and disen- 
 tangles me T\dth some difficulty, and oh ! 
 with what joy do I once more plant my
 
 84 comin' thro the rye. 
 
 waggling feet on firm ground ; never, never 
 will I play the part of gentle zephyr 
 again. 
 
 In the depths of my pocket, tenderly 
 hoarded, fondly cherished, lurks a sixpence, 
 which I disinter and hand to Dorley with 
 my Hps pursed up very tight. 
 
 '' There, take it," I say; '' it's for you." 
 
 ^^No, no, Miss Ullen," says Dorley, 
 holding it out in his earth-stained hand, 
 "I won't take it from 'ee ! Happen you 
 want it worse than I do ! " 
 
 ^'Dorley," I say, drawing myself up with 
 dignity, ''I am amazed at you ! Sixpences 
 are no object with me, or — or — shillings, 
 or — half- croAvns . ' ' 
 
 Having uttered this last astounding lie 
 without winking, I walk away Tvith a stately 
 strut that I hope impresses him, and which 
 is I suppose born of the occasion, for I 
 never owned it before. 
 
 What a burning, breathless, sleepy after- 
 noon it is ! The earth seems lapped in a 
 nerveless, luxurious, indolent slumber. The 
 very flowers seem to have gone to sleep, 
 and jthe birds to be taking a siesta. Pass-
 
 SEED TIME. 85 
 
 ing the school-room window, I see Alan 
 the solemn-faced, who is apparently not so 
 overcome with heat as the rest of the 
 world, indulging in the rather active recrea- 
 tion of spinning Dolly round and round 
 on the top of the large school-room tahle. 
 It is evidently a new treat to them, and I 
 have not time to give the warning that 
 painful experience has taught Jack and me, 
 when whirr ! whiff ! the top of the table 
 flies to the other end of the room, shooting 
 Dolly into the fireplace, and Alan dances 
 up and down, as though the perils his toes 
 have just escaped make him anxious to 
 assure himself of their integrity. 
 
 Piteous whimpers and groans from the 
 fireplace announce extensive and painful 
 damages to the poor httle maid who was 
 riding aloft so triumphantly a minute ago. 
 Bruises and tears are however alike merged 
 in the all-absorbing question of how the 
 table is to be joined together again. In 
 the middle of the room its legs stand stark 
 and bare, like a thin little man, from whom 
 his ample and overflowing spouse has de- 
 parted.
 
 86 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 All this while they have not been aware 
 of my presence on the scene, but now as 
 I remark, "A very pretty amusement, cer- 
 tainly ! " with all the gravity and weight 
 my thirteen years entitle me to display, 
 they hail me joyfully, and with my assist- 
 ance, and much puffing and straining, the 
 divorced parts are put together, and Dolly 
 has time to bewail her misfortunes, and 
 Alan to rub his unharmed shins responsive. 
 
 Pursuing my prowl, I wander round the 
 irregularly built, three-sided court, and am 
 shortly awakened from my abstraction by 
 hearing a door bang violently. 
 
 Have you ever hved in a house, reader, 
 where the merest chance sound, the bang 
 of a door, the sound of a loud voice, or a 
 distant noise makes you start up, your 
 nerves tinghng, your heart beating, your 
 body trembhng, while an instantaneous 
 photograph of falling chairs, flying crockery, 
 broken bell-ropes, and dancing china, with 
 a dervish dancing in the midst of the confu- 
 sion, presents itself vividly to yom* eyes ? 
 
 All this I see when that distant bang 
 reaches my ears. To day it means "Bills."
 
 SEED TIME. 87 
 
 It is an insult to papa's understanding 
 for any one to dare ask for his money. We 
 must be clothed, it is true, and fed, but 
 shall the paying for these small trifles 
 be taken as a legitimate, every-day duty? 
 Perish the thought ! It is disgraceful, it 
 is unseemly, it is an upside-downness of 
 everything, that these rascals should, week 
 after week, be sending their paltry bits of 
 blue paper in to him, and he resents 
 the impertinence accordingly. Ah, poor 
 mother ! You are in the midst of that 
 hurly-burly yonder, when I am older I 
 will walk straight in and share it mth 
 you, now I should be ordered out. Expe- 
 rience tells me that the sooner I hide 
 myseH the better, for when papa is in one 
 of these furies there is no safety for any 
 one from garret to coal cellar; in this 
 mood he may even feel that a slaughter 
 of the innocents is necessary for the re- 
 habihtation of his peace of mind, so I 
 hastily retire to the rabbit hutch, which is 
 in a central position, and from thence 
 watch the march of events. From my 
 coign of vantage I presently see him come
 
 88 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 out, and throw his eyes hither and thither 
 in search of prey, then he goes down 
 through the garden and out of sight. I 
 am just thinking that perhaps the house 
 will be safer than my present quarters, 
 when in the distance I see dogs, fowls, 
 fry, nurses, Amberley, Jack, Ahce, Milly, 
 and Dolly, all flying towards the house, 
 like autumn leaves before the wind. No 
 need to ask what is behind them, only one 
 person on earth could have that effect ; so, 
 remembering that there is safety in num- 
 bers, I join the flying squadron and reach 
 the house with the rest. As we enter by 
 the side door, the rusty fi'ont-door bell is 
 smartly pulled by a business-looking man 
 in black, at whom we all peep privily 
 from convenient lattices, and make up our 
 minds that Providence sent him straight 
 from heaven to be our deliverer. He has 
 come to see papa, we ascertain later, and 
 is even now closeted with him. I wonder 
 how he will manage to so far smooth his 
 rufiled plumes as to carry on any conver- 
 sation that is not strictly vituperative ? 
 We are all sitting together, save Jack,
 
 SEED TIME. 89 
 
 when we hear his steps coming clown the 
 passage, and he enters and closes the door 
 with a cheerful bang, that does not make 
 us all bound on our seats as the bangs of a 
 certain other person do. There is a pecu- 
 Kar look on Jack's face, a kind of knowing 
 twinkle in his eye, a modest elation in his 
 glance, that owes its origin, I am certain, to 
 some bit of news that he has possessed him- 
 self of, and which he is secretly enjoying in 
 its full rehsh before imparting it to us. 
 
 ** News ! " we all cry, starting from our 
 seats, ^^ sm-ely he cannot — cannot be — 
 going away? " 
 
 Oh ! those two delicious words, can any 
 others in the whole dictionary contain such 
 sweet music ? 
 
 '^I say," says Jack, vigorously repulsing 
 the avalanche of female charms that 
 threatens to overwhelm him, "I can't tell 
 you anything, can I, if you stifle me ? " 
 
 *' Go on ! go on ! " we all cry, withdrawing 
 hastily from the oracle. 
 
 **Well," says Jack, complacently survey- 
 ing the row of open eyes, mouths, and ears, 
 *' he is going aiuay (shouts of delight); he is
 
 90 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 going to-morrow (fresh rejoicings) ; and he 
 is coming back next day (howls of dissatis- 
 faction). Nevertheless, there is one 
 assuaging circumstance, he is going early, 
 so we shall have one clear day in which to 
 accomphsh our deeds of darkness." 
 
 *^ Hurrah ! I know what I shall do." 
 
 '^ You'll take me with you," I say implo- 
 ringly, ^^ do." 
 
 ^^ Can't," says Jack briefly, ''I shall go 
 out shooting." 
 
 We all gasp ; Jack with a gun in his 
 hands ! Oh, if the governor could but 
 
 '^What are you going to shoot?" asks 
 Alice with interest. 
 
 '' Blackbirds." 
 
 '^ Yourself, you mean," I say, nodding and 
 feeling much hui't, and somewhat spiteful 
 that I may not go with him to see the fun. 
 *^ Only if you do, you must do it thoroughly ; 
 the governor hates sickness, you know ; and 
 if you did have a bad accident, how you 
 would catch it." 
 
 ** Funerals are expensive," says Alice. 
 " On the whole I think papa would rather 
 he only crippled himself."
 
 SEED TIME. 91 
 
 '^ I shall take his new gim," says Jack, 
 pursuing his own train of thought and 
 paying no heed to our cackle, ^^ it's sure not 
 to burst." 
 
 ^^ I shall make treacle tarts," I say, feeling 
 my abasement very keenly, and wondering 
 if Jack will relent. (I could make myself 
 useful in picking the bnds up.) 
 
 " What are you going to do, Alice ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she says, turning a lovely 
 thoughtful face upon me, *' there is so little 
 mischief guis can get into. I think I shall 
 make Amberley take me into Pimpernel, and 
 I will have my photograph taken ; it has 
 never been done yet, you know." 
 
 ^^ Whatever do you want a likeness for ? " 
 asks Jack opening his eyes; *' can't you look 
 at your face in the glass fifty times a day if 
 you like ? And there's nobody to give it 
 to, for we haven't a friend in the world, and 
 you wouldn't give one to us sm-ely ? " 
 
 But Ahce does not answer, she is won- 
 dering what the sun will make of her face 
 of which — 
 
 ** 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
 Nature's own sweet and cumiiiiL' hand laid on. "
 
 92 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 ^^I shall go ^dth Alice," says Milly 
 promptly. 
 
 '^And I," says Alan the solemn-faced, 
 *' shall look over papa's new edition of the 
 ^ Ingoldsby Legends ; ' I've had one or two 
 peeps at it already." 
 
 " What are you going to do, Dolly ? " 
 
 *^I shall take two Seidlitz powders with 
 sugar, you know. They are so nice, and 
 nurse says they make me thinner. I am 
 never able to take them when papa is at 
 home, because they make me look pale." 
 
 ** Bravo, Dolly," cries Jack, ^^ happy the 
 mind that a little contents. Well, girls, you 
 shall have a fine dish of blackbii'ds for 
 supper, and Nell's treacle tarts, if they are 
 eatable." 
 
 ^^ Will you?'' cries a terrible voice 
 behind us, that galvanizes our recumbent 
 forms into most intense and rigid upright- 
 ness while every soft hair on our miserable 
 young heads stands on end with freezing, 
 curdling horror, ^^ Will you ? I'll teach you, 
 miss (with a fierce nod at Alice's pretty 
 trembhng figure), to go gaUivanting off to 
 Pimpernel, to simper at a low photographer,
 
 SEED TIME. 93 
 
 you miserable, doll-faced, conceited puppet ; 
 (to Jack) I'll teach yow^ sir, to use my guns 
 and bring me in a doctor's bill a yard long 
 for mending your wretched bones ; (to me) 
 I'll teach you, you object, to waste my sub- 
 stance with your filthy treacle tarts ; and 
 you, sh, (to Alan) to maul over my books, 
 while as to you, (to Dolly) although I can't 
 offer you Seidlitz powders, perhaps brim- 
 stone and treacle will do as well, oo — oo — 
 00 — ooli. You deceitful, vagabond, shame- 
 less pack, get out of my sight ; go ! " 
 
 He need not tell us that twice, away we 
 flee, every man for himself and devil take the 
 hindmost ; along the passage, up the stairs, 
 in at the nursery, to which we always flee on 
 these occasions, for mother is nearly always 
 there. At our heels comes the governor, 
 and a lively time follows ; we become a 
 prose version of that deplorable story of 
 ten httle niggers, which we all know ; as 
 rapidly as they di'opped off, so do we : this 
 one for a cane, that for a bible, another 
 into space with boxed ears, imtil from 
 beginning with a goodly number we end a 
 forlorn remnant. Over and above our other
 
 94 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 punishments we are one and all sent to bed, 
 and thither, when he has stormed himself 
 away, we retire, only too thankful to have 
 that refuge to sneak into. Anything is 
 bearable while we are together, the only 
 real misery he could inflict upon us would 
 be to commit us all to solitary confinement. 
 Jack comes in by-and-by, and sits down 
 on the edge of Alice and Milly's bed, while 
 I perch myself on a chair hard by. 
 
 ^' What fools we were," he says, with a 
 dark look in his blue eyes, ^' not to have 
 set a scout to watch, the sneakiness of him ; 
 why couldn't he have walked in like a man, 
 instead of hanging about outside?" He 
 gives his shoulders, which are still tingling 
 with the sharp lash of the governor's cane, 
 an impatient shake. 
 
 '* I can't think what fathers were 
 invented for," I say dolefully. ^' I am sm'e 
 we should have got on much better ^\ith- 
 out ours. For my part, if I had been 
 asked whether I would or would not come 
 into the world, I should have said, 
 ^ Yes, and thank you kindly, sir, if you can 
 arrange for me to have no papa ? * "
 
 SEED TIME. 95 
 
 '* And yet he almost forgives onr daring 
 to exist, when he reflects on the number of 
 times we have afforded him the exquisite 
 satisfaction of beating us," says Jack. 
 ^^ Well, when I come back from school next 
 Christmas, if he tries to beat the devil's 
 tattoo on rrnj back again, he shall find he 
 won't get it all his own way." 
 
 '^ And we will hang upon his coat tails," 
 I say, comfortingly, "while the fry harass 
 him fore and aft in countless swarms." 
 
 "Don't forget that he is going away," 
 puts in Milly ; " I was turning that sweet 
 thought over in my mind the whole time he 
 was making that row." 
 
 " He will lock us all up," I say with con- 
 viction. " He will never go away and leave 
 us free to do all the things he heard us 
 arranging to-night." 
 
 " You little silly ! " says Jack crushingly ; 
 " don't you know that he thinks us all 
 dummies^ and no more believes us capable 
 of daring to do anything that he has forbid- 
 den than that the moon is made of green 
 cheese ? I shan't shoot to-morrow ; I mean 
 to do something tvorse.'"
 
 96 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 " Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may leam ; and happier than this, 
 She is not bred so dull but she can leam. " 
 
 Breakfast is over, and the monotonous 
 burden of our sins sung into our ears, 
 from the saying of amen at prayers to the 
 last drop in the governor's coffee cup, is 
 over. It has been very bad, but in Hstening 
 to his fulminations we have been let off the 
 active misery of conversation ; and on the 
 whole, for we are very hardened sinners, we 
 almost prefer the breakfast to our usual 
 ones. He is standing in the hall now, brush- 
 ing his hat, and the sound sends a thi'ill of 
 dehght through our bodies ; we know the 
 full import of it so well, though we hear it 
 so much, much too rarely. Up the carriage 
 drive comes the sharp trot of a horse's hoofs ; 
 it is the dog-cart that is going to take him
 
 SEED TIME. 97 
 
 to the station. Simpkins carries out liis 
 travelling bag (the old varlet is as pleased 
 in his heart as we are, he too will get a 
 little holiday), and we all go into the hall 
 and make a frosty peck, one by one, at the 
 governor's face, occasionally hitting his 
 nose or eyebrow by mistake. He eyes us 
 keenly to see if he can detect any indecent 
 joy upon om- faces, but they are perfectly 
 blank and stolid, to such abhorred hypocrisy 
 have we abeady brought our innocent, in- 
 determinate, pink-and-white features. He 
 kisses mother (how droll it seems to see 
 him making a peck at anybody !) ; and now he 
 is in the dog-cart, he is starting, he is 
 giving a sharp look at our assembled coun- 
 tenances, he is off, and has turned the 
 comer of the drive. Still there is unbroken 
 silence ; then as the last sound of the wheels 
 dies away in the distance, the delight that 
 Jias been running riot within us, breaks 
 forth in exclamation, laughter, leaps, dances, 
 whoops, and (on my part at least) rolls of 
 bhss. When they have subsided a Httle — 
 *' Children," says mamma, '^I have some- 
 thing to tell you." 
 VOL. I. n
 
 98 comin' theo' the eye. 
 
 ^^ Won't it keep, mamma dear?" asks 
 Alice, *' till some day \Yhen we are not quite 
 so happy ? We don't get many treats ; had 
 we not better have them one at a time ? " 
 
 ^*It Avill keep," says mamma, smiling; 
 **but I shall tell you now. We are going 
 away." 
 
 Going away ! We know the sound of 
 these words well enough as appHed to the 
 governor, but as applied to oui'selves they 
 have a strange unusual flavour — a romantic 
 freshness that breathes of distant lands, 
 gorgeous cities, and unknown, mj'sterious 
 pleasures. Not one of us have ever been 
 away from home in all our lives, save Jack. 
 
 ^' When, mamma?" we ask after a 
 pause ; it takes a little while to get used to 
 the idea that we are going away ^\ithout re- 
 quiring any further knowledge on the subject. 
 
 ''To the sea!" The answer strikes us 
 dumb again. Have we not longed ourselves 
 sick for a sight of it ? Have we not 
 splashed ourselves from head to foot over 
 a dirty pond in trying to make real waves 
 with stout sticks ? 
 
 '' When, mamma, wlien ? "
 
 SEED TIME. 99 
 
 *' Early next week. Your papa has heard 
 of a house that will suit us." 
 
 So soon! it takes our breath away. ^^Ancl 
 is he coming too ?" I ask anxiously. 
 
 ^^Not for a fortnight." We di-aw a deep 
 sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 ^' What strolls we will have ! " says Alice. 
 *' And donkey rides!" ^^ and shrimps!" 
 *' and peace ! " *^ and cuttle-fish tooth- 
 powder ! " ^ ' No walks ! " "or punishments ! ' ' 
 ^^ No one to call us dummies!" ^'or make us 
 talk!" '^or send us to bed!" 
 
 " Come along, Dolly," says Alan the 
 solemn-faced. '' I'm going to begin packing 
 up." 
 
 Jack and I go out into the garden and dis- 
 cuss our plans — what beasts are to go with 
 us, what to be left behind. Paul Pry must 
 come, of course, and the raven and the 
 canaries, and Pepper, the tail-less. Dorley, 
 must take care of the rabbits ; and as to 
 the fowls, they have lately misbehaved 
 tliemselves so perseveringly that it would 
 cause us no great sorrow if, on our return, 
 we found papa had made a holocaust of the 
 wliolc lot. Possibly the amazing news puts
 
 100 comix' thro' the eye. 
 
 out of our heads our several intentions of 
 evil-doing ; at any rate we get into no mis- 
 chief to-da}', and merely walk about, laugh, 
 talk, and stretch, not only in the school- 
 room, but about the house, just as if we 
 were used to doing it every day of our Hves. 
 
 The governor comes back a trifle sweeter 
 than he went. For once business does not 
 seem to have nibbed him the "WTong way ; 
 and somehow the few days sHp away, and 
 the golden morning of our depaiiure anives. 
 
 The coach stands at the door. It is going 
 to take us all the way, and we are packed 
 mthin it close as herrings, happy as lords ; 
 every nook and corner inside and out brim- 
 mingly full ; where a body is not squeezed 
 in, a hamper or a parcel is, and how we shall 
 ever be got out again is something of a 
 mystery. We have smuggled all our httle 
 private belongings in safely. Under my 
 petticoats lurk the birds and Paul Pry, who, 
 with the sense of a Christian utters not a 
 sound, raps out not a single oath ; a large 
 basket of quarantine liides its modest head 
 under mother's legs ; the young ones firmly 
 grasp spades and buckets as though they
 
 SEED TIME. 101 
 
 expected to fincl the sea upon the road ; 
 Ambeiiey embraces five distinct bundles, 
 bandboxes, and bags ; the babies, set bolt 
 up on end, utter fat little chirps of satis- 
 faction. On the doorstep stands the 
 governor, to ^Yhom we have just said good- 
 bye with a freedom and affability that I 
 think astonishes him as much as it does 
 ourselves ; for once in his presence our 
 voices come honestly forth ; for once we 
 kiss him, and I at least feel that I love him. 
 And now the last forgotten parasol is 
 handed in, the last servant has climbed 
 with many a creak to her place on the roof ; 
 the coachman cracks his whip. ^* ChuTup, 
 chuTup," go the canaries. '' Hip, hip, 
 hur-r-r-ah ! " goes Paul Pry. "Bow-wow ! " 
 goes Pepper, wriggling her head out be- 
 tween Jack's legs. 
 
 " Oh ! " says Dolly, with a deep sigh. 
 
 ** Balmy!" I ejaculate, pushing my hat 
 to the back of my head ; and away we go, 
 nodding and smihng, and saying good-bye ! 
 good-bye ! to the httle gentleman on the 
 door-steps, who somehow looks quite insig- 
 nificant and a httlo forlorn now that lie is
 
 102 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 not tlie centre of a dozen duteous wliite 
 slaves." 
 
 *^We are off!" says Alice. 
 
 '^We are dreadfully hungry ! " sigli Doll}' 
 and Allan, pointing tlieii' prophetic noses 
 at a bulging hami^er that obtrudes its portly 
 body in an uncomfortable way between 
 nurse and Balaam's Ass, the under nurse- 
 maid. It is only eight o'clock, and we had 
 breaMast at seyen, and it is rather early 
 to be setting out ; but when everybody is so 
 anxious to staii;, so ready to go, why should 
 there be any unnecessary tarrying ? Yoicks I 
 away we go, along the dewy, bloomy lanes^ 
 between the fresh, green hedgerows, ^ith 
 the early breath of the morning bloA^ing 
 coolly in on our happy, eager faces ; past the 
 staring, silent cows, and the dull labourers, 
 who, poor souls ! are going about their work 
 just as on any other day, who are not 
 tasting our first dehcious, strange di'aught 
 of ^' going away!" We, feel like j^ilgrims 
 setting out for an unknown land; we do 
 not know what is before us, whether of 
 sweet or sour, but that it will be something 
 very different from anj^thing we have ever
 
 SEED TIME. 103 
 
 known before we are perfectly certain, and 
 that is enough for ns. Jack pooh-poohs our 
 transports and pretends to have seen every- 
 thing that we observe before, which is not 
 right of him, for I know he goes to school 
 in quite an opposite direction, and by train ; 
 whereas travelhng by coach is a very dif- 
 ferent and far more knowledgeable thing. 
 
 We keep our eyes very widely open all 
 the way, and observe mth interest how the 
 country changes as we near the coast, and 
 how blue the cottage childi'en's eyes are, 
 as though a bit of the sea had got into 
 them and stayed there. Happy folks are 
 always hungry, and by ten o'clock we are 
 clamouring to attack the hamper; at two 
 we are dying of want and finish it up ; at 
 four we pounce upon the quarantines (which 
 were to last us a week, Dorly said), and eat 
 them all up, every one. We get rather 
 fagged the latter part of the way; our bodies 
 are stiff and tired, and we cannot stretch 
 them. By degrees one voice ceases, then 
 another ; one of the babies cries ; Paul 
 Pry makes remarks that ho should not 
 before the childi-en. We look very different
 
 104 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 to the noisy, bustling, smiling people who 
 started a few hours ago. 
 
 By-and-by we are startled out of our 
 apathy^ by a shout without of ^^The sea! 
 the sea!" and we leap up to the sight of a 
 broad, boundless expanse of deepest, darkest 
 blue, that thrills us through and through, 
 and holds us spell-bound with a breathless 
 dehght and strong awe. How om* souls 
 seem drawn towards it, though oiu* bodies 
 remain in the coach ! Presently (I do not 
 know how it hajopens), we are standing 
 before it, gazing almost deliriously at the 
 ghttering, belted-in treasure. When the 
 first shock is over, how we stretch out our 
 arms to it, as though we would clasp its 
 beauty in our embrace ! How we stoop and 
 dabble our fingers in the strange, salt liquid! 
 How we stand watching the waves lapping 
 softly over each other with no fuss or liiu'ry, 
 or effort, rather as though they were in play 
 not earnest, but, as we quickly find, impelled 
 by an on-coming strength that makes the 
 babyish ripples resistless as fate, inexorable 
 as death ! We gather trails of brown sea- 
 weed, and when our hands are fiill, cast
 
 SEED TIME. 105 
 
 them away for others. We are distracted by 
 the abundant riches of the feast set out 
 before lis ; sometliing new, uniniagined, and 
 wonderful meets oui* eyes at every step. 
 Into my heart comes a dim ache that is not 
 keen pleasure or satiety, but a passionate 
 regret that my soul is not bigger, grander, 
 capable of holding more of the great tide of 
 raptm-e that sweeps through me in such a 
 mighty flood. When Amberley comes for 
 us I turn away as one in a dream ; from a 
 long way off I seem to hear her exclamation 
 at our condition ; though indeed I am well 
 aware that we are as forlorn, dirty, di'ipping 
 little T\Tetches as any to be found in the 
 kingdom, all save Ahce, over whom untidi- 
 ness and dh't hold no power. 
 
 As we go inland my senses seem to come 
 back to me, and I hail with dehght the 
 jolly, red-brick face of our new abode, which 
 appears to smile jo^dally upon us and bid us 
 kindly welcome. Inside it is in a most im- 
 moral, delicious state of topsy-turvydom — 
 luggage, servants, childi-en, and animals, all 
 mixed up in most admu'ed disorder ; babies 
 crying, small fry fallmg downstairs, servants
 
 106 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 rifling half-filled boxes, canaries slii'ieking 
 for water and groundsel, Paul Pry cursing 
 his fate with pecuHar bitterness and inten- 
 sity from his perch on Minerva's head, to 
 which he has evidently betaken himself for 
 safety. It is a fine hurly-burly, and if papa 
 could only walk in and see it all, his ap- 
 pearance would put the finishing stroke to 
 the scene and make it Bedlam. 
 
 We sit down to a nondescript meal, but 
 can scarcely eat for talking. A thousand 
 tongues would not express the haK that we 
 feel; and oh! how bald the words are that 
 language provides for expressing a gi'eat 
 dehght. Deei^ly impressed as Jack is, he 
 can find no words whereby to convey his 
 admiration of the ocean than by those of 
 ^ ' j oily ' ' and ' ' stunning. ' ' 
 
 It is too late to go out again this evening, 
 so we go to bed that we may be able to 
 rise with the first streak of dayhght on the 
 morrow. Sleep binds me so safely though, 
 that on Jack's calling me, I am scandahzed 
 to find it as late as six. What a lot of time 
 we have wasted already ! 
 
 In half an hour we are out on the beach
 
 SEED TIME. 107 
 
 and among the rocks, making queer dis- 
 coveries ; for instance, that shrimps and 
 crabs do not grow scarlet but drab ; also 
 that the saying, ^' stick hke a limpet," has 
 a sound, healthy truth of its ovm that many 
 proverbs have not ; also that the seaweed- 
 covered rocks have a remarkable knack of 
 shpping away from our feet, compelhng us 
 to turn somersaults more rapid than elegant. 
 We himt for and find delicate shells, curious 
 rose-hued freaks of Neptune, and we muse 
 over them, marvelling in what sea palace 
 the carver lurks who casts up to us such 
 dainty and mysterious shapes. We hold 
 the bigger ones to our ears, and Hsten in- 
 tently to the faint murmur that must, we 
 think, so exactly represent the shoahng 
 noise the sea makes at a great distance. 
 We have listened to the same murmur 
 before at Silverbridge, and mu'se always 
 told us it was the sea that we heard. 
 
 After breakfast we accompany Amberley 
 and our sisters in a sober trot through the 
 one long street that forms the town of Peri- 
 winkle, and sit do^^al on the shingle where, 
 apparently, the beauty and fashion (!) of the
 
 108 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 place do congregate, for no other purpose 
 than to watch the rows of fat and lean kine 
 who are taldng their daily dip in the sea 
 hard by, bobbing up and down in the sun 
 like seals, with snaky locks of hair chnging 
 round their cheeks, and tight, sticky bath- 
 ing-gowns that most lavislily display their 
 charms, or the lack of them. 
 
 Jack and I have a hot dispute as to 
 whether a very lean woman or a very fat 
 one looks worst in the water. I say the 
 former, lie says the latter, and implores me 
 on no account to submit my person to the 
 public gaze mthout at least six thick bath- 
 ing-gowns put on, Hke an old clothesman's 
 hats, one above the other. 
 
 They are a gruesome spectacle, these fat 
 matrons and lean old maids ; even the young 
 girls, who might be good-looking if their 
 faces were dry, have an unsavoury appear- 
 ance, for salt water seems to have an ugly 
 knack of washing out shams, stripping off 
 borrowed charms, and leaving the original 
 visage clear and visible. Aphrodite herself 
 must have found it rather a hard matter to 
 look as handsome under i\iQ circumstances
 
 SEED TIME. 109 
 
 as she did. It must be on the principle 
 that there is always something pleasing to 
 us in the misfortunes of our friends that 
 makes these people flock to see their ac- 
 quaintances an naturel, sans crinoline, sans 
 bustle, sans pads, sans everytliing, save their 
 o^Mi unembeUished bodies and countenances. 
 I wish the j)erformers would go through 
 their paces with a little more vigour and 
 spirit, take a good sousing header into 
 space, and look as if they liked it, instead of 
 taking a dip as though they were going to 
 be hanged ; coming up, not smihng, but with 
 shut eyes and screwed-up nose and mouth, 
 simttering, coughing, gasping, groaning, 
 and holding on to the rope as though they 
 were bemg shipwrecked. Others do not go 
 so far as the heroism of dipping ; they hug 
 the shore and sit basely down on the sand, 
 letting the water ripple over them by 
 degrees. For decency's sake one could 
 wish the process were less gradual. Others 
 again shiver on the steps of the machine, 
 and are afi-aid to ventm-e in at all. 
 
 Now and then a daring young woman 
 creates enormous excitement by loweriug
 
 110 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 herself carefully into the water, and bring- 
 ing her pink toes to the surface in the 
 first position, stares np imwinkingly at 
 Father Sol. Gallant creature ! the pint or 
 so of salt water that she swallows is but a 
 slight set-off against the glory she achieves, 
 and the admiration her prowess evokes from 
 the lookers-on. 
 
 Jack and I soon weary of looking at this 
 raree-show'; and having promised Amberley 
 not to drown ourselves, not to get into a boat 
 without a boatman and with a large hole in 
 the bottom, not to sit upon a rock until the 
 tide smTounds and flows over us, not to 
 cHmb to the highest pinnacle of the chfif 
 with the express intention of toppling over 
 it to the rocks below, we take om* de- 
 parture, and speed the morning hours well 
 enough. 
 
 Oh ! the sea is a rare pla^^fellow, for, unhke 
 many a human one, he never wearies you ! 
 Each day he wears some new aspect, com- 
 pels from us fresh wonder, admhation, and 
 fear. He is terrible in his angry splendour of 
 wind-tossed, thundering breakers, when his 
 surface is all deep-gTeen valleys and tower-
 
 SEED TIME. Ill 
 
 ing, snowy-crested moimtain tops. He 
 is soft, tender, caressing as a summer 
 breeze, witli his shoaling, rippHng murmur 
 and lazy, creej^ing wavelets. Sometimes he 
 is sulky, not angry, that is when the sun 
 has hidden his face ; then he catches the re- 
 flection of the sky and is sad- coloured and 
 dull. Another day he -will He calm as a lake, 
 like a great monster soimdly asleep, and we 
 do not love his monotonous peace ; dearer 
 far is he to us when he stirs and flushes 
 and quivers in the sun, his kingly breast 
 sown with millions upon millions of spark- 
 ling diamonds. He gives no sign of the 
 dark secrets he hides away so deep, so deep; 
 of the water-slain bodies that lie below with 
 the swish ! swish ! of his green w^aters, 
 swirhng over their pale, drowned faces, of 
 the souls that trusted themselves to his 
 smiling mien and silvern whispers, and 
 whom he has di-awn down, down ! to the 
 sea-chambers, of w^hose treasures we can but 
 dimly guess from the rainbow-tinted shells 
 and bloomy seaweed that are now and 
 again washed up to us from their depths. 
 Has not the sea it^ cities and towns
 
 112 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 and gardens and dwelling-houses ? Do not 
 flowers as lovely, as glowing, as fragrant 
 grow in those silent gardens as any the diy 
 land affords ? They must have rare jewels 
 down there ; pearls such as no mortal 
 emj)ress ever wore ; precious stones, common 
 as pehhles on the shore; rare and costly 
 gewgaws, i)lentiful as the sand, with goodly 
 store of gold and silver, rifled fi'om the 
 gallant ships laden with splendid store of 
 merchandize brought from foreign lands. 
 Oh! it must be a rich land, and might be a 
 fair land, if that great and coimtless army 
 of the dead did not claim it so m'gently 
 for its own. 
 
 We have not been in Periwinkle a 
 week ; we have not learned one-half his 
 moods, one-half his secrets, when some- 
 thing happens — something that sends me 
 shuddering away from him inland, and 
 makes me hate the sound of his voice and 
 the dazzle of his brow. 
 
 Jack and I are standing on the beach one 
 morning, w^atching a liaul of mackerel in. 
 The men have been pulHng for lioiu's. *'It is 
 strangely heavy," they mutter; ''the net
 
 SEED TBIE. 113 
 
 will break; " but by-and-by it comes safely iu, 
 and we all gather round to where it lies on 
 the edge of the sand, with the waves rippling 
 gently up to it. At first I see nothing but 
 a glittering, brilliant, opal-tinted mass of 
 gHstening fish, which sparkle and scintillate 
 in the sim, as they leap to and fro in their 
 restless, unknown agony; then I make out a 
 strange, dark, shapeless mass beneath them, 
 that is — what? A dead man, with horribly 
 discoloured face and vdde, staring eyes, 
 looking out with dull and awfal meaning 
 fi'om among the quivering, leaping fish for 
 which the net was cast, and which has 
 brought in this. A woman thrusts her 
 way through the crowd and falls on her 
 knees beside the net. '' My lad ! " she says, 
 " my lad !'' . . . He went out alone in his 
 boat a week ago, and did not return; but she 
 said she knew he would come back, and she 
 has been watchmg for him night and day. 
 
 " Come away," I say to Jack dizzily; and 
 we go away, away inland, and it is many a 
 long day before I love the treacherous sea 
 again and can forget. 
 
 We do not see much of Ahce and Milly, 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 114 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 who prefer the town and the shingle to the 
 rocks and the caves ; and it sometimes 
 strikes Jack and me as odd that, when we do 
 come across our sisters, all the black, grey, 
 and blue coats belonging to the youth abiding 
 in and sojourning at Periwinkle should be in 
 their immediate neighbourhood. But then 
 Alice is so lovely; who can help liking to 
 look as her ? The very girls turn and stare 
 at her with that grudging, unwilling, breath- 
 less interest that I am already learning to 
 know is the highest compliment one woman 
 can pay another, and which I shall never, 
 never wi^ing from any of my owti sex. I may 
 even fall to the degradation of being called 
 *' nice looking " by them. 
 
 Alice looks demure as a nun; and how 
 can the pretty soul help it if rude men zvill 
 stare at and follow her about ? AU I know is 
 I love to look at what is pleasant to the eye; 
 and if I had been born comely should have 
 carried about a pocket-mirror with me, and 
 refreshed my eyes with a sight of my 
 charms every five minutes, while nobody 
 would ever have admired me half as heartily 
 and appreciatingly as I should have admired 
 myself.
 
 SEED TIME. 115 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 ' * Some there be that shadows kiss, 
 Such have but a shadow's bliss : 
 There be fools alive, I wis." 
 
 It is nine o'clock, and I am making my 
 toilette for the night, and smiling to myseK 
 at a ridiculous story Jack told me just now 
 about an old sailor down here. He would 
 like to be devout but has not time to save 
 his soul, so has copied out the longest and 
 finest prayer he knows of, and pinned it 
 over his bedstead, and every night and 
 morning, when he turns in and turns out, he 
 looks towards it and says, '^ 'Tliwi's my 
 sintiments, Lord!" I have time, plenty, 
 so there is no fear of my following his ex- 
 ample. As I take a last look out of the 
 window preparatory to jumping into bed, 
 my attention is arrested by the extraordi-
 
 116 comin' thro' the hye. 
 
 nary appearance presented by the hedge 
 that Hes on the other side of the road, 
 which appears to be animated with what 
 might be a row of uneven trees swaying to 
 and fro, if, on this stirless night, there were 
 wind enongh to stir anything. 
 
 It is growing dark, and in the uncertain 
 hght it is difficult to pronounce distinctly 
 on the phenomena ; but I, nevertheless, 
 come to the conclusion that the bobbing 
 objects are hats, hats which may be reason- 
 ably supiDOsed to have human beings inside 
 them. Burglars ! I say to myself promptly, 
 and descend to Jack's room, which over- 
 looks the back garden, not the front. He 
 is not in bed, so returns with me, and 
 surveying the enemy with some interest, 
 squashes my theory by sajdng, ^'Burglars! 
 Why, 5'ou little sawiiey, bm*glars hide, they 
 don't hop up and down like Jacks-in-the- 
 box ; besides, there are too many of 'em ! " 
 
 All at once a Hght breaks in upon me. I 
 have surreptitiously read two or thi'ee words 
 which have given me some small insight 
 into the imbecile practices of courtships, 
 and now I am able to put two and two
 
 SEED TIME. 117 
 
 together, while Jack, poor lad, is com 
 pletely at sea. 
 
 ^' I know!" I say, uodding my head 
 violently, '' I know I it's lovers ! " 
 
 '^Lovers!" repeats Jack, quite unim- 
 pressed, and in a most scornfully con- 
 temptuous voice; ''how exactly like a girl 
 with her silly notions ! Who do you sup- 
 pose they'd come after, miss ; you ?' " 
 
 ''No; but there is Tabitha, you Imow, and 
 Balaam's Ass " (Balaam's Ass is our under 
 nursemaid, whose obstinacy is so incurable 
 that years ago we gave her the above name, 
 which has stuck to her). 
 
 "Very likely either of them w^ould get a 
 lover, is it not?" asks Jack, peering about. 
 " Perhaps you would not mind cooJc's having 
 a chance ? " 
 
 " It may be cook," I say, brightening up; 
 ^'I heard James call her 'an old flii-t ' the 
 other day, and she was so pleased." 
 
 "I should say it was cook," says Jack, 
 grinning, "for one man would not be of 
 much use in that quarter ; perhaps if they 
 all stood in a circle they might be able to 
 clasp her charms. No, it's not cook, it's 
 somebody or other in tlie school-room under.
 
 118 comix' thro' the rye. 
 
 for I just saw one beast deliberately kiss his 
 hand towards it. I'm going do^oi to see 
 who is there." 
 
 ^'Wait a minute for me/' I say, fiu'hng 
 an Elijah-like mantle around me, and so 
 equipiied, go do^\ii the stairs \\'ith him. 
 We go into the school-room, but there is 
 nothing there ; nothmg, that is to say, but 
 Ahce and Milly, who are sitting by the 
 window in their white gowns. We retu'e 
 and walk slowly ujostairs; half-way Jack 
 stops short and looks at me. "It's not 
 cook," he says, deliberately, and it's not 
 Tabitha, nor Balaam's Ass, it's Alice.'" 
 
 Alice ! I stand staring at liim. " Ai'e you 
 mad? " I ask at last. 
 
 " No," he says, walking on, "but I'm dis- 
 gusted. To think that those impudent " 
 
 the remainder of his speech is lost in a 
 mutter. He is very yoimg, but he has in 
 him the germ of that dishke (so tenacious 
 in the breasts of aU Englishmen), that every 
 brother, husband, or father has, to ha^dng 
 his womankind looked upon too familiarly 
 or too nearly by any stranger. 
 
 "What a row there will be when papa 
 comes ! " I say, drawing a deep breath.
 
 SEED TIME. 119 
 
 *^ Serve her right too, ^^ says Jack, as he 
 vanishes into his bed-room, and I retire to 
 bed with a troubled mind and a resolve to 
 give my pretty sister a friendly warning 
 to-morrow. Finding my opportunitj^, I put 
 my arm round her neck, and, looking into 
 her fresh face, that is not, I hope, 
 
 * ' A violet in the youth of primy nature ; 
 
 Forward, not permanent ; sweet, not lasting ; 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute, 
 No more," 
 
 say, ^' If I were you I would not have quite 
 so — so many, dear; there will be such a row 
 when papa comes ! " AHce laughs, blushes, 
 and is about to answer when mother comes 
 in, and no more is said. 
 
 We go out donkey riding this afternoon, 
 everybody except Jack, who is too proud. 
 A small di'ove of asses has been chartered 
 for the occasion, and at the appointed hour 
 they stand at the door meek and stubborn, 
 each provided with a small boy, whose duty 
 it is to '^whip up" the aforesaid beast and 
 make it ''go." Amberley's charger staggers 
 ominously as she mounts him ; and, when 
 seated, lier long legs touch tlie ground, but
 
 120 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 she would rather die than be left behind, 
 or prove unequal to the emergency, so she 
 hitches them up and leads the van with 
 some dignity, and, I think, much discomfort. 
 Alice has the best beast ; it has a broad 
 back and a fat body, and she sits on it at 
 her ease, shaded by her cool straw hat, 
 under which her face takes no yellow 
 reflections as does mine, looking as the 
 queen of Sheba may have looked in her 
 young and palmy days. Mother has in- 
 sisted on our taking two or three of the 
 fry, strong-backed, stout-limbed boys, of 
 whom there is an endless succession after 
 Dolly, so we make a goodly cavalcade as 
 we jog away with our attendant gamins. 
 
 Now there are few things pleasanter than 
 to idle along the Devonshu'e lanes in sum- 
 mer-time on a well-grown, broad-backed, 
 peaceable donkey ; one is not at the trouble 
 of walking, nor yet at the trouble of 
 riding ; one 'can just amble along at leism*e, 
 enjoying the air, the sky, and the light that 
 quivers on the path through boughs that 
 meet coolly overhead. There is a dreamy 
 sensation of utter rest as one wanders in
 
 SEED TIME. 121 
 
 and out of the tangle of lanes that seem to 
 have no beginning and no ending, but to 
 indulge this feehng, the boy with the stick, 
 whose whacks, regular as the flail on a 
 threshing-floor, fall ux3on your animars hide, 
 must be left behind : there is Httle romance 
 in these darkly shaded, flower-starred lanes 
 to the tune of such music. We have a few 
 mishaps by the way. Amberley is painfully 
 thin, so is her beast, and their bones do not 
 agree, so every now and then she slips 
 noiselessly over his head and glides into the 
 ditch or dusty road. We get used to it 
 after a bit, so does she, and takes it as a 
 matter of course. Dolly's steed walks into 
 a turnstile and is with some difliculty dis- 
 entangled. The fry have, to our great 
 reHef, long ago succeeded in goading their 
 asses into a trot, and have vanished amid 
 clouds of dust, closely followed by theii* 
 attendant sprites, yelling with delight at the 
 spirit their several inoUgcs evince. At 
 Alice's request our party of beaters have 
 fallen behind, so we pace silently along the 
 dim green lanes, meeting neither man nor 
 horse ; it is all as hushed, as still and as 
 solitary, as an uninhabited island.
 
 122 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 Lothfully we turn homeward at last, and 
 are met at the house door by mother with the 
 intenigence that the governor is coming 
 to-morrow. Oiu' jocund laughter ceases, we 
 all dismoimt anyhow, and go indoors to 
 sit down under the shock of the intelligence 
 which (though we know it must arrive some 
 time or other) comes upon us like an ice- 
 cold shower-bath. We all seem to have 
 forgotten our days of bondage dm'ing this 
 past fortnight. Farewell, dolce-far-niente 
 days. We did not make half enough of you 
 while you lasted; and now you are gone, and 
 we shall never get any at all like you again. 
 Farewell, social breakfasts, leism'ely dinners, 
 pleasant strolls, and general ease of body 
 and soul ! Farewell, donkeys, crabs, shrimps, 
 rocks, seaweed, earty walks, and natm-al 
 conversation. 
 
 Now that those happy days are gone, I 
 become aware that Jack and I did not 
 half fill them. We might have got into 
 so much more mischief, done so many 
 more things, enjoyed ourselves twice as 
 keenly. How shall we ever pull oiu'selves 
 together by to-morrow ? Morally speak-
 
 SEED TIME. 123 
 
 ing we have fallen to pieces during the 
 the last fourteen clays, but all that must be 
 seen to at once. We must put on our stays, 
 gird up our loins, and look sharply to our 
 manners, morals, and clothes ; the very 
 expression of our faces must be altered, and 
 our voices be brought down a great many 
 notes. We must get>ut of that loose and 
 ridiculous habit of laughing at everything 
 and nothing ; we must smooth the gay smiles 
 out of our faces, and he or she who has an^^ 
 dimples must put them away for the present. 
 The school-room must be set in order and 
 some school books laid about to look as 
 though they had been used, the dining-room 
 must be polished tiU it winks again ; James 
 must be awakened from the sloth into which 
 he has fallen, and the cook stirred up to 
 punctuality; the fry must be promptly 
 broken of the habit they have latety fallen 
 into of tumbling down and cutting open 
 their heads, noses, or legs; in short, the 
 whole house and all that dwell therein must 
 be thoroughly revised, weeded, and drilled 
 against the ordeal of that aT^^ul to-morrow 
 that is rushing upon us as fast as it can pelt.
 
 124 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 It does not seem half-an-liour ago that 
 mother told us the news, and, lo ! the night 
 has passed away, the morning has come and 
 gone, one o'clock has struck, and in the 
 distance we hear the smart trot of horses* 
 feet, and we know that behind that cheerful 
 trot sits om' uncheerful governor. 
 
 We are drawn up in well-brushed, well- 
 scrubbed, solemn-faced ranlis in the school- 
 room. There is not one vagabond smile 
 among the whole lot. And now he is in 
 the hall, he is kissing mother, and in another 
 minute stands before us. ^Vliy can I not 
 infuse into my salute that warmth and 
 alacrity that I did on wishing him good-bye 
 on the Manor House door-step? Why, 
 indeed ! As we pass in review before liim, 
 he looks at each from head to foot ; but we 
 all pass muster safely until he comes to the 
 last of all, Alice. We know what is coming 
 when his eye lights on a certain portion of 
 that young woman's di-ess — nothing more or 
 less, in short, than a crinoline row. The 
 fact is Alice loves a big crinoline ; papa, 
 accustomed to the straight up and down 
 charms of Ju's mother and grandmother,
 
 SEED TIME. 125 
 
 hates it; and as sure as ever lier petticoats 
 swell bej^ond a certain limit there is a fearful 
 to do, and the whole house is turned uj^side 
 do^\TQ and out of windows. Now, AHce 
 knows the length of tether permitted to her 
 perfectly well, but she is under a mistaken 
 impression that the more balloon-like her 
 skhts, the more charming her prett}^ form 
 appears ; and when she wants to look par- 
 ticularly ravishing, puts on a little more 
 crinoline, just as a South Sea islander puts 
 on a little more paint ; and in the excitement 
 and novelty of the Periwinkle Hfe, she has 
 forgotten her parent's httle prejudices, and 
 stands before him confessed in all her am- 
 phtude of five yards and a half. 
 
 It is odd that she should be caught 
 though, for her crinoline is like some magical 
 flower that opens and shuts, expands and 
 contracts, according to the state of the 
 weather, i.e. papa's temper. If he is in an 
 amiable or engrossed mood, she usually lets 
 out an extra reef or two ; if he is in a bad one, 
 slie collapses at a moment's notice and looks 
 like a folded butterfly ; but Alice's admhers 
 have e^ddently turned her ideas topsy-tur^y.
 
 126 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 '*You disgusting spectacle!" says papa 
 deliberately looking at lier from top to toe, 
 *' you object ! Go to youi' room and take that 
 vile barrel off, and if you ever dare appear 
 before me in it again, I'll pull it off and 
 burn it." 
 
 Off goes Alice, whisking a pile of books 
 from the table in her passage to the door ; 
 she does not mean to do it, poor pretty 
 Alice, it is only an evil trick played her by 
 that fatal combination of whalebone and 
 calico, but the governor thinks she does, and 
 flies after her. Thank God, she is too old 
 to have her ears boxed, and he soon returns 
 but, oh ! we heartily wish we had no ears at 
 all, as we sit for half an hour Hstening to his 
 tirade against Alice, mother, Amberley, and 
 his own evil fate in marrying to become the 
 father of such a daughter. (It was the best 
 thing he ever did in his life.)
 
 SEED TIME. 127 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 " If slie be made of red and white, 
 Her faults will ne'er be known, 
 For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, 
 And fears by pale white shown." 
 
 The clock is striking eight, and we are all 
 hunting ventre-d-terre for the family book 
 of prayers. Not once since we came to 
 Periwinkle have we looked upon its godly 
 face, and now it is revenging itself by 
 refusing to come forth and save us from 
 utter disgi'ace. If papa discovers that we 
 have eaten our morning meal without the 
 seasoning salt of chapter, prayer, and bene- 
 diction, then woe, woe, woe betide us ! We 
 (Hstractedly turn the books over and over, 
 ])ut noivhere does that mucli coveted old 
 brown cover meet our eager gaze. Over- 
 head we hear his warlike tread as he walks 
 to the toilet table ; he is putting on his coat,
 
 128 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 now he has opened the door, and is teUing 
 mamma she is the laziest woman in 
 Christendom, and a disgrace to lier sex ; 
 his foot is on the stair, oh ! — o — o — oli ! We 
 tumble madly over each other in a dancing 
 agony, and a pale tear trickles down Am- 
 berley's nose, when, hallelujah ! I have 
 found it, wedged in with its hack to the 
 wall, between the ^'Ai'abiau Nights" and 
 the '^ Pilgrim's Progress." We are saved by 
 the skin of our teeth, and fly to our seats 
 mtli thankful hearts while AHce finds the 
 place, and sets the old marker, " Jesus wept," 
 with its back broken in three places on the 
 open page. He is in the room before she 
 has done, and having received our morning 
 salutes, and glanced sharply at AHce's 
 collai)sed charms (she looks Hke Samson 
 shorn of his strength), rings the bell for 
 prayers. He is half through the chapter 
 before the servants can get in at the door ; 
 but that is of little consequence, they 
 would not hear a word if they were present. 
 Breakfast passes over better than might be 
 expected. There are so many safe remarks 
 we can make about Periwinkle ; everv man
 
 SEED TIME. 129 
 
 and woman we see is not an enemy, the 
 mention of whose name must be shunned 
 as the plague ; and I am even able to 
 provoke a smile by remarking that it is 
 difficult to hear the sermon on Sunday 
 evenings because the sailors snore so loudly. 
 
 I think that if we were to travel much 
 we should find plenty to talk to him 
 about ; become quite colloquial in fact. 
 Ah ! travel's a wonderful thing for enlarging 
 the mind. No wonder splendid Will said, 
 '^ Home keeping youths have ever homely 
 wits," (of course he meant that for girls 
 as well.) 
 
 After breakfast our troubles begin. We 
 go for a walk, and make the depressing dis- 
 covery that in every deep there is a lower 
 depth, and that, bad as the Silverbridge 
 walks were, the Periwinkle ones are infi- 
 nitely, unmeasurably worse. 
 
 The governor is apparently as impcr^'ious 
 to shingle as to ploughed fields, for he leads 
 the van without a falter, while we flounder, 
 shp, and stumble after him like a badly 
 drilled squad of infantiy. The sun is fiercely 
 smiting our backs, blistering our cliocks 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 180 comin' Timo' the rye. 
 
 and ]ioses, making us feel that our bodies 
 have suddenly grown gross and hesLYj and 
 suffocating; oui' clothes might be of woollen, 
 so irritatingly do they chafe us. It is one 
 of those broiling mornings when existence 
 under a green tree is bad enough, but ex- 
 istence taking a race over a glariag shingle 
 is diaboHcal. 
 
 We are bound for the rocks now un- 
 covered by the receding tide, and over 
 them w^e are going to Cod's Bay, a lishing 
 village of evil reputation and bad smells, 
 that hides its du'ty head round the corner 
 of the cHff. It seems near enough, but, 
 judged by the endless succession of sHppery 
 boulders that intervene, we find it a very 
 long way indeed, and groan in our spirits 
 as we shde and scramble after our leader, 
 who bounds on in front, agile as a chamois, 
 and twice as sure-footed as liis progeny. 
 Not one cropper does he come ; but Am- 
 berley makes up for him ; she slides majestic- 
 ally do^vTi the rocks as though born to the 
 accomplishment, and even sits in the pools 
 among the scurrying little crabs, from 
 whence slie has to be fished out by our
 
 SEED TIME. 131 
 
 united efforts. She makes no complaint 
 though, far from it; her bruised shins, 
 damaged elbows, and wet petticoats all 
 come in the day's work. 
 
 AVe reach Cod's Bay at last, looking as 
 though we had fallen among thieves, and 
 take our way through its one unsavoury 
 street, and climb a hill that would be trying 
 in mid- winter, but in these dog-days is sim- 
 ply brutal. In two hom's' time we get home, 
 blowsy, footsore, and worn out, knowing 
 that our evil days have indeed begun. 
 Somehow the hours go by and blessed 
 night-fall comes. 
 
 At the present moment I am stand- 
 ing with my hands behind my back, 
 affectionately regarding a crab, garnished 
 with fi-equent prawns and abundant bread 
 and butter, which Jack and I have provided 
 for supper, as a set-off against the disagree- 
 ables of the day. He has gone to fetch a 
 jug of cider, when he comes back we shall 
 fall to. I wallv to the open window and 
 look out. The dim grey of night is creep- 
 ing over the land; the cold, salt smell of 
 the sea blows faiutly but most freshly up
 
 132 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 across the town; the lights yonder look Like 
 coarse reflections of the bright restless 
 lamps that quiver and burn in the pale 
 vault overheard. I lean my elbows on the 
 window-sill, and look across at the rose 
 garden, that, like many another in Devon- 
 shire, is on the other side of the road, and 
 from whence a fragrant whiff comes now 
 and again, and make a disastrous discovery. 
 Those moving shadows yonder, what are 
 they ? Followers ! Not one or two or 
 three, but dozens ! Oh, Alice, AHce ! do 
 I not know well enough what will happen ? 
 In five minutes the governor will come in 
 fi'om the garden at the back of the house, 
 and sit down to supper (his seat faces the 
 road and tlie hedge to the left of the rose 
 garden), he will see them — he will rush 
 out — and here conjecture fails me. 
 
 Jack enters, bearing the cider. ^' Jack ! " 
 I cry, rushing at him, *'they have come, 
 they are herCy dozens of them ! 
 
 "Beetles?" asks Jack abstractedly, his 
 thoughts plainly running on the crab who 
 is waiting to have his body dissected. 
 
 ^'Lovers!" I say, shaking him by the 
 arm, " oh ! wliat sliall we do ? "
 
 SEED TIME. 133 
 
 Jack goes to the window. Below we liear 
 tlie scraping of chairs, the rattle of plates ; 
 the lamphght streams across the road ; 
 evidently Ahce is in full view of the ena- 
 moured host, for there is a sudden movement 
 in theii' ranks, and they increase then- 
 capers tenfold, much as you may see 
 Chucky, the pig, curl his tail and grunt 
 excitedly when he sees a delectable wash 
 approaching. 
 
 ^' If they would only keep quiet," I say in 
 despaii', ^^ perhaps he would not see them. 
 Do you think they hioiu what a dreadful 
 man he is?" Jack vanishes. A thought 
 strikes me; seizing my nightcap, I lean out 
 of the window and w^ave it energetically, 
 pointing first to the room below, then at 
 the town yonder. Surely, surely, my night- 
 cap says, as plain as it can speak, ''Go 
 away ? " Alas ! to them such is evidently 
 not its meaning, for at sight of my modest 
 signal, at the dim vision of my white-robed 
 form, the besieging army seems inspired with 
 fresh vigour, and even begins to clamber 
 over the hedge. My flag of danger is con- 
 strued as an amatory signal pointing to
 
 134 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 indefinite favours, perhaps a love-letter. In 
 another moment I hear a chair pushed 
 sharply back below; the next I see the 
 governor tearing across the road. He is up 
 the hedge and over it before you could say 
 Jack Kobinson ; but, quick as he is, Miss 
 AHce's admirers are quicker, and he shortly 
 retui'ns furious and empty handed. I am so 
 petrified at the catastrophe my well-meaning 
 efforts have brought about that I am utterly 
 incapable of moving aw^ay, so w^hen the 
 governor retm^ns, and casts his eye over the 
 house in search of the w^aiting-maid to 
 whom he attributes the ovation, he beholds 
 me — nightgown, nightcap, open mouth, and 
 all. He shakes his fist wildly at me, and 
 the gestm'e breaks the spell. I tm-n to hide 
 myself in bed, but before I can reach it the 
 governor is before me. I receive a box on 
 the ear, that makes me see two enraged 
 parents, two crabs, two jugs of cider, two 
 nightcaps; then, with a thunderstorm of 
 abuse and wTath bellowing about me, I am 
 hustled out of the room, down into Jack's 
 — a narrow shp of a place overlooking the 
 back garden, and which is only — oh, horror I
 
 SEED TIME. 135 
 
 — partitioned off the governor's chamber. 
 There I am left crabless, siq^perless, tear- 
 less, to reflect on the extreme folly of ever 
 meddhng in other people's affairs ; no matter 
 what one's intentions may be, since the 
 better they are the worse the results seem 
 to be. Ahce comes by-and-bj^, bringing me 
 supper and comfort, as well she may, since 
 her sins have brought down upon me the 
 sentence of a three days' imprisonment to 
 the house. Finally, for I shall have plenty 
 of time for reflecting on my woes, I fall 
 asleep. I scarcely seem to have reached 
 the land of Nod, w^hen I wake suddenly and 
 open my eyes widely on — what ? At first I 
 am divided between a doubt whether it is 
 papa come to finish me off, or that I am at 
 last face to face with a ghost ; it is so difficult 
 to make out anything in this half-light (for 
 the green window blinds are very thick and 
 dark), and it cannot yet be more than very 
 early morning. Do ghosts seize you by the 
 arm and shake you till your teeth rattle in 
 your head, and the breath is nearly out of 
 
 your body ? Do ghosts 
 
 " It's four o'clock," says a voice in a
 
 13G comin" thro' the eye. 
 
 harsh whisper; ^' wake up, master Jack, 
 wake up." 
 
 ^' Master Jack" ! James ! I disappear under 
 the bed-clothes Hke a shot ; but if I tliink I 
 am going to be left there in peace, I am 
 much mistaken. To leave Master Jack snor- 
 ing in bed when (I now remember) James has 
 received particular injunctions over night to 
 eject the same, however unwilling, is no 
 part of his duty, so he punches and prods 
 my prostrate body with a most laudable 
 vigour, making violent efforts to dispossess 
 me of the clothes. To these, however, I 
 chng like giim death, wTapping them about 
 me as tightly as a hedgehog in his skin, and 
 for a space there is a desperate tussle, 
 intensely ludicrous by reason of its silence, 
 for neither of us dare to make a sound for 
 fear of the governor's hearing ; finally, alto- 
 gether worsted and confounded, he goes, and 
 I am left to sit up in bed hke Marius among 
 the ruins of Carthage. Presently Jack's 
 head is popped gingerly in at the door, and 
 he stares a good deal at the sight of the 
 tossed bed, my tangled locks, and flushed, 
 indignant countenance.
 
 SEED TIME. 137 
 
 ^^ Has the governor been taking a turn at 
 you ? " lie asks in a whisper. 
 
 ^'No," I answer solemnly, ^^ Jeavies. I 
 am black and blue. He thought it was you, 
 you know." 
 
 ^' Oh, he did, did he ? " asks Jack, sitting 
 down on a chau^ and going off into a noise- 
 less explosion, ^^I quite forgot to tell 
 
 him ' ' He rocks himself to and fro in an 
 
 agony of mirth. ' ^ I know what his awakings 
 are." 
 
 ^^ And so do I," I put in with conviction. 
 ^' I'm sure they are nothing to laugh at." 
 
 ^^ I must go," says Jack indistinctly, '' or I 
 shall bui'st;" and he goes away on some 
 unlawful excursion or another that I should 
 have loved, leaving me to moisten my 
 sheets with unavaihng tears. How slowly 
 the hours creep by ; how shall I ever get 
 through three whole days ? For once in my 
 life I enjoy the honour of lying in my 
 bed while the others are all scurrying down 
 to prayers. I eat my breakfast in a 
 slatternly way with a book before me, 
 I dawdle througli tlie morning reading 
 Shakespeare, for oh, blessed oversight ! papa
 
 138 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 forgot to set me any tasks. I pass my after- 
 noon in imaginary conversation with two 
 blackbirds and a linnet, enjoying with a 
 certain complacency the knowledge that all 
 the others, Jack included, are expiating their 
 sins in the burning sim at the governor's 
 heels, over shingle rock and sand. But by the 
 time night falls I am heartily sicl: of my o\m. 
 society. I am longing to be in the midst of 
 the chaff and noise and bustle of my brothers 
 and sisters. If papa wants a recipe for 
 making me ripe for Bedlam, he has only to 
 shut me up alone for a fortnight. Some- 
 how the days di'ag away and I am released, 
 free to go down the stairs or up as my spirit 
 wills. Below I find things very crooked 
 indeed; he is in a state of chi'onic ill-temper. 
 Alice looks alarmed ; she is red one moment, 
 pale the next ; and the very day of my re- 
 admittance to the family bosom, disaster 
 marks us for her ovn\, "We are awaiting 
 the announcement of dinner, and the 
 governor is looking out of the window, 
 prepared to quarrel with anything, fi'om the 
 thrush singing yonder to the baker's boy 
 witli the bread, when a smart dog-cart
 
 SEED TIME. * 139 
 
 diives slowly past, in wliicli are seated two 
 graceless, handsome, wide-awake Oxonians, 
 who stare dehberately in at every window 
 in search of Alice's blooming face. Papa 
 turns romid, and I think he is blacJc, he can 
 put two and two together as well as any 
 other man, and he hiows. 
 
 '* Go to yom- room, miss," he says to 
 Alice. ^* So this is the care you take of my 
 daughters?" he asks Amberle^'. 
 
 Poor iUice ! poorer Amberley, poorest 
 another ! We have one of om* extra, double- 
 distilled, most vii'ulent rows. It is not worth 
 Avi'iting down ; no one would believe it if I 
 did. Let it suffice that out of all the windy 
 talk and abuse, one abiding resolve remains, 
 Miss Alice will go to school immediately, 
 and a stronger, firmer hand than Amberley' s 
 shall be paid to crush the naughtiness out 
 of her. The governor, as I have more than 
 once remarked, is a man of action, and in an 
 incredibly short space of time he has found 
 a school and schoolmistress after his own 
 heai-t and pattern. All prehminaries are 
 arranged, the day for her departure is fixed, 
 and to us all there is nothing left to do but
 
 140 comin' thko' the rye. 
 
 to lament. All too soon the day and hour 
 come romid, and we crowd about her with 
 our kisses and farewells; weeping in eveiy 
 degree, deeply and bitterly, loudly and 
 effusively, silently and painfully, each 
 according to our several natm-es ; eveiy one 
 down to the babies fui-nishing his or her 
 quota to the stream. ^^ Good-bye, lovely 
 sister, good-bye." For how many weaiy, 
 long months shall we see your sweet face 
 no more ?
 
 SEED TIME. 141 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 " Love is a familiar, love is a devil; there is no evil angel 
 but love. Yet Samson was so tempted, and he had an 
 excellent strength ; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he 
 had a very good wit." 
 
 It was a year ago that I waved my uiglitcap 
 out of the window at Alice's lovers; she 
 has left school altogether now, and is home 
 for good. She has been the terror of her 
 schoolmistress, the admiration of her school- 
 mates, the delight of her pastors, masters, 
 and every pan- of male eyes that have ht 
 upon her, in the straight and narrow pre- 
 cints of her sheltered, quiet life; and now 
 she has come back to us loveHer, way- 
 warder, more bewitching than ever. Strictly 
 speaking we are not at home ; we are at 
 St. Swithins, whither papa, having no veiy 
 pleasant memory of Periwinkle, has brought 
 us for the hohdays, and for the scttmg up
 
 142 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 of mother's healtli, which of late has heeii 
 indifferent 
 
 St. Swithins is a long, long way from 
 Silverbridge, and the governor's doughty 
 reputation, not having spread so far, the 
 residents of the place actually call upon us 
 (Oh ! it makes me smile to think of it.) 
 quite comfortably, and as a matter of course, 
 without the slightest notion of the danger 
 they are running, and lie^ in the most 
 baffling and unaccountable manner, not only 
 forbears to shout ^^ Not at home ! " in their 
 faces, or hold the door wide open for them 
 to walk out, but permits mother to retm*n 
 these visits ; and though he never goes out 
 himself, does not forbid her partaking of 
 the very mild and temperate amusements 
 offered — croquet, five o'clock tea, and the 
 like. With mother goes AHce, who has, 
 I think, high jinks. Whether papa is 
 tired of living like Diogenes in his tub, or 
 whether he finds it a new^ sensation to be 
 treated just hke any other man, I know not ; 
 at any rate a change has come ^^ o'er the 
 spirit of his dream," and it is positively 
 refreshing to see him sinking the misan-
 
 SEED TIME. 143 
 
 thrope in the moderately ill-tempered, retiring 
 English gentleman. If he goes on at this 
 rate he will be quite convivial by the time he 
 is sixty, and excellent company at seventy ; 
 while at eighty years he will be so jovial 
 that he will be quite soriy to have to go 
 away; he will be beginning to enjoy life 
 so much. (Happy thought ! why did not 
 he begin earlier I) It was only yesterday 
 I saw him shake hands and walk down 
 the street -^dth old Mr. Tempest, who has, 
 it appears, a place near Silverbridge ; but 
 as the latter has never lived there within 
 the memory of man, papa has had no 
 chance of falling out with him. As it is, 
 he is probably saving up the old gentleman 
 as a honne hoiiclie to demohsh at some 
 future day. Mr. Tempest is an invahd 
 who spends his life in wandering about 
 the world in search of health, thus he has 
 chanced on St. Swithins, which is by the 
 faculty considered salubrious. He has a 
 son, tail, straight, yellow -haired, vdih. bravo 
 blue eyes that might belong to us Adairs. 
 He looks nice, but neither Jack nor I have 
 ever spoken to him yet.
 
 144 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 St. Swithins is a dull little place, but 
 none the less does that pretty young 
 woman, Miss Alice, in all the pomp of her 
 seventeen-year-old, pink- and- white beauty 
 quickly gather about her as fine an army 
 as she did at Periwinkle. She was only 
 a bit of a girl then, she is grown up now, 
 so there are no more unseemly scrimmages 
 of admii'ers behind hedges, or flying columns 
 on the beach ; things are conducted respect- 
 ably, and it is no longer a question of a 
 kiss of the hand or a love-letter, but of 
 love and marriage. Yes, love and marriage ; 
 and if we don't look very sharp after our 
 Alice she will be carried off by somebody 
 or other, to a dead certainty. Over and 
 above half a dozen indiscriminate lovers, 
 she has a shadow, a tall, bronzed, dark- 
 faced, handsome shadow, that every young 
 woman in St. Swithins has vainly tried to 
 make her own. Captain Lovelace, however, 
 has his own ideas about female beauty, and 
 until his eyes Ht on our sister's fresh, saucy, 
 charming face he has never felt incHned 
 to lose his own identity; but now — one, 
 two, three, and away ! — head over heels into
 
 SEED TIME. 145 
 
 love lie falls, and Alice follows at a re- 
 spectful distance. There have been some 
 half-dozen pubKc meetings, one stolen one, 
 a rose given and exchanged, eager words 
 spoken, a projDosal made and answered, a 
 kiss or two (who knows ?), and Alice, with 
 a promptitude that does her credit, has 
 made up her mind that she loves him ; that 
 she will many him ; and that, if papa does 
 not see things in the same Kght as she 
 does, he must be brought to reason. 
 
 Young people are very intolerant, very- 
 daring; they defy cii'cum stance, and would 
 rule the world in their own way, and in 
 retm-n receive many a hard knock before 
 learning the inevitable lesson of giving 
 in. So, one fine morning, when the gover- 
 nor is unsuspiciously swearing over the 
 weekly bills in the library. Captain Lovelace 
 is announced, and with a pluck that does 
 him infinite credit, requests the honour 
 of Miss Alice Adau-'s hand in marriage. 
 (We are all Hstening at the door, Alice in 
 the post of honour at the key-hole, the 
 rest of us spread out behind her, anxiously 
 looking forward to the excitement of seeing 
 
 YOL. I. L
 
 146 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 the bold wooer shoot out through the open 
 door T\dth considerable assistance from 
 behind.) We can almost hear papa's gasp 
 of amazement as he sits in the midst of 
 his disordered papers (he usually dances on 
 bills) and stares at the young man ; then 
 he pulls himself together and refuses the 
 proposed honour with a clearness and 
 brevity that admit of no mistake. He has 
 however met his match for once. 
 
 Captain Lovelace hears him out, then 
 quietly remarks that, having obtained Miss 
 Adair's promise, he is content to wait to 
 time for the fulfilment of his wishes, and 
 is sure that, although Colonel xldair may 
 refuse to give his consent now, he will do 
 so at no very distant date. Papa gasps 
 again ; but I think an unpleasant recollec- 
 tion of his daughter's wilfulness crosses his 
 mind, and in his next speech, although he 
 still repudiates the wooer's pretensions, there 
 is more bluster and less determination than 
 in the first, and oh I — miracle of mii*acles ! 
 — he has not yet tried to kick him ! After 
 that the deluge ; and it would not astonish us 
 if the governor suddenly fell on the young
 
 SEED TIME. 147 
 
 man's neck and kissed him, and, sending 
 for Alice, wept holy tears over them both, 
 saying, ^' Bless you, my children ! " 
 
 Captain Lovelace is speaking. He is ask- 
 ing what reasons Colonel Adair has to give 
 for this smnmary refusal? Can any exception 
 be taken to his character, means, or posi- 
 tion ? Has Colonel Adan other views for his 
 daughter ? No ; he has none, and he knows 
 nothing to the detriment of Captain Love- 
 lace's character, pocket, or place in hfe, and 
 he is forced to say so, for this is no woman 
 to be stormed at or child to be whipped, but 
 a man who wiU. have his answer. It is not 
 easy to say no, no, no, over and over again, 
 because it is no to a question that requires 
 a more reasonable answer; thus papa, 
 pressed for his reasons, can find none, save 
 that Alice is a mere child, far too young to 
 think of marrying for many years, etc. 
 
 " I am told," says Captam Lovelace, 
 ^'that Mrs. Adair was no older when you 
 married her ; you did not then consider her 
 youth a drawback ? ' ' 
 
 "What Mrs. Adah' chd is no affair of 
 yours, sir," says papa fiercely.
 
 148 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 '^None whatever," says Captain Love- 
 lace, '^ save that it forms a precedent." 
 
 There is a pause, and Alice makes a sig- 
 nificant face to convey to us that the 
 governor's countenance is the reverse of 
 angelic. The fact is he is in a dilemma. 
 He has had some experience of his daugh- 
 ter's admirers already, and he knows per- 
 fectly well that, if Tom is not in love with 
 and wanting to marry her, it will he Dick or 
 Harry, and that if this young man is sent 
 to the right about there will he fifty others 
 popping up before him asking the same 
 troublesome question. He also knows that 
 Miss Alice has a spice of his own wilful, 
 perverse temper in her (as, indeed, it would 
 be odd if she had not ; I often wonder we 
 are not all demons), and that she is not very 
 hkely to prove a meek little fool, who will 
 see all her lovers rapped on the head and 
 sent about their business without knowing 
 the reason why ; and altogether, for once in 
 his hfe he is compelled to think instead of 
 to act. 
 
 There is some more conversation and 
 pretty sharp practice between the two men
 
 SEED TBIE. 149 
 
 too ; and more than once it seems probable 
 that oiu' expectations will be fulfilled, and 
 the parting guest sped over our Hstening 
 ranks, but in the end — oh, wonder ! — the 
 lover prevails and wrings a most reluc- 
 tant permission fi*om the governor to pay 
 his addresses to om' sister for six months, 
 and if at the end of that time no specks are 
 discovered upon his character, or vice in 
 his ways or words, he shall be considered 
 engaged to Alice for an indefinite period, 
 matrimony appearing dimly in the far 
 horizon. (Papa is a sly old fox, he means 
 to make fools of them both; as soon as ever 
 they press for anything tangible he will 
 send Captain Lovelace adrift, he only wants 
 to gain time.) 
 
 Our faces express even more amaze- 
 ment than dehght. We had so confidently 
 reckoned on a violent scene, an unseemly 
 exodus, and, behold ! . . . . We all tumble 
 backwards over each other as the door 
 opens and her victorious sweetheai-t comes 
 out, and catches her up in his arms like 
 a baby, and what happens next I don't 
 know, for we all scamper away like mad.
 
 150 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 For many a day papa's face is black as 
 ink, and he surveys Alice wdth a wondei-fiilly 
 equal mixture of scorn, impatience, and 
 wrath, as though he found her a most indeli- 
 cate and unpleasant spectacle. It is very 
 strange that fathers who fell in love so 
 naturally and comfortably when they were 
 young, should so bitterly resent and feel so 
 utterly disgusted at their children's doing 
 the same. If he had his way he would keep 
 aU his daughters withering for ever on their 
 virgin stalks, and when they were miserable 
 peaky old maids turn round upon them and 
 twit them with their incapacity to get a 
 man to marry either of them. 
 
 For the first time in my life I am in a 
 position to critically study the ways, looks, 
 and words of a real handsome young paii* of 
 lovers. (I think all lovers should be young 
 and good-looking; I can't fancy faded or 
 elderly people peering into each others dull 
 faces.) I should not have so much oppor- 
 tunity, but that, after patient and dispas- 
 sionate trial of all her elder brothers and 
 sisters as gooseberries, she has fixed her 
 choice upon inc, as being the sharpest, most
 
 SEED TIME. 151 
 
 unseeing and most unhearing of tlie lot, and 
 fully one-half my time is spent in boudoir, 
 garden, or summer-house, craning my neck 
 round corners in anxious watch against the 
 governor. 
 
 Charles Lovelace is supposed to pay two 
 or three decorous visits a week, and sit 
 in the dramng-room opposite Alice, with 
 mother for dragon, talldng of the weather. 
 In reality he is here every day, and t^vdce 
 a day ; but he is not proud or above being 
 towed in and out, and on occasion hidden in 
 the shrubbery or a cupboard. Once or twice 
 it has been a very close shave, and nothing 
 but a special Providence and good luck has 
 saved him from ignominious discovery. 
 Their two faces look rarely well together, 
 dark and fair ; the bold, manly beauty of the 
 one against the round, feminine, dainty per- 
 fection of the other. I think no woman's 
 face ever shows its beauty to such advan- 
 tage as when seen beside that of a man. 
 How unweariedly they make love ! How 
 untiredly they utter their love-talk, of which 
 now and then a word or two comes to my 
 ears (I always tm-n my back upon them) —
 
 152 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 pretty, fanciful, tender stuif, that makes me 
 smile and vaguely stii's my heart. If ever 
 I have a sweetheart (and why should I not, 
 since it is a well-knowTi fact that all the 
 plainest women marry before the good-look- 
 ing ones, and to be married one must of 
 course be courted) I hope Dolly will make 
 as excellent a gooseberry as I do. 
 
 When Charles is paying lawful visits, he 
 brings with him a Httle book, called " The 
 Bundle of Sticks ; " where he picked it 
 up it would be hard to say ; and this he 
 reads diligently if papa ever comes into the 
 room where they are sitting. The sarcastic 
 twitch of the governor's nose and lips as he 
 looks from the one lover to the other is 
 something to wonder at. Now and then, 
 when his back is safely tui'ned, they go out 
 together for a stining spin in Charles's dog- 
 cart, in which he drives two fiery grey 
 ponies tandem, and a very charming turn 
 out it looks, with the two handsome young 
 people smihng over the white rug ; and every 
 one thinks so, save the disappointed old and 
 young maids of St. Swithins.
 
 SEED TIME. 153 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 " Those that Fortune makes fair she scarce makes honest ; 
 and those she makes honest she makes very ill-f avoureclly. " 
 
 We are at a children's party, Dolly and I. 
 Jack was asked but is too proud to come. 
 It is five o'clock, and the sun, who has been 
 standing over us all the afternoon, frizzling 
 our brains, and making himself obnoxious, as 
 he only knows how to do in the middle of 
 July, is kindly sinking somewhat in the 
 west. We have, with the usual insanity 
 and waste of very young people, been play- 
 ing at all manner of energetic games, and 
 are now engaged in the comparatively mild 
 recreation of " Kiss-in-the-ring." Kissing is 
 not reprehensible until one is grown up, I 
 suppose ; at any rate these httle girls take 
 their boisterous forfeits quite placidly, occa- 
 sionally return them even with an artless.
 
 154 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 generosity that is not half appreciated hy 
 the stoHd recipients of the same. 
 
 I am not a httle girl, but a big one, and 
 there is no boy present old enough or tall 
 enough to kiss me unless I choose. Besides, 
 no one has caught me yet, I can beat them 
 all. I always was good at running ; that and 
 jumping being the two doubtful accompHsh- 
 ments Jack has taught me to perfection. 
 
 I am laughing heartily at the dismal fate 
 my last pursuer has just met, his white 
 duck trousers being in fact one green 
 smudge from an involuntary acquaintance 
 he made with mother earth, when Mrs. 
 Floyd, our hostess, comes across the 
 garden, and by her side is that yellow- 
 haired laddie, young Tempest. Hardly a 
 laddie though, for he must be twenty if 
 he is a day, and has the square, broad- 
 shouldered figure of a man. 
 
 A not particularly clean piece of cambric 
 dropped at my heels, and a ^dsion of a 
 nimble youth of tender years scmiying 
 away in the distance, sets me off in fleet 
 pursuit. He has a good start so I do not 
 catch him, but walk slowly round until I
 
 SEED TIME. 155 
 
 come to Teddy Minto, who is the spiyest 
 on his legs of the assembled company next 
 to me. He is after me like a shot ; but 
 though I take him tmce round the ring, his 
 fingers do not once touch my gown, and 
 I dive in between Dolly and Lily Floyd 
 victorious. All at once young Tempest 
 joins the ring; and presently, on receiving 
 a dropped token from Lily, rushes after, 
 catches, and kisses her to her huge dehght, 
 for is he not the biggest person present ? I 
 wish Jack was here ! He would not care 
 about it though, he would think it beneath 
 him, while I — it only shows what an insigni- 
 ficant creatm'e I am — love it. I am enjoying 
 myself down to the ground. 
 
 '^Look, Nell! " cries Dolly, unloosing my 
 hand ; and turning my head, I see behind 
 me the symbol that invites me to pursuit. 
 Off I set with a will, but I do not come up 
 with the hare, who is young Tempest; on the 
 contrary, his long legs bear him away with 
 a fleetness that moves me to grudging envy. 
 
 ''I wonder," I say to myself, as I walk 
 round swinging the pocket-handkerchief, 
 '' whether lie could catch me ? We will
 
 156 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 see." Lightly I drop it behind him, swiftly 
 I fly along ; but I am not a dozen yards 
 away when he is up with me, and I am 
 caught, without his ever giving me a chance. 
 
 *'Now for the forfeit," he says, as he Hfts 
 me from the ground and stoops his head 
 to mine. I meet his saucy, bent face witlt a 
 vigorous slap that turns it scarlet, but he 
 never moves or blushes, only looks at me 
 with h'ank, amused blue eyes, before which 
 my sudden anger melts like snow before the 
 sun. 
 
 ^' Put me down," I say, and he puts me 
 down. ^' I hope I — I didn't hurt much ? " 
 (looking up at him rather anxiously). '^ I 
 did not mean to do it quite so hard, only 
 you should not be rude, you know." 
 
 ^^Lily did not mind," he says, looking 
 down on me with a queer smile. 
 
 ^^ But Lily is not grown up," I say vdth. 
 dignity. '^ Lily is only ten." 
 
 ^^ And you?" 
 
 *' I am a great age," I say, nodding, but 
 I shall not tell you how much." 
 
 '' Aie you not tired ? " he asks. '' Would 
 you not like to sit down ? " I look round ;
 
 SEED TIME. 157 
 
 the ring is broken ap ; the boys and 
 girls are stroUing about ; Mrs. Floyd has 
 vanished. 
 
 ^^ I don't mind," I say; '^ but we are 
 going in to tea soon." We sit down under 
 the beech tree and look at each other. ^^ I 
 know who you are," I say, smihng. '^ You 
 are young Mr. Tempest." 
 
 '' And you are Httle Miss Adair," he says. 
 
 *^ How did you know that ? " 
 
 *' My father knows your father ; besides, 
 I sit opposite you in church." 
 
 ^^ Do you ? " I ask with some dismay. 
 Can he have marked any of Jack's and my 
 ungodly tricks dming sermon time ? For at 
 St. Swithins' we sit behind papa, not beside 
 him. 
 
 '^ Is that youi' eldest brother who sits 
 beside you ? " 
 
 *^ Yes," I say proudly, ^' that is Jack. 
 There is nobody Hke him." 
 
 ^^ Is he here ? " asks the young man look- 
 ing round. 
 
 *' No, he would not come. You see he is 
 fifteen, and he likes boys. He used to be 
 satisfied with me, but now . . . ." A teaj
 
 158 comin' theo' the eye. 
 
 trickles dovm my nose, and I turn my head 
 away. It is a very, very sore subject with 
 me. *' It is all such a mistake," I say, 
 rubbing my nose and eyes hard, ''that I was 
 not a boy, you know. He and I would have 
 
 been together always, whereas now It is 
 
 very hard ! " 
 
 "Very," says the young man, and indeed 
 he seems to understand. ''Who is that 
 pretty httle girl yonder? She looks hke 
 a crumpled pink rose." 
 
 "Does she not?" I ask eagerly; "that 
 is Dolly, my sister." 
 
 " You are not a bit ahke ! " 
 
 " I know we are not," I say, looking at 
 her with pride ; "my sisters are all pretty, 
 every one ; I am the only unpresentable one 
 out of the whole lot. Now if you were to 
 see Ahce " 
 
 " I have seen her," he says, " she is quite 
 lovely. But you are every bit as good as 
 Dolly, or — nicer." 
 
 " Oh no ! " I say, laughing; " you need 
 not bother about saying anything Like that 
 to me, please ; I am quite used to being 
 plain. Nurse comforts me by saying that
 
 SEED TIME. 159 
 
 the ugliest chilcben sometimes grow into 
 the best looking folk, but I know better." 
 
 ^^George/' says Mrs. Floyd, bearing down 
 upon lis with all sails spread, ^' you promised 
 to help me give the children their tea ; are 
 you coming ? ' ' 
 
 So we go in and eat cake and diink 
 coffee, and by-and-by, having washed our 
 hot faces and hands, and smoothed our 
 tumbled locks, we assemble in a large 
 room, forty souls odd, for the purpose of 
 dancing. The Floyd's governess sits down 
 to the piano ; but alas ! whether it is the 
 painful consciousness of their extreme 
 neatness, or whether they are really unequal 
 to the duties of "footing" a polka, all the 
 little boys present hang together in groups, 
 and look askance at the rows of shiny- 
 cheeked, smooth-headed damsels, who are 
 waiting to be fetched out. 
 
 This uncomfortable state of things having 
 lasted for some time, the female wit (as is 
 usual when things are at a dead lock) comes 
 to the rescue, and Madge Weston, a black- 
 browed miss of twelve, rises fi'om her seat and 
 walks across the room to the halting army.
 
 160 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 " I shall dance with tjou^ Clem," she says 
 decidedly ; and, taking the biggest boy by 
 the arm, she leads him away. The spell 
 once broken, each Httle girl walks boldly up 
 to the boy that is goodUest in her eyes, 
 and bears him off triumphantly, though 
 some of them utter feeble protests, and 
 show a tendency to hang back. And now 
 they are off, giggling, ambling, floundering 
 and young George Tempest, enteiing hur- 
 riedly, looks about the room, and then 
 comes up to me. 
 
 ^' I can't dance," I say confidentially, as 
 he sits down beside me; ^4t is like a donkey 
 gambolling in a drawing-room. Can you ? " 
 
 " Pretty well ; but I should have thought 
 you knew how ; you are quite the nimblest 
 runner I ever saw." 
 
 '^One does not want to be nimble in 
 dancing," I say gravely, ^' or it must be 
 reduced to a method to answer. Jack says 
 my head always hits the ceiling when I try 
 to waltz." 
 
 ^' Miss Dolly seems to be labouring under 
 difficulties," says my companion, glancing 
 toward my httle sister, who is ambitiously
 
 SEED TIME. 161 
 
 trying to reach the shoulder of the very tall 
 lanky boy she has selected as partner ; ''he 
 has lost her altogether two or three times. 
 Supposing you and I see what we can do ? " 
 
 "It would be worse than Dolly," I say, 
 laughing. ''No, no! let us sit still and 
 look on. I want to ask you something, if 
 you don't mind. Is Mr. Tempest your real 
 father?" 
 
 "Yes. Why?" 
 
 " You are not a bit like him," I say, con- 
 sidering his comely features and the fresh 
 bright look that, let folks say what they wiU 
 about the expression that comes with years, 
 etc., is goodly and pleasant in a young man's 
 or a maiden's face. "He looks so dried up ; so, 
 so brown. Do you know, it is very rude, but 
 Jack and I always caU him the Mummy I ' ' 
 
 Young George Tempest laughs, and re- 
 assures me as to a doubt that has just 
 crossed my mind, as to whether that was a 
 suitable remark to make to a young man 
 about his father. 
 
 " Don't you think that on the whole 
 papas are a great mistake, and that we 
 should get on much better without them ? " 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 162 COMIN' THIIO' THE RYE. 
 
 ^^ I don't know," says the young man, 
 smiling, " but you surely would never say 
 that of mothers ? " 
 
 '^ Never ! " I answer energetically ; ^* but 
 tell me, what does your father do ? Does 
 he expect you to talk ? Does he insist on 
 your going out walking with him, all the lot 
 of you, except your mother ? " 
 
 ^^I have no mother," he says soberly, 
 ** and no brothers or sisters. No, he does 
 not make me walk unless I please ; but I am 
 his walking-stick, his pourer-out of medicine, 
 his lacquey (rather bitterly), who wanders 
 all over the world with him, learning no 
 good." 
 
 " Learning no good ! " I repeat. (I was 
 always rather like a monkey, and fond of 
 echoing other folks' words.) ''Have you 
 not a profession ? Do you not do anything ? 
 You are old enough ! " 
 
 "Ay!" he says, and a sudden shadow 
 falls upon his blonde, bright face. " I was to 
 have gone into the army, and even had my 
 commission in the Guards, but at the last 
 moment my father refused to let me join. 
 He said I was his only son, that he could
 
 SEED TIME. 163 
 
 not live many years, and so (with a short, 
 impatient sigh) I am knocking about with 
 nothing on earth to do. If only Providence 
 had sent me one or two of your brothers ! " 
 
 '' I have six," I say proudly ; '' there are 
 ^Ye running after Dolly, but I could not 
 spare one of them to you." 
 
 '' I suppose not," he says, with a smile. 
 ^' Do you ever smack their heads as you did 
 my cheek this afternoon ? " 
 
 " Sometimes ! only to tell you the tnith, 
 they are getting rather beyond me. Were 
 you angry when I slapped you this after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 ''Very! I hope you will never do it 
 again." 
 
 ^^But then 7jou must never do it again." 
 
 '' But I did not." 
 
 '^ If you were me," I say seriously, " you 
 would be sick of the very name of kissing ; 
 we have such oceans of it at home ! " 
 
 "Ah! I suppose so. Your father must 
 be very fond of you all ? " 
 
 " Very ! " I say with a ^yIy face, '' but it 
 is not he who is lavish in that respect " (I 
 giggle inwardly at the notion of his going
 
 164 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 about the house kissing us promiscuously), 
 " it is my sister ; she is engaged you know." 
 
 '' To Lovelace ? So I have heard." 
 
 '^ I am gooseberry, you see," I continue, 
 ''■ and I do get so tired of it all. Do you 
 think our fathers and mothers ever required 
 gooseberries ? " 
 
 '' I don't know," he says, laughing, '' but 
 I suppose they did pretty much the same 
 as their children do ? " 
 
 The polka is over, and very hard work 
 the dancers have apparently found it, for 
 they are all, boys and girls alike, criinson. 
 
 By-and-by we dance a quadiille, young 
 Mr. Tempest and I, and he guides me 
 through the mazes of that mysterious dance 
 with much discretion. I wonder why the 
 sight of two people chasscing to each other 
 always reminds me of two amiable ponies, 
 who cui'vet about face to face with each 
 other, preparatory to turning round and 
 letting out their heels in good honest 
 kicks ? We do not kick up our heels 
 though ; and when the dance is over go to 
 supper, where we eat chicken and tipsy 
 cake Tvith the hearty and unjaded appetite
 
 SEED TIME. 165 
 
 of youth, and then, for it is past ten 
 o'clock, we all say, ^' Good-night, and thank 
 you," and go away to put on our cloaks 
 and hats. 
 
 Balaam's Ass is waiting for Dolly and 
 me, and George Tempest takes my Httle 
 red cloak from her hands, and ties the 
 ribbons under my chin. 
 
 ^'Good-bye, Httle Bed Eiding Hood," he 
 says, '' and shall 1 ever see you again ? " 
 
 '^ I shall be sure to run up against you 
 sooner or later," I say, nodding ; ^' St. 
 Swithins is so very Httle; besides, do you 
 not Hve at Silverbridge, and are you not 
 going back to live there some day ? "
 
 166 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 " We are such stuff 
 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." 
 
 We are in August now, and there is no 
 coolness anywhere, not in the house, nor 
 in the garden, nor in the sea ; twice to-day 
 have I dipped in its salt waters, and each 
 time I have come out of it ten degrees 
 hotter than when I stepped in. Thi*ough 
 the dining-room windows yonder we can 
 hear the manly bass of the governor, and 
 the shrill httle pipe of the Mummy, fol- 
 lowing each other in hiendly monotony, 
 and out here, under the big linden tree, are 
 sitting Jack, young Mr. Tempest, and I. 
 
 The weather has sm-ely softened papa's 
 brain, for, not content with shaking hands 
 with Mr. Tempest, he invited both him
 
 SEED TIME. 167 
 
 and his son to dinner, and has just peace- 
 ably partaken of the same with them ; 
 Mother, Charles Lovelace, and Ahce being 
 also of the company. George and I are 
 old friends now, and he gets on very well 
 with Jack, so he has forsaken claret for 
 oui' company ; and very sociable and merry 
 we are as we sit and fan ourselves with 
 cabbage leaves, for oh ! though the sun 
 is sinking, he has heated the earth so 
 thoroughly that it is red-hot thi'ough and 
 through ; it is impossible to think of even 
 the hours of the night being cool. 
 
 Yonder, in the Tsinding ways of the for- 
 mal garden, Alice and Charles are walking 
 with their heads touching ; she is holding 
 up her white silk train with one hand, 
 and her pretty Httle feet are peeping in 
 and out, while the white roses in her 
 breast and hair are no fairer than her round 
 arms and neck. 
 
 " I wish we were at Silverbridge ! " 
 I say, swaying my cabbage leaf gently ; 
 '' it goes to my heart to be sitting here, 
 gooseberryless, currantless, raspberryless, 
 wliile all the little Dorleys are, I am
 
 168 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 certain, taking their nasty little fills ! 
 Mother wanted to have the fruit sent to 
 us once a week, but papa said it was to 
 be preserved." 
 
 ^' I hate preserves," says Jack, ^^ nasty 
 apologies for fresh fruit ; blackberry jam's 
 good though." 
 
 " Did you ever make jam of sloes ? " I 
 ask George Tempest, '' that cleaves to 
 the roof of your mouth and won't be 
 swallowed ? " 
 
 '' Never ! Did you ? " 
 
 ^' Once, but we only made one pot, and 
 it lasted years ; whenever we were very 
 hungry, and quite at our wit's end, we 
 used to take it out and look at it, but 
 never got any further, and at last it 
 withered up. I wish I knew w^here to get 
 some blackberries now, large juicy, soft 
 ones, like raspberries; but it's full early, I 
 don't think we'll get any w^orth having 
 before September." 
 
 ^^ I saw a lot tliis morning " says George, 
 
 '^ as I was riding across the lower 
 
 (*' Jack ! *' calls mother in the distance, 
 ^' I want you.") *' landslip," finishes George
 
 SEED TIME. 1G9 
 
 as Jack goes. ^' Would you like to go 
 and get some ? " 
 
 ^' So much ? " I say quickly. '' Are there 
 many ? " 
 
 ^'I think so ; why cannot you and Dolly 
 come with me to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 " We are forbidden to go out alone," 
 I say thoughtfully ; '' you won't mind 
 Amberley coming ? " 
 
 '^Indeed, I do," he says laughing. 
 ''What do you want wdth that stupid old 
 woman ? We could have such a jolly 
 morning." 
 
 ''So we could," I say, considering; "I 
 think I could dodge Aer all right ; but how 
 about the governor ? ' ' 
 
 " He goes for a ride sometimes." 
 
 " Yes, but not always. Supposing he were 
 to inquire for us and we were missing ? " 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " What then ? Oh, nothing ! " A vision 
 rises before me of the condition of the 
 household under the circumstances, and his 
 simple question makes me smile. 
 
 "Don't take any notice of him," says 
 George indifferently (It is all very fine for
 
 170 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 Mm to talk); ^'I shall be waiting on the 
 Parade for you to-morrow mornmg at eleven 
 o'clock punctually." 
 
 "I am afraid you will have to wait/' I say 
 disconsolately; " but never mind, if we don't 
 come, you will know it is not our fault ! " 
 
 '' The governor ! " signals Jack, beckoning 
 in the distance ; so without waiting for fare- 
 wells I hastily decamp. By-and-by the 
 sound of music rising from the drawing- 
 room gives us a new sensation. Never 
 within the memory of man, certainly not 
 within ours, has the piano's modest voice 
 been uphfted in papa's presence ; but, lo ! 
 at " the magic touch of company its long- 
 frozen melodies stream forth, and there is a 
 convivial, rakish, bacchanahan sound about 
 the festivities below that lifts the hair fi'om 
 off our youthful heads in amazement ; we 
 should not be surprised even, if on peeping 
 in we discovered papa affably turning over 
 the pages of AHce's music ; he may, for all 
 we know, be drinking tea. This mildness of 
 temper if agreeable is alarming ; can he be 
 going to have a fever or a fit ? or has the 
 sun actually melted some of the obstinacy
 
 SEED TIME. 171 
 
 out of his brain? Middle-aged gentlemen 
 don't act in direct opposition to all the 
 traditions of their past lives for nothing. If 
 his wits would only go on softening until he 
 is just like anybody else ! I fall asleep with 
 the cheerful tune of '^ Kiss me quick and go, 
 my honey," in my ears. Somehow it seems 
 indecent as sung before the governor. 
 
 We have all slept, risen, di'essed ourselves 
 (Of all the machines that are yearly invented 
 for reducing labour to a minimum, why is 
 there not one for turning us out ready 
 dressed? Who is there that does not now 
 and then kick against the wearisome, ever- 
 recurring duties of the toilet ?), Hstened -to 
 prayers, eaten our breakfasts, and scattered 
 hither and thither to our several pursuits 
 and occupations. It is hohday time with 
 us, so I am not expected in the school-room, 
 and my present object in life is to ascertain 
 what the governor is doing, where he is 
 going, and whether there is any dire chance 
 of his catching Dolly and me just as we are 
 trotting off to '' pastures new." I carefully 
 track him to the hbrary, and am presently 
 surprised and reHeved by the appeai'ance of
 
 172 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 his man of business, who is shown to that 
 sanctum by Simpkins, and left for four good 
 hours, I hope. And now to find Dolly. I 
 have not mentioned to that young person 
 that I meditated taking her out, or her eyes 
 would have become so round that everybody 
 would have suspected she was up to mis- 
 chief, and on searching inquiry she would 
 certainly have let it all out. I discover her 
 in the nursery with Alan, learning Scriptui'e 
 history — the fag-end of a punishment given 
 by papa weeks ago. I give nurse a hug. 
 Dear old soul ! is she not like a second 
 mother to us ? but wish she would tm*n 
 her back ; for if she is loving she is shrewd, 
 and is too weU acquainted with my knack of 
 getting into scrapes to trust any one of her 
 charges to my tender mercies. She is 
 hemming dusters and rating Balaam's Ass, 
 who with her usual obstinacy has been 
 doing that which she ought not to have 
 done, and left undone such things as she 
 ought to have done. Apparently she has 
 been taking the air on the leads, for nurse is 
 remarking with a violent sniJBf, " that rent 
 wiU soon be dear in these parts if so much
 
 SEED TIME. 173 
 
 beauty is seen disporting itself on the tiles." 
 (B. A. is the most ill-favoured young woman 
 I ever saw.) 
 
 **Like Bathsheba," says Alan. 
 
 ** Nurse," says Dolly looking up from her 
 book, " who was Bathsheba ? " 
 
 '' Nobody in particular," Miss Dolly ; 
 '' nobody you have any call to ask about. 
 A woman." 
 
 ^' She was an improper person," says Alan 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 " Sakes ahve ! " ejaculates nurse holding 
 up her hands ; " whatever is the boy talking 
 about ? Hold your tongue. Master Alan, 
 and mind your book." 
 
 , ** I shan't," says Alan, resting his chin on 
 his hand and regarding nurse with medita- 
 tive eyes. ^' You know it as well as I do. 
 I heard Jack humming something the other 
 day about — 
 
 * That naughty little dragon, 
 And she without a rag on ; ' 
 
 And I asked him who she was, and he 
 said Bathsheba. And I looked it out, and I 
 shan't ever think much of David again, 
 psalms and all."
 
 174 COMIN THRO THE RYE. 
 
 Nurse looks at him helplessly as he 
 returns to his book. Why do our elders 
 always look so completely put out of 
 countenance when we show any signs of 
 shooting up in unexpected directions? 
 They did the same when tlieij were 
 children. 
 
 Taking advantage of her departure to 
 quell a riot among the boys in the next 
 room, I catch Dolly's hand and pull her 
 away with me. 
 
 ^' May not Alan come ? " she asks, looking 
 back. 
 
 ^' No," I say in a whisper ; '' I only want 
 you.'' I trot her into my bed-room, and 
 having informed her of the trip I propose 
 taking, ask her if she can get at her hat and 
 jacket without nurse's knowing. 
 
 Yes, she can, and, all dehght and 
 round eyes, she departs on tiptoe, obtains 
 the coveted articles, and in five minutes, 
 after patient and careful dodging of mother, 
 Amberley, Simpkins, and Alice, we stand on 
 the high road, and are scampering away as 
 fast as we can pelt towards the Parade. 
 
 Oh ! the bonny, bonny sea ! Though I see
 
 SEED TIME. 175 
 
 and stand by it every day, it always gives 
 me a new delight every time my eyes light 
 thereon. It is only half-past ten ; there is 
 plenty of time and to spare, so we betake our- 
 selves to Tippet's, the confectioner; and as — 
 oh, wonder ! — I actually possess a sixpence, 
 we indulge in one bun each, one sponge- 
 cake each, and a pennyworth apiece of 
 bull's-eyes. Delicious ! We are thirsty, 
 but lemonade is beyond us, so w^e drink 
 water unthankfuUy (Why does every one 
 take kindly to adulterated and manufactured 
 drinks, and turn away disdainfully from the 
 only pure liquid the w^orld contains ?) and 
 then take a comfortable httle trot I'ound the 
 town, glueing oiu' noses to shop windows ; 
 pausing to look at the omnibus starting for 
 the railway station ; helping to pick up an 
 unfortunate pair of twins who have been 
 rolled out of their perambulator by an elder 
 sister, aged seven years ; standing still to 
 watch a man walking round and round his 
 horse in the vain effort to mount it ; diving 
 into a chemist's shop to get* out of the 
 way of old Mr. Tempest ; feehng, iu sliort, 
 very dissipated, very happy, and intensely,
 
 17G comin' thro' the kye. 
 
 grandly independent. Eleven o'clock is 
 striking as we reach the Parade, and at 
 the far end is George. Seeing us, he steps 
 out hriskly, and in another two minutes we 
 are shaking hands and laughing over the 
 success of our undertaking. 
 
 ^' We must be very quick though," I say, 
 '^ for some unlucky spuit may put it into his 
 head to ask for us, and then " 
 
 *'How do you do. Miss Adair?" asks a 
 voice behind me. Turning, I see Bobbie 
 Silver and two or three other young fellows, 
 friends of Jack. 
 
 ^'How do you do?" I say, rather chap- 
 fallen : they will see Jack presently, and tell 
 him they saw me down here alone. Oh, the 
 ways of disobedience are very crooked ! 
 
 ^^And where is the duenna?" asks 
 Bobbie. 
 
 I am opening my mouth to answer him, 
 when in the distance I espy Balaam's Ass 
 bearing down upon us mth a portentous 
 mien that betokens some deadly tidings. 
 The words I am about to speak die in my 
 lips ; my open mouth remams open ; my 
 widening eyes enlarge to theii' fullest extent
 
 SEED TIME. 177 
 
 and remain fixed. The young men, 
 marvelling, turn to ascertain the cause of 
 my petrifaction. 
 
 ^' If you please. Miss Helen and Miss 
 Dolly," says Balaam's Ass, appearing in our 
 midst, ^'' ijour ])a says yoiCre to go liome 
 arid go to bed directly ! " 
 
 She might have whispered. ... I do 
 not look at Bobhie or George. I look no- 
 where ; I see nothing. Why does not the 
 earth open and swallow us up ? Somehow, 
 I do not know how to this day, we got 
 ourselves away. 
 
 ^' How dare he do it ? " I say, as I climb 
 the steep hill that leads to our abode, with 
 bitter tears raining down my burnt cheeks, 
 hot anger and outraged pride scorching my 
 heart, ''just as we were so happy, Dolly! 
 How shall I ever look one of them in the 
 face again ! " And I am fourteen years old ! 
 Truly "■ i)ride goes before a fall ! " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 178 COMIN THEO THE EYE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 " This is the excellent foppery of the -world, that when we 
 are sick in fortune (often the surfeit of our own behaviour), 
 we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the 
 stars ; as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly 
 compulsion." 
 
 My last little escapade has cost me clear. 
 Not only have I been condemned to a 
 week's imprisonment in the house and 
 grounds, but the edict has gone forth that 
 I shall be sent to school without loss of 
 time. I have long ago wept my eyes dry. 
 I do not think that I shall ever be able 
 to cry any more, not even when I find 
 myself set down in the midst of a crowd 
 of nasty, spiteful, odious, chattering girls ; if 
 there were a few boys I would not mind, 
 but to have nothing but petticoat company 
 for five months will, I am certain, drive 
 me mad. If Dolly were coming even, 
 it would not be so bad, we could at least
 
 SEED TIME. 179 
 
 hold together and talk about home ; I 
 should not be so miserably lonely then ; 
 but no such luck, Amberley is still good 
 enough for another two years' cultivation 
 of that little person's mind. How I shall 
 hate the needlework and the bread and 
 butter and the making my own bed every 
 morning ! and, oh ! how I shall have to 
 mend my manners and revise my vocabu- 
 lary ! Eemarks that are merely spicy 
 among ourselves might be regarded by a 
 schoolmistress in a different light, and our 
 freedom and ease of invective and retort be 
 considered immoral. 
 
 Everybody is out this evening, papa 
 and all, and I have not a soul to speak 
 to but Paul Pry, who does not under- 
 stand if I do talk to him. I cannot even 
 make myself of use by playing gooseberiy. 
 How Alice ^ill miss me when I am 
 gone ! The ghost of a tear comes into 
 my eye at this touching thought (which 
 is after all nothing but that p///t" de soi- 
 mcme that is at once so pitiful and so 
 natural). They cannot choose but miss 
 me, though, I befear me, the cause of my
 
 180 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 being so regretted will be but selfish. Love 
 on, poor lovers ! By Christmas your billings 
 and cooings will be over, and you, Mr. 
 Charles, will be sent to the right-about. 
 How the governor's patience has lasted as 
 long as it has done, I can't imagine. It is 
 dull work marching about here all alone, 
 with no fruit trees to rob, or sociable soul 
 to exchange remarks with. I have not seen 
 George since that fatal day, although he has 
 been here two or three times. Somehow I 
 cannot forgive him for having been a wit- 
 ness to my disgrace, and I owe him a 
 .grudge for having a nasty little father who 
 did see Dolly and me when we bolted into 
 the chemist shop, and, meeting papa on 
 the hill, told him, but with no malicious 
 intent, that he had just seen us ; hence the 
 catastrophe. There never was anybody as 
 unlucky as I am ; everything has gone wrong 
 with me ever since I was born, and every- 
 thing will continue to do until my death, 
 which is certain to take place in some 
 unseemly, unexpected manner, at some 
 unsuitable time and spot. I suppose my 
 own bad conduct is at the bottom of most
 
 SEED TIME. 181 
 
 of my misfortunes though. Now that last 
 fiasco was caused by love of blackberries, ergo 
 greediness, which is distinctly a failing of 
 my own, and nothing to do with an unlucky 
 star ! I wish I could commit my sins with 
 my eyes shut. I know so perfectly well 
 always when I am doing anything T\Tong, 
 I see the good and the evil so clearly, the 
 one on the right hand the other on the 
 left, and yet, oh, shame ! I nearly always 
 choose the ill. Perhaps it is because I 
 know my own wicked heart so well, that 
 I, who am the merriest, noisiest, liaj)piest of 
 us all, have such deep, bitter fits of depres- 
 sion and misery now and then. In compa- 
 rison mth the keenness of enjoyment is the 
 power of enduring pain, they say. If ever 
 God sees fit to send me a great joy, I shall 
 taste its sweetness to the uttermost ; but if 
 a great trouble come upon me, I shall bear 
 every jot of its weight and hardness, and 
 never seek to shift it to other shoulders, or 
 contrive to bear it lightly. Clearly I am in 
 a lachrymose and dismal frame of mind this 
 evening; generally speaking, after a good 
 liowl, my spirits fly up to the skies, but
 
 182 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 this time I do not feel any the better, and if 
 tears were forthcoming I would begin it all 
 over again. 
 
 As I stroll along the coppice that di\ddes 
 our grounds fi'om the high road, I hear a 
 gay young voice whisthng, " My love, she's 
 but a lassie yet ; " it sounds quite cheerful, 
 and almost puts me in spirits. I hope he 
 will not go away directly, for, oh ! I do hate 
 to be all alone without a human voice 
 within earshot. I have not looked upon 
 the countenance of man, woman, or child 
 for a whole hour ; to see anybody would 
 be company, so I mount the hedge pre- 
 paratory to taking a small peep over it. 
 Even a commercial traveller, or a rustic 
 Lubin w^aiting for his sweetheart, would be 
 nicer to look at than these still, straight 
 trees and the stupid, silent grass. Popping 
 my head somewhat suddenly over the hedge, 
 I find myself face to face with George 
 Tempest. For a moment I stare speech- 
 lessly at him, then I drop the boughs, 
 vanish from his sight, and run fleetly down 
 the coppice. I hear his voice calling 
 ''Nell! Nell!" after me, and in another
 
 SEED TIME. 183 
 
 minute lie has overtaken me, and stands 
 in my path. 
 
 " Won't yon speak to me, Nell ? " he asks, 
 rather hlown and out of breath with his 
 exertions. 
 
 ^^ Can't stop now," I say indistinctly, 
 turning a scarlet countenance over my 
 shoulder ; '^ somebody is calling me." 
 
 ^' Nobody is calling you," he says quickly, 
 " are you angry with me, Nell ? " 
 
 ^* Angry!" I repeat, turning round my 
 face which is, I think, assuming its normal 
 tint, ^' why should I be angry ? " 
 
 '^ Come back into the coppice for a httle 
 while then," he says; ''you can't be going 
 in yet, it is only seven o'clock." 
 
 For a moment I hesitate. I am ashamed 
 to look him in the face, but will it not be 
 intolerably dull all alone in the empty house 
 yonder ? I turn and walk beside liim. '' Do 
 you know," he says, '' that I have been 
 looking out for you every day, and all day 
 for the last fortnight, but I have never 
 caught a single glimpse of you ? " 
 
 ''For the best of all reasons," I answer; 
 " did you not know I was in punishment ? "
 
 184 COMIN' TllPtO THE RYE. 
 
 ^' No ! " he replies indignantly. ^' What 
 a shame ! and pray whose doing was that ? ' ' 
 
 ^' There is only one person in the world 
 who has the power to make ns miserable," 
 I say, "and you know who that is." 
 
 "But you have not been locked up," he 
 says, looking puzzled, "for one day I was 
 here with Jack, and I am certain I saw 
 you in the distance, and went in hot pur- 
 suit, but you had vanished. When I got 
 back I asked Jack why you ran away, and 
 how it w^as I never saw you now, and he 
 said he didn't know." 
 
 "Good boy!" I say, laughing, he would 
 not betray me. "It is not nice, is it, when 
 one is beginning to be grown up, to be kept 
 prisoner for a fortnight ? " 
 
 " He is a wretch," says George, vigorously, 
 "how he can have the heart. . . ." 
 
 "I want to ask you a question," I say, 
 looking up at his face, reassui'ed by the 
 unsmiling look it wears — "did you — did 
 you — laugh much ? " 
 
 "About what, dear?" 
 
 " That — that morning, when we went out 
 blackberrying."
 
 SEED TIME. 185 
 
 '^No," he says gently, ''I was far too 
 angry for that." 
 
 '^And Bobbie Silver?" I ask with my 
 head turned away, " did he laugh ? " 
 
 ^^I don't think so," says George, with 
 some slight confusion in his voice, that 
 plainly tells me whatever he did not do, 
 the others did. 
 
 '^I shall never forget it," I say, turning 
 my red face full upon him — '^ never! You see 
 I am just beginning to be grown up. ..." 
 
 ^' Never mind !" he says gently, ^'it is he 
 who ought to be ashamed of himself, not 
 
 you!" 
 
 ^'And you will promise," I say anxiously, 
 " never to laugh, never even to think of it, 
 or I could never feel comfortable with you! " 
 
 '' I promise," he says gravely ; ^* and now 
 tell me, is it true you are going to school ? " 
 
 '' Quite true ! " I answer, '' horribly true ! 
 To-day is Friday, and I am going next 
 Wednesday." I thought I had no such 
 things as tears about me, but somehow they 
 have got into my voice, and as I tm-n my 
 head away, George takes my hand with 
 a gentleness that Jack never knew, and 
 keeps it.
 
 186 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 *' I wish you were my brother," I say, 
 with a sob ; '^ of course I could never have 
 loved any one so well as Jack, but you 
 would have been kinder to me ! " 
 
 ^' If I had had a little sister," he says 
 (How soothing his voice is ! how quiet his 
 ways are ! He is not like any one I have 
 ever known before. Can it be because he 
 has no brothers and sisters?), ''I should 
 have liked her to be just like you, and I 
 should have loved her beyond everything ; 
 but it is too late to think of that noiv.'" 
 
 ^*Yes, it is too late," I say, ^'releasing my 
 hand to pluck a sorrel leaf that is close to 
 my elbow ' ' (we are sitting down on the 
 warm burnt grass); ^' but if you had only 
 thought of it before, say ten years ago, jou. 
 could have asked your father to many again, 
 could you not? " 
 
 ^^Yes?" says George, looking rather 
 puzzled. 
 
 ^* And then you know you would very 
 Hkely have had a sister. Step-brothers and 
 sisters are not the same as one's own though; 
 sometimes they quarrel dreadfully ! " 
 
 ^'Nell," says George, bending his fair
 
 SEED TIME. 187 
 
 head to look me straight in the face, '^ Do 
 you Hke me? " 
 
 ^'Yery much," I answer promptly; ''next 
 to mother. Jack, Alice, and Dolly, I don't 
 know any one I like so much." His face 
 falls a little. 
 
 " I can't expect you to have much room 
 in your heart for me," he says, "you have 
 so many to fill it, while I have — nohody." 
 
 '' You have the Mummy." 
 
 " Yes " (laughing), '' but I have room for 
 plenty more." 
 
 '' So have I! Now I should not wonder if, 
 in a year or two, w^hen I get to know you 
 better, you know, I were to like you very 
 much indeed, almost as well as Jack; you 
 are always so good to me ! " 
 
 ''Dear little Nell," he says heartily, "I 
 only hope you will. You'll have plenty of 
 opportunity of getting better acquainted 
 with me, for my father talks of going to 
 Silverbridge next midsummer, to live at 
 The Chace." 
 
 "How delightful!" I say, clapping my 
 hands, " but why not before midsummer ? " 
 
 " We are going on our usual wild goose
 
 188 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 expedition round the continent," he says 
 disgustedly, " and a lively time I shall have 
 of it!" 
 
 ^' It will be such fun," I say, following 
 my own train of thought, ^' when I am 
 grown up and come home for good, you 
 and Jack and I will be such fi'iends ! " 
 
 ^'Nell," says the young man, leaning 
 over towards me, '^ do you think you will 
 ever care for me as viiicli as Jack ? " 
 
 ^' It is not likely ! " I say, smihng into his 
 bright, eager, beautiful young face, '^you 
 are not my brother, you know ! " 
 
 *'And I am very glad of it," he says 
 decidedly. 
 
 ^^Glad?" I say, opening my eyes, ''and 
 you said just now you should like a sister 
 just Hke me ! " 
 
 ''Just like 5^ou, perhaps, but not you. Nell, 
 do you think you will ever be married ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose so," I answer indif- 
 ferently ; " everybody is sooner or later. It 
 is wretched to be an old maid, with no one 
 to stand up for you, is it not ? " 
 
 " Very ! Have you any notion of what 
 your husband ought to be like, Nell ? "
 
 SEED TIME. 189 
 
 ''My husband!" ,1 repeat, breaking into a 
 peal of laiigliter. '' How droll it sounds ; it 
 is like playing at a feast ; and yet mother 
 knew a lady who was manied at sixteen, 
 her mother at fifteen, and her grandmother 
 at fourteen ! " 
 
 '' Then it is high time you were married ! 
 But you have not told me what he must 
 be like ? " 
 
 "Dark," I say, pursing up my mouth, and 
 looking at the sun who is passing away to 
 his rest in such gorgeous pomp with his 
 bright childi'en, the clouds, thronging about 
 him. " Very dark; and he must have black 
 or very dark eyes, and a long black mous- 
 tache that sweeps, but is not waxed." 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " He must keep me in rare good order, 
 and not let me get my own way, for 
 though I love to have it, it is bad for me ; 
 but he must never slap me or call me 
 names." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaims George, "does 
 a gentleman ever do that ? " 
 
 " Sometimes ! And he must be very fond 
 of my people, and have them to stay with us
 
 190 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 very often, and let me go and stop with 
 them." 
 
 ' ' And you are quite sui'e he must be 
 dark?" 
 
 " I think so ; but if he were very nice 
 and kind, I should not mind so much about 
 his complexion." 
 
 '' Do you think that I should do, NeU ? " 
 asked the young man, half eagerly, half 
 jestingly, ''when you are quite growTi up, 
 eighteen or thereabouts ? " 
 
 '^You!'' I say, staring at him. "Oh, 
 George ! do you mean it ; are you 
 jokmg?" 
 
 *' Not a bit of it ! You are the dearest 
 little girl, and the nicest little girl, and the 
 prettiest little girl I ever saw, and you'll 
 only be dearer and nicer and prettier as 
 you grow older, and I'm fonder of you than 
 anything or anybody under the sun." 
 
 ''Including the Mummy?" I ask, rallying 
 from the shock his calHng me pretty has 
 caused me. 
 
 "Including him ! " 
 
 " George ! " I say, beginning to cackle 
 again. " Don't think me very rude, but is 
 it, is it a real offer you have made me ? "
 
 SEED TIME. 191 
 
 ** I suppose SO," he says, beginning to 
 laugh too, ''why?" 
 
 "Because not one of us, not even Alice, 
 had an offer made her at the age of fourteen 
 before. I'm certain no one ever asked Milly 
 to marry her, and I don't think any one 
 ever did Jack? " 
 
 ''Highly improbable! But you have not 
 answered my question yet." 
 
 " Papa could not send me to bed if I were 
 married, could he ? or set me chapters in 
 the Bible, or box my ears ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 "And you would always live at Silver- 
 bridge, close to the Manor House, so that 
 I could run in and out eveiy day ? ' ' 
 
 " If youhked." 
 
 " Then," I say, stretching out my hand, 
 "if you are quite sure that you will always 
 be poHte to Jack, and never call me names, 
 or make a row about the housekeeiiing bills, 
 or keep the key of the kitchen garden, I 
 will marry you ! Not for years and years 
 though, when I am twenty or so." 
 
 " That would be much too old to be 
 manied," says George. "It would be a
 
 192 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 pity not to come to The Chace while you 
 are young and able to enjoy the fiTiit. 
 Eighteen is the proper age ! " 
 
 ^^ Too soon," I say, shaking my head, 
 "let us say eighteen and a half; but, of 
 course, if I see any one I like better, you 
 won't mind my having him ? " 
 
 "Not mind," he says blankly; "but I 
 shall mind very much indeed ! However, I'll 
 take care that you never have the chance ! " 
 
 "You need not be afraid," I say, con- 
 soHngly ; "no living man is ever seen in 
 Silverbridge who is not married or old or a 
 fright! Besides, who would be likely to 
 fall in love with me ? " 
 
 "Everybody!" he says warmly, "they 
 couldn't help it ! " 
 
 " I think," I say, disregarding this 
 pretty compliment (of course he does not 
 expect me to notice it, he only does it 
 to please me !), " that it would be safer 
 to promise conditionally. Most likely you 
 will see some one or other who would 
 just suit you, and then you might feel 
 uncomfortable about me ; and though it is 
 very unhkely that any one else will ever
 
 SEED TIME. 193 
 
 want to marry me, for at home we see no- 
 body, it is just possible that I might ran up 
 against somebody I liked better, or I might 
 not care about being married at all, you 
 know ; so we will leave it open until I am 
 eighteen and a half! " 
 
 ^' And it is a promise ? " he says, holding 
 my hand between both his own and looking 
 very kindly into my face. (How his mother 
 would have loved him if she had lived, he 
 has such lovable ways.) ''You will not 
 forget?" 
 
 ''No," I say promptly, "I always keep 
 my promises : ask Jack if I do not — that is 
 one reason why he says I ought to have 
 been a boy ! But look, how dusk it is grow- 
 ing ! I must go. Good-night ! " 
 
 " Good-night," he says, standing over 
 me, tall and fair in the gathering shadows. 
 " Perhaps this is the last time I shall have 
 a chance of speaking to you alone before 
 you go, dear?" 
 
 " I suppose so." / 
 
 " Then, Nell, as you're going to be my 
 little wife some day, and I have no sister, 
 you know — nobody to be good to mc, won't 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 COMIN THRO THE RYE. 
 
 you give me a kiss, just a little one, before 
 you go?" 
 
 '^Of course I will ! " I say, touched to the 
 heart by the allusion to his narrow, loveless 
 home life; then, as he stoops his head, I lift 
 myself on tiptoe and kiss his cheek as 
 heartily as though it were Jack's. " I vdsh 
 you were my brother," I say warmly — "I 
 do wish it with all my heart ! "
 
 SEED TIME. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "Virtue! a tig! 'Tis ourselves that we are tlms or thus. 
 Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills arc 
 gardeners . . . either to have it sterile with idleness, or 
 manured with industry ; why, the power and corrigible 
 iiuthority of this lies in our wills." 
 
 The morning of my departure has arrived. 
 The carriage is at the door, my boxes are 
 on the roof, and if anything could console 
 me at this trying moment, it would be the 
 knowledge of the number of good things 
 one bursting hamper contains. As it is, 
 I am vaguely conscious of some pleasant 
 morsel at the back of my mind that will 
 by-and-by emerge to the front and com- 
 fort me. I have swallowed half an egg 
 and a pint of salt tears for breakfast ; I 
 have wished papa good-bye, or rather I have 
 aimed a damp shot at his nose between the 
 sheets (he is ill) ; and now I am standing in
 
 190 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 the IirII, hugging my plentiful brothers and 
 sisters all round, kissing them passionately 
 with streaming cheeks and loud sobs that 
 might melt the heart of a stone. Finally 
 I bolt headlong into the carriage, where 
 mother sits awaiting me, and burrow in 
 the floor thereof. Charles Lovelace puts 
 his head in at the window to squeeze a 
 tiny packet into my hand. I cannot thank 
 him, for my voice is attuned to nothing but 
 howls ; and away we go. I lift mj'seK from 
 my abased position to wave my dripping 
 pocket-handkerchief at the group by the 
 door, and find some small comfort in the 
 fact that they are crying, every one, 
 except Charles. The sight of theii' regret 
 gives me a fresh access of grief, and I am 
 just retiring behind my useless handkerchief 
 to indulge in a storm of sobs when the 
 carriage stops, and George Tempest comes 
 to the window. '' Good-bye," he says, 
 taking my hand in his, and looking painedly 
 at my blubbered, miserable face, " good- 
 bye 1 " That is all he says, and yet he 
 conveys as much sorrow and sympathy in 
 the homely word as though he had talked
 
 SEED TIME. 197 
 
 for an hour. As we drive on again I begin 
 a fresh bout that indudes the leaving liim 
 in its grievances ; and by the time we reach 
 the station I am damp enough to give 
 any one near me a cold, if it were winter 
 instead of summer time. Jack fishes me 
 out, and puts me in the waiting-room with 
 the rest of the Hght luggage, and, while the 
 footman gets our tickets, he tries to revive 
 my di'ooping spirits by sketches as to what 
 we ■\\ill do in the Christmas hohdays. But 
 oh ! on this burning dog-day, Christmas 
 seems a very, very long way off; besides, 
 why should I not be having my hohdays 
 now instead of looking five months ahead ? 
 I ought not to be going at all. 
 
 The train comes snorting in — hoAv sicken- 
 ingly hot it looks ! — and somehow I am 
 bundled into it. As it is starting I lean out 
 of the window, and, regardless of porters 
 and his own disgust, I hug Jack round the 
 neck with despairing energy and a splashing 
 shower of tears. ''Good-bye ! " I cry, waving 
 my wet rag and scarlet nose out of the 
 window as long as he is in sight ; then I 
 tumble back into the carriage, phini}) into
 
 198 
 
 the arms of a nervous, spindle-shanked, 
 elderly gentleman, who shoots me off his 
 knees with such vigom* that I fly into a seat 
 on the opposite side. It matters veiy httle 
 to me where I am, for my whole attention is 
 taken up with hard crying — crying that m 
 as unlike other people's tears as a floodgate 
 is to a brooklet. I wonder if, when I am 
 grown np, I shall get out of this habit of 
 wasteful, exhaustive weeping ? I always 
 did save my troubles up into a lump and 
 clear them all off at once. It takes me 
 some time to begin, but when I do I don't 
 stop in a hurry. We are half-way to our 
 destination before my nose and cheeks have 
 lost their first glossy shininess, and the 
 elderly gentleman has shut his gaping 
 mouth of amazement. Thank goodness, I 
 have mother ; and after a while she brings 
 me to a tolerable state of composure. 
 
 Charteris, the place to which I am going, 
 is eighty miles from home; so it is evening 
 before we arrive there — the last six miles 
 being performed by coach through sceneiy 
 that would delight me were not my heai't 
 so heav^'. We stop before a long, low
 
 SEED TIME. 199 
 
 building, with a great many windows in 
 tw^o level lines. It is approaclied by a 
 handsome carriage drive terminating in a 
 species of court, and the house door is 
 entered by a porch. We are shown into 
 a moderately large room, hung with maps. 
 It has a stiff, schoolish air that chills me 
 and prepares my soul for all manner of cold, 
 barren, loveless laws and habits. What 
 would I not give for our battered, noisy, dis- 
 reputable old school-room at Silverbridge ? 
 The door opens, and Miss Tybiu'n enters, 
 stately, imposing, grave. She scans me so 
 closely as she takes my hand that I feel she 
 is reading to the very bottom of my soul. 
 Wliile she talks to mother I study her face, 
 which is an uncommon one : command sits 
 on her forehead; intellect and power look 
 out of her eyes ; upon her Hps passion and 
 will have set their seal; over the whole 
 countenance, and in the marvellously, per- 
 fectly formed head, is a remarkable air of 
 penetration, determination, and clear com- 
 mon sense. Presently she asks mother if 
 she would like to see the dormitories and 
 schools, and we follow her along a glass
 
 200 comin' thro' the kye. 
 
 corridor and into a dining-room, vast and 
 square, with three large windows. The 
 walls are hung with busts of Homer, Aris- 
 totle, Cicero, and all the grand old poets, 
 senators, and orators. Over the mantelpiece 
 hangs a picture of St. John and the Lamb 
 painted in oils. We go through endless 
 school and class-rooms, filled ^dth giiis who 
 look with some astonishment at me as I 
 walk behind my elders, and so upstairs to the 
 dormitories, which are long and wide, ^^^ith 
 windows on both sides, and partitioned off 
 into narrow bed-rooms just large enough to 
 contain a bed and a small square box, while 
 a curtained shelf runs across from one side 
 to the other exactly above the bed, and a 
 thick curtain closes in the room at the 
 entrance. We go downstaii's again, and 
 very soon mother takes her depai-tm-e. She 
 is going to sleep the night at the house of a 
 friend who lives twenty miles away. Oh, 
 mother ! mother ! as you drive away do you 
 know what a wi'etched, wretcJied child you 
 leave behind ? 
 
 Ay! she knows, and her heart is every 
 whit as heavy as mine. I am too much in
 
 SEED TIME. 201 
 
 awe of Miss Tyburn to do more than sniff 
 noiselessly after mother goes; besides, I have 
 literally no tears left. One can be sorrier, 
 I am sure, when one's eyes are diy than 
 when they are wet. Miss Tyburn speaks 
 to me kindly — indeed I am a spectacle that 
 might move any one to compassion — and 
 sends for " Mary Bm-ns," who presently 
 comes — a gentle, fan, slim girl of fifteen, 
 and into her charge am I given and dis- 
 missed. She takes me upstairs, and having 
 washed my face and smoothed my hair, I 
 go down with her to the school-room, where 
 (for it is a half-holiday) about fifty ghis are 
 reading, waiting, taUdng, laugliing, moving 
 about, and buzzing like a hive of bees. The 
 noise comforts and reassures me. What 
 I have dreaded was the stillness, the stiff 
 formality of the life of routine ; clearly my 
 notions of female school life were mistaken 
 ones. 
 
 On our arrival we are quickly surrounded, 
 and I am chaffed, catechised, and over- 
 hauled in a sufficiently merciless fashion. 
 Though somewhat taken aback, I prove 
 liowever equal to the occasion ; for I am not
 
 202 
 
 one of a large family for nothing — she who 
 could retain any of that maiivaise lionte 
 yclept bashf Illness, or be unable to fight 
 her own battles after the training I have 
 had, would either be a vicious idiot or a 
 solemn and self-satisfied prig. So I retort 
 and riposte with a success that j^i'^sently 
 beats my assailants out of the field. They 
 bear me no ill-will, though, any more than 
 I do them ; they do but seek to test the 
 value of the metal, and small blame to 
 them if on finding it to be a sham they 
 cry out. I think they find I am not that, 
 however ; and though some hard knocks are 
 exchanged, no malice is borne. By supper- 
 time I am feeling tolerably cheerful, but 
 my heart sinks again as after prayers a 
 chorus of '' good-nights " echoes around me, 
 and a storm of kisses, both deep and loud, 
 beats on my astonished ears. There are 
 about sixty females of all ages present, and 
 they all kiss one another with a hearty 
 vigour that sounds as if they liked it. 
 
 We arc not a kissing family at home : 
 there is much affection between us, but 
 little sentiment. Save when we have quar-
 
 SEED TIME. 203 
 
 relied, or are going a journey, we rarely 
 embrace each other. It is a matter of course 
 to kiss mother whenever we can, but we 
 never dream of indiscriminate caresses 
 among ourselves — that must indeed be a 
 wonderful gush of misery or affection that 
 produces a hug. Therefore, lest I be 
 poimced on and kissed in mistake for 
 somebody else, I precipitately retire to my 
 bed, where I sleep as soundly and well as 
 though leaving home and going to school 
 were a most regular, every-day affair. 
 
 An evil bell clanging through the j)leasant 
 tangle of a dream awakens me. Before I 
 am half dressed it sounds again, but some- 
 how or other I scramble downstairs behind 
 the rest to the school-room, where lessons 
 are gone through for an hour, while I look 
 on ; then prayers, conducted in a widely 
 different fashion to that prevailing at home ; 
 then breakfast — good tea, good bread, sweet 
 butter; then to church, where the service 
 lasts half an hour. The church is scarcely 
 bigger than a chapel, quite lovely in its 
 dainty smallness, and far more richly 
 garnished than are many more imposing
 
 204 COMIN' THIIO' THE IIYE. 
 
 edifices. The seats are of carved oak, every 
 window is of stained glass — (I wonder why 
 those strange stiff figures of saint and 
 ajDostle, that violate every rule of art, 
 impress us with the idea of a supernatural 
 beauty that no amount of exquisite and 
 correct drawing could afford ?) — the east 
 one, a soft blaze of colour through which 
 the light falls on the tessellated chancel 
 floor in glorious patches of amber, purple, 
 green, and gold. It looks very hushed, and 
 quaint, and solemn ; and as I shp into my 
 seat in the chancel, which is di^dded from 
 the body of the church by a carved screen, 
 a wonderfully strange, novel sensation steals 
 over me. It seems so odd to be kneehng 
 without papa's stern eye upon me, and all 
 the dear brothers and sisters stretching out 
 right and left, in goodly sober ranks. The 
 thought of them nearly sets me off crying 
 again, for I have given my eyes a good rest 
 during the night ; but I fight the tears back 
 and make my responses with the rest. 
 
 The clergyman almost makes me jump 
 as I look at him, I have seen the same face, 
 only twenty years younger maybe, hanging
 
 SEED TIME. 205 
 
 lip in j^apa's study between a print of 
 Taglioni in her best days, and a sporting 
 celebrity, name unknown. We have even 
 studied this man's face with impertinent 
 interest, thanks to a remark mother made 
 one day to the effect that papa and he had 
 been " old friends," and we have speculated 
 often enough as to whether they ever kicked 
 each other, or never fell out from sheer 
 lack of opportunity. 
 
 I am sorry when the last ^' Amen " is 
 spoken, and we step out of the dim cool 
 church into the gaudy brisk day. I am 
 sorrier still when, at ten o'clock, I am sum- 
 moned to the committee-room, and undergo 
 at Miss Tyburn's hands a searching ex- 
 amination into the extent of my very 
 limited mental capabihties, and to what- 
 soever questions are asked me on this, 
 that, and t'other, write the answers down 
 in a large volume that is called the com- 
 mittee book, but is in reahty a Book of 
 Doom, in which in her time many and 
 many a girl has written herseK down an 
 ass. That I do the same you may be veiy 
 sure, and I presently retire with the proud
 
 20G comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 conviction that in ignorance I have beaten 
 all my predecessors, every one. 
 
 In the afternoon I begin my real school 
 life with needlework, over which in veiy 
 good sooth my trouble begins, for though 
 well versed in the arts of climbing and 
 jumping, I am utterly ignorant of the 
 gentle accomphshments of ''felling," and 
 ''stitching." And so the day wears away, 
 and the morrow comes, and veiy soon I 
 get into the ways of my new life, and in 
 spite of sundry homesick qualms and heart- 
 sinkings, grow to love it very heartily. It 
 has its ups and downs, its jealousies and 
 bickerings, its hard lessons to be learned, 
 and hard knocks submitted to ; but none 
 the less I find my school existence a whole- 
 some, pleasant, happy one. There is no 
 tyranny here. It is in a girl's own hands 
 whether she gets on well or badly. She will 
 not be censured for faults she has not 
 committed, or praised without just reason. 
 Her work is plain and clear before her, and 
 she can pursue it without let or liindi'ance. 
 Every hour is well filled, every pleasure weU 
 earned, and the sleep that each night brings
 
 SEED TIME. 207 
 
 is soiind and deep. Now and again I am 
 seized with a passionate longing to see 
 them all at home. I shut my eyes and 
 picture them to myself so strongly that my 
 spirit seems to go out of my body and stand 
 in their midst ; I wander in at the school- 
 room door, and look on all then- faces, one 
 by one, and if they only knew I was there, 
 if they spoke to me, I am sure I should 
 hear them. . . . 
 
 I had a letter from mother this morning. 
 She bids me use my time profitably and 
 w^aste none, lor it is more precious than gold. 
 She need not be ah'aid : I know that now is 
 my apprentice time, now that breathing 
 space that is given to all young peo23le, and 
 which, once wasted, will come back to them 
 never more. Somehow a girl's mind at 
 school always makes me think of a field on 
 which the seed is sown, which will either 
 take root and ripen abundantly, or wdther 
 away, leaving it bare and unadorned. I 
 never knew how really ignorant I was till I 
 came here. I don't remember ever thinking 
 about the matter, but I had a vague idea 
 that I was a good deal worse than Ahce but
 
 208 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 rather better than Jack. Noio I stand forth a 
 confessed ignoramus, and am beaten at all 
 points by pert youngsters of twelve and 
 thirteen. Fortunately I know the naked- 
 ness of my mind, so there is a hope that at 
 some future day it may be decently clad. It 
 is curious that the more one knows the more 
 acutely one feels one's bareness. Intensely 
 thoroughly ignorant people attain to a 
 height of self-esteem, that the man who has 
 spent a lifetime in amassing knowledge, 
 only to find that all he knows is but a droj) 
 in the full cup of knowledge, can never hope 
 to reach. My studies do not prevent my 
 getting into plenty of scrapes; often and 
 often my madcap pranks get me into hot 
 water, but good luck pulls me safely through. 
 We go for wonderful walks through such 
 lovely country as Silverbridge could never 
 boast. The school is built on the top of a 
 hiU, and on three sides the ground slopes 
 away to the valleys. Following the road 
 you descend this hill, and, crossing a bridge 
 on the left, pass through the flower-bright 
 fields, and so to the valleys through which 
 a l)rook runs, leaping, sparkling, widening,
 
 SEED TIME. 209 
 
 narrowing, with a dainty border of forget- 
 me-nots, and reeds that stand up stiff and 
 straight, hke sentinels guarding the pretty 
 flowers. On either side banks and woods 
 rise steeply to a great height. In spring time, 
 the giiis say, they are speckled all over with 
 spring flowers, of which there are many 
 curious and unknown species, never met 
 with in flatter, duller regions. And oh, it 
 must be a rare and delicate sight to see 
 these picturesque slopes putting on their 
 thousand tints of green and yellow, and one 
 for which my eyes look eagerly. These 
 valleys are strangely cool and deep and 
 silent ; not a sound breaks the stillness save 
 the fretting of the water against the stones, 
 or the infrequent song of the birds — clearer, 
 sweeter here, I always think, than anyw-here 
 else. To me these valleys always seem to 
 have remained just as they left God's hand 
 at the creation of the world, they are so 
 fresh, so pm-e, so untrodden with then* 
 vernal shades and dim cool alleys. A deep 
 peace broods ever over them, and the weary, 
 struggling, sinful w^orld seems very far away. 
 Walking in them one feels the faint echo of 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 COMIN THRO THE RYE. 
 
 some such exquisite delight as Adam and 
 Eve knew when they walked together in the 
 garden of Paradise for the first time, when it 
 was all new, fresh from God's hand, and their 
 souls were innocent and pure enough to 
 taste its exceeding delicacy. I think none 
 but the very young or the veiy old can 
 enjoy nature thoroughly; T\dth the latter the 
 heart and mind are dulled, and ordinary 
 events and interests have little power over 
 them, and they go back to that simpHcity 
 of mind that makes the treasures of the 
 earth suffice without the excitement of the 
 passions of the heart ; while the very young 
 look on it with unjaded eyes, and no restless 
 longing after things they do not know and 
 have never dreamed of. The nightingale 
 has made his home down here. He sings at 
 night to the brook, to the silent glades, to 
 his mistress ; and I know by the rapture of 
 his voice that he rejoices in the beauty 
 around him as keenly as though he had a 
 human soul. Often I softly open my window 
 to listen to his deathless song, and wish that 
 I were in the valley below standing on the 
 moon-lit sward alone T\ith the night, the
 
 SEED TIME. 211 
 
 little brown bird, and my own delight. And 
 I grow to love these hills and valleys with 
 an exceeding love that I never knew for 
 Silverbridge ; and I know that some day 
 when I lie a- dying, in fancy I shall go back 
 to and visit them ; I shall look with clear 
 eyes on the pm-ple brow of the hills, hear 
 the nmning silver babble of the brook, and 
 the trill of the nightingale will come to me 
 out of the heart of the silence. . . .
 
 212 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 '' Love all, trust a few, 
 Do wrong to none ; be able for thine enemy, 
 Rather in power than use ; and keep thy friend 
 Under thy own life's key ; be checked for silence, 
 But never taxed for speech." 
 
 A NEW era in my existence has begun. All 
 my life long I have hated petticoats, and 
 longed for trousers as hopelessly as an 
 old maid of sixty sighs for a sweetheart; 
 and now, lo! and behold. Providence, who 
 so rarely grants to any human being Ms 
 heart's desire, drops them at my feet, and 
 any day I may step into them, and enjoy the 
 exquisite satisfaction of not only feeling a 
 boy, but looking one. Upstairs, in my box, 
 lie two simple garments never yet worn, but 
 which I may be called upon to don at any 
 moment. Perhaps this very afternoon the 
 summons may come, and I shall cast my
 
 SEED TIME. 213 
 
 encumbrances to the winds, and for once 
 feel like Jack. If he could only see me ! 
 On the whole, though, I am rather glad he 
 cannot, for I know he would laugh, and 
 I have a sneaking conviction that my tout 
 ensemble in my new gear is more likely 
 to provoke derision than admiration. But 
 oh, it is so comfortable ! I have put it on 
 behind my drawn curtain over and over 
 again, for no earthly reason but to assure my 
 eyes and touch that I am not dreaming, and 
 that it is my very own, made for me. 
 
 We are all at work in the school-room, 
 toiUng at '* seam, gusset, and band," and 
 envying heartily the blackbird who is free 
 as air, and knows it, singing at his ease as 
 he swings on the apple bough that looks in 
 at the tall narrow window ! The sunbeams 
 dance and flicker on the dull school-books 
 impudently, saying, as plain as they can 
 speak, '' We can play hide-and-seek all day 
 if we please ; we are not answerable to any 
 one, and we have no lessons to learn or 
 work to do." 
 
 Steps come down the corridor; no mincing 
 feminine ones this time, but a man's bold
 
 214 
 
 decided tread. I lay down my stitching to 
 listen. The door opens, a head is popped 
 in. *' Cricket ! " says a voice like a trumpet, 
 the door is shut agam, and down go work 
 and thimbles, a Babel of delighted cries burst 
 forth, and in thirty seconds the room is 
 cleared, and we are all upstairs, pulHng off 
 ribbons, gowns, crinolines, all our feminine 
 belongings, and pulling on knickerbockers 
 and blouses! Yes, hiicJierbocl'ers I Let no 
 one blush or look shocked, for they are long 
 and ample, and tied modestly in at the 
 ankle ; and as to the blouse, which descends 
 below the knee, and is trimly belted in at 
 the waist, it is as decent and uncompro- 
 mising as that worn by Dr. Mary Walker ; 
 our costume being in short nothing more or 
 less than that which is designated by the 
 somewhat oi^probrious title of "Bloomer." 
 The knickerbockers bring comfort, the tunic 
 confers respectability. It is a lovely thought 
 that I can kick up my heels to my heart's 
 content, and yet preserve decorum. As 
 to what manner of female I look, I care 
 nothing ; my feelings are all I think about, 
 and they are blissful. I feel as light as
 
 SEED TIME. 215 
 
 a feather, and equal to Jack at running, 
 vaulting, or hui'dle jumping. 
 
 On my way downstaii's I fall in with 
 the girls — shrunken, insignificant creatures, 
 measured by the standard of half an hour 
 ago, when they boasted a circumference of 
 from four to five yards of petticoat. They 
 even look meek ; for it is a fact that a large 
 portion of a woman's assm-ance lies in her 
 tail. Shear her of that and she is in no way 
 superior to man. Out in the cricket field I 
 scan the assemblage critically, and nothing 
 but the consciousness of looking a greater 
 guy than any one present, prevents me 
 from going off into a fit of convulsive 
 laughter. If only Charles Lovelace, George 
 Tempest, or Jack could see us ! 
 
 We have roly-poly girls and bean-stalk 
 girls, little girls, big girls, long guis, short 
 girls; girls whose plump proportions fit theii* 
 garments as closely as a kernel fits a shell; 
 girls whose garments hang upon them loose, 
 as did the armour on Don Quixote's gaunt 
 form ; girls who waddle, amble, jig, trot, 
 hurry and stride — thch action plainly showed 
 in the narrow, straight costume. Can an
 
 21G comin' thko' the kye. 
 
 English girl walk ? I trow not. It is a pity 
 the time spent in needlework is not used in 
 drilling. Conspicuous, even among this 
 remarkable throng, is the German gover- 
 ness, short, square, stout, not over yoimg, 
 with large flat face, enormous feet and 
 hands, and that general look of a Dutch doll 
 that usually marks the Teutonic race. She 
 wears the regulation trousers and blouse ; 
 but whether under an impression that she is 
 not sufficiently clad, or whether she wishes 
 to give a full dress air to a somewhat severe 
 costume I know not ; at any rate, she has 
 over and above arrayed herself in a very 
 large, ample, white muslin jacket, profusely 
 frilled and starched, and tightly belted in 
 at the waist, and these frills set straight out 
 from her sturdy form in a fashion that 
 would bring a smile to the face of a croco- 
 dile. 
 
 The wickets are pitched ; the ball is flying 
 from hand to hand ; we are all waiting for 
 Mr. Eussell, the man who introduced the 
 game of cricket at Charteris, or rather, made 
 it an institution, for it has flourished many 
 years, and many a pretty young mother
 
 SEED TIME. 217 
 
 makes an excellent long-stop or field to her 
 sons, thanks to the training she received at 
 school. To Mr. Kussell, therefore, be our 
 eternal thanks due, in that he has, for a time 
 at least, emancipated us from the slavish 
 thraldom of our petticoats and enabled us to 
 stretch oiu' limbs and use them. He is 
 coming over the gi'ass from the school with 
 Miss Tybm-n now ; tall, erect, a Httle grey, 
 his di*ess showing but httle of the clergyman 
 about it (He is one of the committee, and 
 owns " The Charteris," the only big house 
 in the place. His grandfather built these 
 schools.) How my heart leaps as I look at 
 him. Wliy did he not come home sooner ? 
 His daughter is with him. And now sides 
 are being chosen, the game begins, and 
 as my side is in I have no opportunity for 
 making myself look ridiculous as yet, I 
 merely look on. 
 
 It is a droll sight to see a girl walk up to 
 the wicket and send her ball in, if not as 
 powerfully as a man, well nigh as straight; 
 and to see another standing, bat in hand, 
 with body slightly bent forward, awaiting it. 
 Mr. Kussell is against us, and in the next
 
 218 comix' thro' the eye. 
 
 over his fast, round-arm bowling gives me 
 an uneasy sense of fear, the ball hurtles 
 along so swiftly that surely a slender ankle 
 or arm might snap hke sealing-wax at its 
 onslaught ; and something of that French- 
 man's astonishment comes into my mind 
 who could not conceive the reason of Eng- 
 lishmen being so fond of cricket, for where 
 was the pleasm-e of standing up in a hot sun 
 for a man to shy a hard ball at you, while 
 a lot of other fellows stood round and looked 
 on ? If I do come to grief I hope that any 
 amount of arms and legs will be broken, 
 but not my teeth. I never could stand false 
 ones, and I could not do ^\ithout any, so it 
 w^ould be awkward. 
 
 How hot it is ! We are all sitting and 
 lying about under the trees ; a little farther 
 off are Miss Tyburn and Mr. Frere, who has 
 just come over from the parsonage. In 
 common mercy to our numbers he ought to 
 play, and allow us to enjoy the distinction of 
 having a man on each side; but ajDpai'ently 
 he is more careful of his shins than am- 
 bitious of honour, so sits in the shade at his 
 ease, looking on. All too soon comes that
 
 SEED TIME. 219 
 
 terrible moment when ^' Helen Aclaii- ! " is 
 called, and bat in hand, I walk forth to my 
 fate. I begin my illustrious career by hit- 
 mcket, but in consideration of my extreme 
 greenness and inexperience am permitted to 
 take my innings, that is to say, if I can get 
 it. The ground flies up into my face, the 
 sky lies at my feet, as I stand awaiting my 
 first ball, holding mth stiff nervous fingers 
 my bat, in what may be called the " first 
 position" of cricketers — bolt upright, with 
 my person carefully curved out, and away 
 fi'om it, like Cupid's bow. In comes the 
 ball, and I swipe wildly at it. Have I hit it 
 or the wickets, or the wicket-keeper, or my- 
 self ? I am still in doubt and undecided as 
 to whether I ought to walk off to the shade 
 of the friendly tree when another ball comes 
 creeping in, very insidiously this time, and 
 somehow I give it a neat Httle tip that 
 sends it straight into Fraulein's face ; and 
 while I am looking all about, and marvelling 
 where it has got to, she is led away, weeping 
 bitterly, with a bleeding nose. Quite over- 
 powered by this proof of my skill, I send the 
 next ball, which somehow seems to run of
 
 220 
 
 its own accord against my bat, a tolerable 
 distance ; and being pleased at the circum- 
 stance, and engaged in looking round with a 
 modest smirk for admiration, am amazed at 
 being violently hustled by my fellow bats- 
 woman, who Avildly exhorts me to run. Ah ! 
 I had forgotten all about the runs, I was too 
 much taken up in congratulating myseh', 
 but I set out with a will, and am consider- 
 ably taken aback on arriving at my bourne 
 to find that I am ignominiously run out. 
 
 Moral : stick to business. Back to the 
 tree I go, as crest-fallen, miserable, and 
 ashamed a lass as the world contains. As 
 I am seating myseK disconsolately, Miss 
 Tyburn calls me, and I jump up to obey 
 her bidding. 
 
 ^' Mr. Frere knows your father, Helen 
 Adair," she says ; ^' he would hke to talk to 
 you," and she rises and sails away towards 
 the house, for which I am thankful. How 
 could I talk to any one before her ? 
 
 *' And so you are Alan Adair's daughter? " 
 says Mr. Frere, stretching out a kind hand ; 
 '^ and I never found it out until to-day." 
 
 ^^I knew yoii^ sir," I say, nodding. ''I
 
 SEED TIME. 221 
 
 have seen you hanging up in tlie hbrary, 
 you know." 
 
 ^'Has your father still that old likeness? " 
 he asks, smiling. 
 
 '^Oh, yes! Were you and papa very 
 great friends, sii' ? " 
 
 ''Not very," he says, smiHng again; 
 '' what made you think so ? " 
 
 '' He does not keep photographs or — or 
 pictures, generally." 
 
 '' I knew him when we were both young 
 men at Silverbridge." 
 
 ''At Silverbridge!" I exclaim, my eyes 
 sparkhng. "You know my old home, 
 then?" 
 
 " Yes, but yoin- father was not mamed 
 then. I suppose he has several children 
 by this time ? " 
 
 ' ' A few , sir ; twelv ^ . " 
 
 "Twelve!" he repeats, starting back, 
 " You are joking? " 
 
 "No, it is quite true ! and goodness 
 knows — for I'm sure wc don't — whether 
 there won't be as many more ! At home 
 there is always a baby, and they mount up, 
 you know."
 
 222 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 ''And I have not one/'' he says in a 
 voice that is cheerful, and yet has a faint 
 undertone of regret. 
 
 '' Oh ! yon need not wish you had any ! " 
 I say, shaking my head : '' you would never 
 be able to keep them in order — never. 
 Papa often says that if he had his time over 
 again he would not have half so many ! 
 And I am sure," I continue, looking at his 
 kindly gentle face, ''that you would never 
 have the heart to whip " 
 
 " And does your father ? " he asks, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Bather ! Only ask the fiy ! Shall you 
 be likely to go to Silverbridge soon ? " I ask 
 suddenly and apprehensively. 
 
 " Not in the least. Why?" 
 
 "You might tell papa I was naughty or — 
 or something." 
 
 " I never tell tales," he says. " And now 
 do you think Miss Tyburn would allow you 
 to come over to the parsonage sometimes 
 and make tea for me ? " 
 
 "Dehghtful!" I say, clapping my hands. 
 " Oh ! it will be so nice to get away fi'om 
 all these girls sometimes ! They are all 
 very well, sir, but I prefer hoijs,''
 
 SEED TIME. 223 
 
 ^'I expect a nephew in a few days, but 
 he is not a boy unfortunately . " 
 
 ^'Will he play cricket with us?" I ask 
 with interest ; '' one black coat does look so 
 lost among all these girls ! " 
 
 ^^I am afi^aid Miss Tyburn would object," 
 says Mr. Frere, laughing again (really he is 
 not a bit like most elderly gentlemen) ; '^ he 
 is coming for some shooting a fiiend has 
 placed at his disposal near here. I shall 
 not see much of him." 
 ^' Is he nice, sk? " 
 ^athmkso." 
 
 ** Helen Adair ! Helen Adair! " echoes on 
 all sides. The time has come for me to 
 field. Surely I cannot distinguish myself 
 as lamentably in that duty as I did in the 
 other? ^'Good-bye!" I say m a violent 
 hurry. ''Good-bye ! But before I go I want 
 to tell you that I like you very viucli 
 indeed!'' 
 
 By-and-by I am able to do my side 
 some small service. Mr. Russell is in, 
 and batting away with a determination 
 and vigour that strikes consternation to 
 our feminine souls, and presently he sends 
 a mighty ball straight over niy head (who
 
 224 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 am standing long field on) straight across 
 the cricket-field and into the next. 
 ''Six!" cry the Eussellites ; but six it 
 shall not be, if I can help it. Laying my 
 legs to the ground with a will, I have 
 cleared the field and leaped the hedge 
 beyond, before he has got one. I go plump 
 into the midst of a stinging-nettle bed — but 
 that is nothing, I espy the ball and send it 
 home with all my might. And after all he 
 only gets two. He casts an approving 
 glance on me as I return, evidently he is 
 not used to seeing girls jump, if he only 
 knew how thoroughly Jack has grounded 
 me in that doubtful accomplishment !
 
 SEED TIME. 225 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 '' Beauty's ensigii yet, 
 Is crimson on thy lips and in thy cheeks, 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there ." 
 
 It is three o'clock on Saturcla}^ afternoon, 
 and I am making my toilette j^rej^aratory to 
 setting out for the parsonage. I would 
 rather be playing cricket, but Mr. Kussell, 
 after giving us a glorious week, has gone 
 away again, however he is coming back, and 
 the sooner the better, say I. Meanwhile, let 
 me arrange my clean and crackling gown 
 as gracefully as the inequalities of my form 
 permits, and try and persuade my curly 
 thick hail* to lie flat. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mary," I say, putting my 
 liead in at the class-room door, where she 
 sits illuminating a text, *' I'm going now." 
 
 VOL. I. (i
 
 226 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 I never did care about girls, or want to 
 be gi'eat friends with any of tbem, but I 
 like Mary. 
 
 The parsonage is only a few yards away ; 
 it is right before my eyes as I walk along 
 the bit of road that divides it fi*om the 
 school. As I lift the latch of the gate, and 
 go through the old-fashioned, sweet- smelling 
 garden, I give a long sigh of content, it 
 is all so peaceful, so dainty, so still. There 
 is a faint suspicion of magnolia in the 
 hall, a scent of roses abroad ; and when 
 Mr. Frere himself comes out to greet 
 me, I feel blessedly, dehghtedly, restfully 
 happy. 
 
 '' Kun upstairs and take off your things, 
 my dear," he says, and Mrs. Pim, his 
 housekeeper, shows me the way. 
 
 Coming down again, I find that he has 
 vanished, but she pushes open the door of 
 a room on the left, and I enter. 
 
 It is low and Avide, like our Silverbridge 
 rooms, and it is orderly and prim as an old 
 maid's parlour, with great formal bowls of 
 flowers planted about it, and a stiff bean- 
 pot set in the heartli-placo. The windows
 
 SEED TIME. 227 
 
 are open, and, tliough it is September, the 
 late roses nod in at the windows. A 
 big deep arm-chaii- is pulled up to one of 
 them with its back tm-ned to me ; approach- 
 ing to seat myself in it, for a long course 
 of upright chair backs has made me hanker 
 very seriously after something easy, I see 
 the crowTi of a dark smooth head resting 
 against it. I am about to take a peep 
 round the corner to see who it can be, 
 when the occupant of the chair rises, 
 stretches himself, and opens his mouth for 
 a yawn, stopping midway as he descries 
 me. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon," he says, shutting 
 his mouth with a snap, '' I never heard you 
 come in." 
 
 "You are Mr. Frere's nephew," I say, 
 sitting dowoi on tlie edge of a sofa, and 
 looking at him, " why are you not out 
 shooting ? " 
 
 " I have been out all the morning. 
 Kow do you know I am ]\Ir. Frere's 
 ]]ephew? " 
 
 '^ There is no one in Charteris," I say, 
 shaking my head ; '' no one ever comes here,
 
 228 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 except to see the giiis, or Miss Tybui'ii, or 
 Mr. EusseU." 
 
 *' And are you one of tlie giiis ? " 
 
 ^^Of course." 
 
 *^ The biggest of them?" 
 
 *^ Oh no ! hut there are much smaller 
 ones than me. Do you think me so ver}- 
 little ? At home, at Silverbridge, you know, 
 they always thought me so leggy^ 
 
 ^' You will shoot up some day," he says, 
 passing his hand over his moustache, 
 ^'perhaps he a giantess, who knows? And 
 do you really hve at Silverbridge ?" 
 
 "Yes. I suppose you have heard a good 
 deal about it from Mr. Frere ? " 
 
 " I was born there," he says. 
 
 *' But you have not been there lately ? " 
 
 ^' I hved there until fifteen years ago. 
 Have vou never been to The Towers ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have been there," I say slowly, 
 remembering certain stolen afternoons spent 
 under the shadow of the oaks in the grand 
 old park ; " and that is yours ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is mine. My father died in 
 Eome last year." 
 
 I don't think that Jack and I ever knew
 
 SEED TIME. 229 
 
 ^vlio it was that owued The Towers, uot 
 that we should ever have been any the 
 wiser if we had heard the name. 
 
 ^* No. I went away before you were 
 born." 
 
 ''And yet you cannot be very old," I 
 say, lifting my eyes to the dark, proud, 
 somewhat worn face, that is as far removed 
 from mere effeminate beauty as it is from 
 ordinary every-day looks. 
 
 '' Old enough ! " he says, with something 
 very like a sigh ; " I am thirty years old ! " 
 
 " More than double my age," I say 
 soberly. ''Oh! it seems a great deal; but 
 then you must have seen so much, been 
 all about the world ; it must be nice to 
 have had experience." 
 
 " I would give it all," he says, looking 
 into my eager face, " to have your youth 
 and freshness and belief.'' 
 
 " Behef ! " I repeat, " what is that ? " " 
 
 " I can hardly tell you," he says, "for you 
 would not understand. Do you not look 
 forward to having your life all your own 
 way, meeting with the men and women 
 you think heroic, having your ups and
 
 230 comix' the(/ the rye. 
 
 downs certainly, but also your rewards and 
 pleasantnesses? I did when I was yoiu- age." 
 
 '' And why should I not ? " I ask puzzled ; 
 '' are all our hopes of futm*e hajopiness 
 illusions ? I should hate to think that." 
 
 *'Do not think it, then," he says, standing 
 up with a quick imj)atient shake of the 
 shoulders; ^' let us go out into the garden. 
 By the way, what am I to call you, little 
 madam ? " 
 
 ''Helen Adair," I say, laughing; ''at 
 home they call me Nell." 
 
 " Then I shall call joii Nell, too," he says 
 promptly. " I wonder where my uncle is ? " 
 
 He goes to a door leading into a small 
 inner room, that is, I think, Mr. Frere's 
 study, but he is not there. 
 
 " Sent for to some old woman who thinks 
 she is dying, I suppose," sa^^s his nephew; 
 "he is always being imposed upon." 
 
 We go out into the kitchen garden, wliich 
 is not close locked as ours at home, but 
 open to all comers ; and since there are 
 no little thieves here to make busy work 
 among the fruit, there is plenty and to 
 spare.
 
 SEED TIME. 231 
 
 ** Yon are as good as a pair of steps," 
 I say, watching him with mnch interest 
 gathering the pears that grow on the 
 sunny side of the wall ; '' how useful you 
 would have heen at Silverhridge ! " He 
 gives me a satin smooth Marie Louise. 
 How I \\dsh Jack was here ! 
 
 ^' And of what use should I have been ?" 
 
 ^' You could have jumped the wall and 
 throT^Ti the haiit over to us." 
 
 ^' And supposing it was breakable ? " 
 
 *' We should not have minded," I say, 
 laughing. ^'Have you a first-rate kitchen 
 garden at The Towers ? " 
 
 '' We used to have, I don't know 
 whether the raspberry and gooseberry 
 bushes have grown, like me, aged." 
 
 ** I do so love gooseberries," I say, looking 
 fondly at the bare bushes we are passing ; 
 '^grapes never came up to them in my 
 estimation." 
 
 ** Then when I am at Tlie Towers will 
 you come and help strip my bushes ? " 
 
 '' That I mil," I say heartily, ^^only I am 
 afraid that if you once let me into your 
 garden, you would never get any dessei*t."
 
 232 
 
 ^' I shall not want any for a long time; 
 I am not going there for three years, ex- 
 cept for a day or two to arrange matters." 
 
 *' Three years!" I say blankly. '^ Oh 
 dear ! I shall be past gooseberries by * the 
 time you come back ! " 
 
 *^ There will be the peaches ? " 
 
 " Yes, but they will never taste the same, 
 you know, after I am grown up. Are you 
 going very far ? " 
 
 *' To India, America, Siberia, Australia, 
 China, and — I forget the names of the 
 places almost." 
 
 ^^It is a pity," I say, shaking my head, 
 ^^ a very great pity ! You should do a little 
 at a time. You cannot enjoy all that at 
 once ! Why, Avhen we went to Periwinkle- 
 by- the- Sea we were worn out with the 
 novelties. AYe felt they were almost too 
 much ! " 
 
 "But supposing," he says, with a queer 
 look upon his face, "that you wanted to be 
 worn out, wanted to tire yourself, what 
 then?" 
 
 "I never felt like that," I say thought- 
 fully, " so I cannot teU."
 
 SEED TIME. 233 
 
 ^'You have a blessedly blank memory, 
 child," he says ; '' would to God I had ! " 
 
 *^ My master is expecting yon," says Mrs. 
 Pim, appearing suddenly before us, so we 
 go in and have dinner ; a cool, quiet repast 
 that is very unlike the one of which I 
 partook at one o'clock to-day. I think 
 Mr. Frere is fond of this nephew ; Paul, he 
 calls him, his other name, I find, is Vasher, 
 We are out in the garden again by seven 
 o'clock — at so primitive an hour does Mr. 
 Frere dine — and smelling at the roses, the 
 carnations, and those sweet last gifts that 
 summer leaves behind when she sweeps her 
 bright skirts away to make room for autumn, 
 and I have gathered me a nosegay at Mr. 
 Frere's request, and am tying it together 
 with a wisp of dry grass. We have wan- 
 dered to the gate that gives on the road, 
 and while Mr. Vasher smokes his cigar, and 
 Mr. Frere talks from thne to time, we 
 watch the cows go past, making all the 
 air ''like the sweet south, that breathes 
 upon a bank of violets," and half a dozen 
 labourers, and a tipsy man ; for, strange to 
 say, even in this out of tlic world corner
 
 234 comin' thro' the uye. 
 
 people are as much incliued to be wicked as 
 anywhere else. Mr. Frere has his eyes 
 fixed on the portals of the shining city, 
 through which the sun seems to have only 
 just passed; his face is grave; ^lerhaps he 
 is thinking of the gold and silver and jewels 
 of his youth that are stored away there, 
 to be given back to him by God's hand 
 maybe, when this life is over past. Mr. 
 Vasher's face is so calm and still and 
 indifferent as he leans over the gate, blowing 
 a smoke wi'eath up into the clear blue aziu*e 
 above us, that I inly marvel whether he 
 were not joking a while ago when he spoke 
 as though the past had proved more bitter 
 than sweet to him. 
 
 The sound of hoofs strikes shai'pl}' upon 
 my ears; looking up I see a horsewoman 
 approaching at a foot pace, her head is 
 bent, the reins are hanging loosely fi'om 
 her hand, her face is almost hidden. At 
 my side I feel a sudden leap, a stir, and 
 a hoarse voice, deep and shaken, says 
 below its breath! ''My God!" turning, I 
 see Paul Vasher's face con^^ilsed by love, 
 hate, scorn, longing, loathing . . . winch
 
 SEED TIME. 235 
 
 is it of all tliese feelings that possesses and 
 shakes him ? I look at the giii, she is 
 ridiag slowly by; she has not lifted her 
 head or moved one hair's breath. I feel 
 rather than hear the sigh of relief he gives 
 (sm-ely it is rehef ?) when she lifts her eyes, 
 looks full in his face, then, it is all in a 
 moment, the reins shp fi'om her hands, she 
 sways and falls headlong to the earth. 
 She does not touch it though, for Paul 
 Yasher has leapt the gate, has caught her 
 in his arms, and is looking down on her 
 with a strange expression, while the groom 
 hastily dismounts and catches his mistress's 
 horse. 
 
 ^' Bring her in!" says Mr. Frere, pale 
 with alarm. (Are not old bachelors and old 
 maids easily daunted ?) And Paul brings 
 her in, and lays her down in the big arm- 
 chair, in which I found him sitting a few 
 hours ago. I do not think she has fainted, 
 but her eyes are shut, and she makes 
 neither sigh nor moan, nor does she stir 
 hand or foot. As I look at licr, I hold 
 my breath for wonder at her. Well might 
 Shakespeare have said of her, "for the poor
 
 236 comin' thro' the kye. 
 
 rude world liatli not her fellow." She is 
 all white aud gold, like a pure lily, and as 
 tall; for though her little hands and feet 
 might belong to a child, she is really of fair 
 stature, and so softly, sensuously lovely at all 
 points, in every dimple and curve^ of cheek, 
 lip, chin, and body, that it is a feast of the 
 eye to look upon her, while — 
 
 ' ' Here in her hair 
 The painter phiys the spider, and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs." 
 
 Once I look at Mr. Vasher, then back 
 again at her, for the face fascinates me. 
 I do not like it, but oh ! I love to look 
 at what is rare and unusual ; and is not 
 this such a picture as a man might di*eam 
 of and sigh after all his life long and 
 never see ? Mrs. Pim is tr3ang to poiu* 
 brandy down her throat, but the beautiful 
 mouth does not unclose, the fast set teeth 
 do not unlock, and yet somehow she does 
 not give me the idea of being an insensible 
 woman. I am thinking this, when she 
 opens her eyes with a long-di*awn, shudder- 
 ing sigh, aud looks about her, first at one,
 
 SEED TIME. 237 
 
 then another. She does not see Paul, Avho is 
 standing behind her. 
 
 " I hope you are better," says Mr. 
 Frere, advancing, and looking at her very 
 kindly. "We were afraid " 
 
 " I thought," she says, glancing about 
 with dilated sapphii'e blue eyes, ''that I 
 saw " 
 
 Paul steps forward out of the shadow. 
 *'I am here," he says quietly. '' I hope you 
 have received no hui-t ? " 
 
 I had thought these two were lovers, but 
 they cannot be : his voice is as cold and 
 indifferent as though he were speakuig to 
 Pirn. She looks up at him, and her lips 
 quiver, like a beautiful child that seeks love 
 and is given a blow ; under the look he 
 winces and turns awa5\ She is very young, 
 not more than eighteen, I think ; and some- 
 how, down in my heart, though why or 
 wherefore I cannot tell, I am sorry for lier. 
 
 ''My dear," says good Mr. Frere "are 
 you sure that you are quite recovered! " 
 
 "Quite!" she says, standing up and 
 giving him such a bright, winsome smile 
 th^at ..^c middle-aged man blushes up to his
 
 288 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 ears, pleased as any schoolboy. ^' I must 
 have been very careless, for Dandy never 
 gave me a fall before." 
 
 " It is fortunate we were at the gate," he 
 says, ^' and that my nephew was able to be 
 of some assistance." 
 
 "Your nephew!" she says, staring at 
 him ; " is Paul Vasher your nephew ? " 
 
 ''You know him?" exclaims Mr. Frere. 
 ^' My dear boy, why did you not tell me 
 so ? " 
 
 " We have met before," she says, looking 
 at Paul; " that is all." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," says Paul coming 
 forward. "Allow me. Miss Fleming, to 
 introduce my uncle, Mr. Frere, to you. This 
 young lady, sir, is Miss Fleming." 
 
 " Lady Flytton's ]iiece ? " asks Mr. Frere, 
 as the girl lays her lovely shm hand in his ; 
 ^' then we are near neighbours ! " 
 
 "I have heard my aunt speak of you," 
 she saj^s gently, " and we were coming to 
 hear you preach to-morrow." 
 
 "And you know Paul?" continues Mr. 
 Frere ; " how very odd ! I suppose you did 
 not know he was m this part of the world ?"
 
 8EKD TIME. '2^9 
 
 ^^ I thouglit he was in Scotland." 
 
 '^ You said you were going to Searbro'," 
 says Paul, '^ you changed yoiu' mind ? " 
 
 '* Yes, like you. It is not a difficult thing 
 to do, to change one's mind, is it ? " 
 
 Their eyes meet ; ay, these two were hot 
 lovers once, hut what are they now ? 
 
 ^* You have laid me under a great obliga- 
 tion, Mr. Vasher," she says, in her proud 
 young voice. ^^ Pray understand that I am 
 grateful. Good-night, Mr. Frere, and for- 
 give me, if you can, for startling j^ou so 
 nmch ! " 
 
 '' Good-night ! good-night ! " he says, and 
 so with a hand- shake she goes, and the two 
 men accotnpany her to the gate. 
 
 Now if Mr. Frere had possessed the most 
 rudimental idea of his duty on this occasion, 
 ]ie would have stopped behind with me. 
 Clearly he has about as much notion of 
 ])eing a gooseberry as a cabbage ; but my 
 instinct is active enough if his is not, and 
 a long course of sympathy with Alice and 
 Charles has made me very tender-heaiied 
 on the subject of lovers ; so as Mr. Frere 
 passes the window with the two young
 
 240 COMIN THKO THI-: EYE. • 
 
 people, I utter a dismal groan and call out 
 to liim that I have tumbled down and hurt 
 myself very much. Back he comes in a 
 twinkling and finds me nursing my leg on 
 the floor, with a twisted ankle. ^' I tumbled 
 over a footstool," I explain, '^and will you 
 assist me to the sofa?" He wants to call 
 Mrs. Pirn, and have it examined ; but tliis 
 I object to, giving it as my opinion that rest 
 is all that is required. 
 
 '^ So odd," says the poor gentleman, as 
 he brmgs me a book and some papers, 
 " that there should be two accidents in one 
 evening ! " 
 
 On some pretext or another I keep him in 
 the room for fully ten minutes ; then he 
 goes out into the garden after Paul. 
 
 I wonder if, when I am grown up and 
 am quarrelhng with my lover, if any good 
 Samaritan will take as much trouble to 
 serve me as I have taken to serve those 
 two who are standing down by the gate 
 yonder, looking into each other's faces with 
 such a different expression on each? So 
 much I see as I hop nimbly to the window 
 as soon as Mr. Frere's back is tiu-ned to me.
 
 SEED TIME. 241 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 Hamlet. I did love you once. 
 Ophelia. Indeed, my lord, you made 
 
 me believe so. 
 
 **CoME and pray ! come and pray ! " ring the 
 sweet bells through the hushed peace of the 
 sabbath morning; .and obedient to the call 
 we rise up, and, ascending to the higher 
 regions, proceed to cloak and bonnet our- 
 selves after our school-girl lights and 
 abihties. There must be a Httle fashion 
 wandering about the world somewhere, but 
 it has not yet found its way to Charteris ; 
 only in one respect do we follow the mode, 
 and that is by wearing spoon bonnets. 
 Very fresh and fair look some of the faces 
 inside those absurd monstrosities, but 
 unlovely folk are not improved by their 
 shape, and of those hajiless latter vii'gins 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 I am one. I would not mind if the tiresome 
 thing would keep straight ; but it will not, 
 and I usually reach church looking as though 
 I had had a fight on the way and come off 
 second best. I am in short frocks still, 
 so that from a distance I look all legs and 
 bonnet — '' like a windmill," as one of my 
 friends kindly remarked the other day. 
 
 We are out in the road now, winding along 
 it like a dingy riband, and as w^e pass the 
 parsonage, Mr. Vasher comes out, fi'esh, 
 perfectly dressed, with a delicate button-hole 
 in his coat ; altogether a pleasant and 
 refreshing sight among this regiment of 
 indifferently clothed young women. He 
 scans our ranks as carelessly as though we 
 were a show of azaleas or roses (not that we 
 are those pretty flow^ers by any means — far 
 more dandehons than beauty-blossoms grow 
 in our parterre), and does not discover me ; 
 apparently my bonnet is as good a disguise 
 as an entirely new body. He has passed us 
 all, with his long, quick step, long before we 
 turn in at the churchyard. I wonder why 
 a black coat on any man's back who is not 
 fifty sends such a twitter of excitement
 
 SEED TIME. 243 
 
 through a girl's school ? A few years hence 
 and a hundred men would not cause the 
 excitement that a single one does now in 
 the breast of a school-girl. And now we are 
 in church ; anon Mr. Frere is in his place, 
 and " Dearly beloved " is half through, 
 when a prodigious clatter outside makes all 
 eyes turn to the door. A hand and arm 
 coated in grey and scarlet livery open it, 
 and a tall, fair, majestic woman sails in and 
 rustles up the aisle, her bracelets clanking, 
 her dress trailing behind her, looking un- 
 commonly like a ship in full sail. Miss 
 Fleming follows. She does not rustle and she 
 does not clank ; she sweeps noiselessly along 
 in her cool white di^ess, and she is in white 
 from head to foot. The very chmxh seems 
 the brighter for her coming, as she kneels 
 against the carven oak ; she looks as sinless, 
 and fah", and adorable as Marguerite may 
 have looked before Faust came, and yet — 
 
 and yet 1 wonder why with tliis lovely 
 
 bit of porcelain I am always thinking of the 
 outside, never of the natm'e and inner life ? 
 For the best of reasons : save for beauty her 
 face is the merest blank; if she has a soul
 
 244 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 she keeps it mighty well hid, but in the 
 teeth of such perfection who would ask any- 
 thing more ? No sensible man or woman.. 
 It is a pity to look at the mother and 
 daughter side by side. Will the lovely red 
 and white of the girl's cheek strengthen 
 into the fixed coloui' that the other wears ? 
 Will the dainty contour of brow, lip, and chin 
 in the daughter's face become thickened, 
 even lost in time, as in the mother's case ? 
 They are so alike in features, colouring, and 
 proportion, that the doubt is natural. Paul 
 Vasher sits in the chancel opposite me, the 
 Flemings a little below in the body of the 
 church ; once he turns his head and their 
 eyes meet, and are held fast and long. It 
 is a difficult look to read, but, though no 
 change passes over his face, 
 
 " Makes her blood look out : 
 Good sooth she is the queen of curds and cream." 
 
 Now the Benediction is spoken, and we 
 rise and go our ways, standing aside in the 
 road as Lady Flytton's carriage goes by. The 
 girls are buzzing in low tones of the stranger, 
 of her beauty, her bonnet, her gown; she 
 has even astonished them into forgetting
 
 SEED TIME. 245 
 
 Mr. Vasher. We liave dinner, that liberal 
 meal at Charteris, that does not stand god- 
 mother to resurrection pies, cold remains, 
 and potato puddings, or any other abomina- 
 tion. Our parents pay for us to be well fed, 
 and we are; therefore the school prospers. 
 We are in the first class-room now, and — oh, 
 wonder ! — I am actually seated in the midst 
 of the potent Buffs ; for so the six head giiis 
 of the school are called, who wield an 
 authority in the school second only to that 
 of Miss Tyburn. By no virtue of my own 
 am I here, but Kate Lishaw, the head of 
 them, has been pleased to take some small 
 notice of me ; therefore am I sitting cheek 
 by jowl with my betters. 
 
 ^* Girls," says Kate, resting her charming 
 dark-eyed viignonne face on her clasped 
 hands, "I have some news; we are going 
 to have a. party.'" 
 
 ''Not really?" "How I hate them!" 
 " A lot of trouble for nothing ! " "We shall 
 get some supper, though ! " And there will 
 be at least 07ie man!" "He won't be 
 asked." These ejaculations burst out on all 
 sides, I alone holding my tongue, for as yet
 
 246 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 a party at Cliarteris is a thing heard of but 
 never seen by me. 
 
 ''It is even so, my brethren," continues 
 Kate, " and the edict has gone forth that our 
 quarterly, low-necked, manless, partnerless, 
 full dress ball is to take place on Thurs- 
 day week. But do not be dowTi-hearted, 
 my friends, about this impending festivity ; 
 there is an unusual and beautiful halo of 
 novelty, for at it will probably be present — 
 a vian ! None of your miserable old rectors 
 or haK-penny hobbledehoys, but a downright 
 well-dressed, presentable man. There is no 
 knowing to whom he may throw his pocket- 
 handkerchief; therefore my advice to all and 
 sundry is, curl up your hair, starch up your 
 skirts, put on your most ravishing ogle, 
 your finest languish, and — every man for 
 himself and devil take the hindmost." 
 
 '' Only he cannot dance with more than 
 a quarter of us," says Laura Fielding, a 
 languid beauty of the Lydia Languish type, 
 who is ripe for flirtation but doomed to 
 bread and butter. 
 
 " I have thought of that," says Kate ; 
 "we will have a lottery with fifteen prizes.
 
 SEED TIME. 247 
 
 and whoever draws one shall pin it to the 
 front of her di'ess, and walk up to Mr. 
 Yasher, and making a curtsey say, ' M2/ 
 dance, I think ? ' and then lead him away." 
 
 '^I wonder what he would be doing all 
 that time ? " says Belle Linden. '' He does 
 not look like a man who would be made to 
 do anything he does not choose." 
 
 *^ So much the better," says Dora; ''I 
 don't fancy the coup d'oeil of our assembled 
 charms will have the same effect upon him 
 that they had on that little man who came 
 to our last with Mr. Eussell, and who gave 
 one look at our hungry and awaiting ranks 
 and ran.^^ 
 
 ^^ Where did he go ? " I ask, speaking for 
 the first time. 
 
 ^' Nobody knows. Of one thing only are 
 we certain, he never came back here." 
 
 *' Perhaps Mr. Yasher will not come," 
 says Kate ; '^ men like girls, you know, but, 
 I fancy, in moderation. He does not look 
 like an universal lover of womankind — we 
 want a diffusive man." 
 
 ''If he does not come," says Belle, "to 
 view our forlorn and piteous gambols, then
 
 248 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 all spring and verve T\ill depart therefrom, 
 and we shall be like apple tart without the 
 apples." 
 
 ^'If he only knew," says Emma, *' that 
 every petticoat, skirt, and tucker in this 
 establishment will be washed to his gloiy, 
 he could not choose but come. He could 
 not be man born of woman without feeling 
 touched." 
 
 ^' Helen Adair, you shrimp! you have 
 spoken to him, have you not ? " asks Lam-a. 
 ^^ Is he made of gentle stuff or hkely to kick 
 over the traces? " 
 
 '^ I don't know," I say, laughing ; ^' shall 
 I ask him when I see him ? " 
 
 "Do," says Kate impressively, laying 
 her hand on my head ; '^go doTMi on your 
 knees to him, and refuse to get up again 
 until he says he will come ! There will be 
 a ragged look about us all if he does not ! " 
 
 A bell ringing in the distance calls us 
 together like a flock of sheep, to go out 
 for a walk. 
 
 It is Wednesday afternoon, and we are 
 all, great and small, upstairs unearthing our 
 evening dresses and fishing up boots, gloves,
 
 SEED TIME. 249 
 
 and other minor appendages. To me this 
 party is a brand novelty. Never have I 
 been to anything that bore the most ghostly 
 resemblance to one ; therefore my festive 
 garment is not, like that belonging to some 
 of my less fortunate school-mates, grown too 
 short, too tight, or too narrow. Nevertheless 
 it is not much to boast of, being a species of 
 Phoenix revived from the ashes of one of 
 mother's dead and gone tails. It is rusty, it 
 is musty, it is villainously bare of ornament 
 and green of hue, but it comes decently down 
 to my heels, and does not refuse to meet 
 over my chest — a piece of good luck on 
 which I may congratulate myself, seeing 
 that on all sides I hear the popping 
 of hooks and bursting of buttons, as 
 I' bodies" after undue pressure fly off at 
 a tangent, and gape widely when they 
 should close ; while petticoats, that ought 
 modestly to touch the ground, display 
 
 ankles that refuse to blush unseen 
 
 The woes of one girl in particular might 
 di-aw tears from a stone. Poor Emma's 
 existence is one long struggle to get into 
 her frocks ; for Providence, who ever loves
 
 250 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 to serve mankind nasty tricks, has pre- 
 disposed her to fat, with an ever-increasing 
 soHdity that sets dressmakers at defiance. 
 Not that this fact in itself calls for pity; 
 for are not the fat ones of the earth 
 the happiest, the cheerfullest, the best 
 tempered people living? The sting of it 
 lies in this, that Emma has a stepmother 
 who objects to new dresses on principle, 
 and will allow no more than a certain 
 number a year, and has decreed that when 
 she has had those let out to their extremest 
 limits, if they will not accommodate them- 
 selves to her form, then her form must be 
 brought down to the size of her gown. So, 
 when poor Emma shows signs of over- 
 growing, she is put on Banting, and made 
 to eat the things that she hates and 
 leave untouched those that she loves, and, 
 over and above, to skip for an hour before 
 breakfast every morning. The latter in 
 hot weather is trying, but, nevertheless, she 
 works her stepmother's will; and though 
 her life is a burden to her, by degrees her 
 fat diminishes, and she comes down to the 
 size of her garments. If this is not a
 
 SEED TIME. 251 
 
 practical example of the triumpli of mind 
 over matter, then where shall one he 
 found ? Just now she is in the increasing 
 stage, and efforts that would not disgrace 
 a blacksmith are being made to "fasten" 
 her low blue and white silk frock ; but, alas ! 
 until Emma has returned to Banting the 
 glories of that fi'ock are not for her ! 
 
 Consultations, serious and profound as 
 those held 'with a court dressmaker over 
 a London beauty's first Drawing-room, are 
 going on in all directions ; bareges, grena- 
 dines, and muslins being the aristocratic 
 subjects under discussion. It seems a great 
 waste of good starch and time, so much pre- 
 paration, so little to gain by it. But 
 though no strangers worth mentioning will 
 be present to appraise all this bravery at its 
 true worth, will it not be something for 
 Kose Mary with her superior flounces to 
 cut out Anna Maria vdih her scanty ones, 
 and are not the merits of the rival beauties 
 of the school on these occasions of dress 
 parade afterwards discussed as fully and 
 exhaustively as any Almack beauty, by 
 any group of beaux and wits at White's ?
 
 252 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 Hence these puckered brows and weighty 
 discussions. 
 
 I hang up my black bombazine to try and 
 get some of the creases out ; then I dig 
 out a pair of very large, very baggy old 
 white kid boots, at least four sizes too big 
 for me — family heirlooms that were origin- 
 ally worn (I think) by my grandmother, 
 then by mother, now by me, and will be 
 handed down in tm-n to futm'e generations. 
 They are as yellow as autumn leaves ; surely 
 their complexion might be improved ? Not 
 unhkely ! So might my own, so might the 
 bombazines, by upsetting a pot of ink over 
 it. It would then at least be black ; but I 
 am not going to take the trouble. 
 
 I put my bat under my arm and go 
 downstairs with a pleased smile on my face, 
 for am I not going to clean it, and is not this 
 duty a real labour of love with me? But 
 half-way down I meet a servant, who says — 
 
 *'If you please, miss, you may put on 
 your hat and go over to the parsonage. Miss 
 Tybm-n says." 
 
 I put away my bat and fetch my hat, 
 nothing loth, and set out immediately.
 
 SEED TIME. 253 
 
 Arrived at the house, I find no one visible, 
 but after some search discover Mr. Yasher 
 in the orchard, swinging in a hammock 
 under an apple-tree. Very cool and 
 lazy and comfortable he looks, with the 
 September sun ghnting through the green 
 leaves, and on the sides of the rosy apples 
 that hang over his head ; though I fancy a 
 smart shower of them upon his face would 
 not improve the flavour of his ^^ Balzac." 
 He looks rather astonished as my head sud- 
 denly appears at his elbow, and lays down 
 his book. 
 
 ** How do you do ? " I say quickly. '' Do 
 not try to shake hands, you will only tumble 
 out ; I have come to ask you something 
 very particular." 
 
 ^'Well, what is it?" 
 
 *^ You like to do kind things, do you not ? 
 You like to please people ? " 
 
 ** That depends on who they are." 
 
 '' Oh, these are rather nice," I say, nod- 
 ding ; '^ they can't help being only gMs, you 
 know." 
 
 ** Oh ! girls," says Mr. Vasher ; '' and how 
 can I please them ? "
 
 254 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 '^ We are going to have a party," I say, 
 seriously, *^ and you are going to be invited, 
 and the Buffs were talking about it on Sunday, 
 taking it as a matter of course that you 
 would come ; but somehow I felt in my 
 bones that it was not the sort of thing you 
 would care about, and I made up my mind to 
 ask you to come as a great favour to us all." 
 
 ^'And why did you think I should not 
 come ? " he asks, amusedly. 
 
 " Because," I say, confidentially, ^' I know 
 that, as a rule, men do not care for giiis in 
 a lump; they do not mind a few, but they 
 can't stand //^^T/." 
 
 ^^Only fifty? I thought I saw over a 
 hundred on Sunday." 
 
 "Oh no ! " I say, laughing; " do not 
 make us out worse than we are. And so 
 — and so I thought I would just tell you 
 how anxious we are for you to come, 
 because I thought that, however much you 
 disliked the idea, you would come as a 
 matter of duty." 
 
 " You must think me a good-tempered 
 sort of fellow," says Mr. Vasher, scrambhng 
 out of his hammock somewhat inelegantly
 
 SEED TIME. 255 
 
 (the handsomest man ahve could hardly 
 perform that feat gracefully) ; ^' before I 
 promise, tell me what my duties will be." 
 
 a There will be fifty giiis," I say, walking 
 by his side, ^' without teachers, and you will 
 have them all to yourseK to pick and choose 
 from, and you need not hm'ry yourself in the 
 least about a partner, or be afraid of any one 
 saying No, for you will be the only young 
 man there." 
 
 ''DeHghtful privilege!" says my com- 
 panion. 
 
 ^' You will not be expected to dance with 
 us all," I say, reassuringly; " not more than 
 fifteen at most ! The other girls dance with 
 each other." 
 
 ^' And what are you going to do ? " 
 
 ^'I never dance," I say, shaking my head; 
 " I have never learnt, and it is better not to 
 make a spectacle of myself." 
 
 " Then you will not dance with me ? " 
 
 '' Oh no ! " I say, '^ I could not think of 
 such a thing. Even if I knew, how I should 
 be ashamed to deprive the other girls of you ; 
 I see you sometimes, you know, and they do 
 not, and they would think it so fncan of me ! "
 
 256 comin' thko' the rye. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " thou weed, 
 Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, 
 That the sense aches at thee." 
 
 Thuesday evening has arrived, and eight 
 o'clock is striking. We are all assembled 
 in the big dining-room, and our petticoats 
 are so voluminous and our bodies so 
 pranked forth, that, instead of fifty souls, 
 we look as though we numbered two 
 hundred at the very least. If a French- 
 man were let loose among us, he would 
 clasp his hands in speechless admu*ation 
 at the amount of raw material before him, 
 the fine eyes, the abundant hair, fair skins, 
 and perfect teeth ; but he would also deplore, 
 from the bottom of his soul, our cJiaussures, 
 coiffeurs^ and choice of colours — he would 
 lament the total absence of style, tournure, 
 chicj whatever it may be called, that in
 
 SEED TIME. 257 
 
 England is so conspicuous by its absence, 
 and, while he hankered after our red and 
 white charms, would console himself T^ith 
 the recollection of his sallow spouse's match- 
 less taste and costume, perfect in every 
 detail. 
 
 We each have a little card, or at least 
 (3veryhody has hut me, upon which are in- 
 scribed the partners selected for the dances, 
 although it is an understood thing that if a 
 man should miraculously appear and request 
 the honour, the former engagement is to he 
 considered null and void. 
 
 After all, we have not had a lottery on 
 Paul Yasher's account, and he vdU be free 
 to go where he lists, although I privately 
 entertain very grave doubts whether he will 
 trot out one-half of the damsels who con- 
 fidently expect to be asked. 
 
 The door opens and our little music-master 
 appears, followed by his son bearing a fiddle, 
 out of which he will presently harrow up our 
 souls T\dth shrieks that might wake the dead. 
 
 Miss Tybm-n comes in. She wears maize 
 silk and black lace ; very imposing slie looks 
 as she bends in answer to the crackling
 
 258 comin' thro' the hye. 
 
 bows every one makes all round the room. 
 And now enter the Eev. Thomas Shrubb 
 (rector of an adjacent parish) with his wife, 
 who wears a blue gown and a green and 
 gold cap. Their son follows, a dyspeptic, par- 
 boiled youth of eighteen, w^ho looks like a 
 beast led to the slaughter, and while he 
 gazes fatuously about him, seems dimly to 
 understand that he has fallen among thieves. 
 We are not proud, we school-girls ; anjrthing 
 in the shape of a man is comely in om- eyes, 
 but we scorn to reckon this fat youth as a 
 man, or anything approaching to one. 
 
 At a sign from Miss Tyburn the fiddle 
 strikes up, the little music-master thimips 
 at the piano, and a quadrille is formed. 
 Mr. Shrubb leads out Miss Tyburn ^yiih 
 tottering steps (at his time of life he ought 
 to know better), his wife sinks into an easy 
 chair ; the fat boy advances a step, ap- 
 parently meditating a plunge into the sea 
 of white muslin before him, gasps, blinks, 
 ruminates, thinks better of it, and finally 
 sits down, puffing apoplectically. " Gentle- 
 men " girls fetch out tlieir lady partners, 
 and lead them to their i^laces.
 
 SEED TIME. 259 
 
 ^' If there is anything I hate," says Laura 
 Fielding, as she sweeps her pale pink skirts 
 over my feet, ''it is having a girl's arm 
 round my waist ! '' 
 
 The room is one struggling mass of 
 tarlatane, mushn, and barrge; every now and 
 then a hitch occurs, and half-a-dozen young 
 women get firmly wedged together by their 
 hoops, and are disentangled with great 
 difficulty. In the ladies' chain, too, there is 
 some confusion, but one can't expect every- 
 thing. The old vicar sets, bows, and shuffles 
 with the rest most vahantlj' ; like the Shaker 
 of Art emus Ward memory. The dance 
 over, every one who can sits do^Mi and diinks 
 negus ; which might be better, but then, on 
 the other hand, might be worse. The fiddler 
 is just executing a preparatory scrape that 
 seems to take his hearers into the very 
 bowels of the earth, when the door opens 
 and enter Mr. Frere and Mr. Vasher. As 
 the latter stands talking to Miss Tyburn I 
 see hun glance about him with a keen 
 amusement ; then, as the music strikes up, 
 he leaves her and comes straight to tlie 
 corner where I lie pcnlu.
 
 260 comin' thro the rye. 
 
 '' Tliis is our dance," he says, placing my 
 hand under his arm, disregarding my mur- 
 murs of dissent with masculine sa7ig froid. 
 
 I feel my shortcomings veiy grievously 
 as he leads me foi^th. How I wish my 
 gown were not so rusty, and that my boots 
 did not curl up at the toes quite so much, 
 seeming to require chains, as did those of 
 our ancestors long ago. He puts his strong 
 arm about my waist, and away we go ; but, 
 alas ! if a lamp-post and a bottle elected to 
 dance a jig together, they would bear about 
 the same proj)ortion to each other that 
 Mr. Yasher does to me. 
 
 *' Stop ! " I cry, when we have taken one 
 round and a half, " it is no good." 
 
 So he stops, laughing, and takes me to a 
 seat. 
 
 ^' Long and short," he says, *' and 
 decidedly too much long ! " 
 
 *' I told you how it would be," I say, 
 ruefully; ^'you see, I am only a Httle above 
 your elbow ! If one could only roll one's 
 seK out ! " 
 
 " Supposing you grew up like that ? " he 
 says, glancing almost imperceptibly at a
 
 SEED TIME. 261 
 
 maypole of a girl who is standing near, 
 and who measures five feet ten in her 
 stockings. 
 
 '' One can always avenge one's injuries 
 when one is that size ; and, after all, must it 
 not be nice to be able to snub people ? " I 
 say, laughing. 
 
 ^' That is a pretty little girl," he says, 
 looking at Kate Lishaw, who has paused for 
 a moment in her dancing near us. 
 
 ** She is a duck," I say quickly; ^^ do ask 
 her to dance." 
 
 In a moment I have fetched her, and 
 they go off together, he looking wdth real 
 admiration at her fresh, bright young face. 
 I leave my place and go to the top of the 
 room ; hard by Miss Tyburn is speaking to 
 Mrs. Shrubb, and as her voice is raised in 
 rivalry with the fiddle, T cannot avoid 
 hearing what she says. 
 
 '* liemarkably lovely; but you will be able 
 to judge for yourself, she is coming to-night 
 with her aunt. Lady Flytton. I was 
 calling there yesterday, and happened to 
 mention Mr. Vasher's name ; she said 
 «he knew him very well, and seemed to
 
 2G2 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 like the idea of seeing him again, so T 
 asked her to come." 
 
 *^ Miss Fleming is coming ! I wonder 
 what Paul will say ? " 
 
 The music ceases in a crescendo of shrieks 
 that might well make Weber, whose waltz 
 it is, stir in his coffin. The room is scarcel)' 
 clear again when the door opens, and a 
 little withered, bent old woman in a pearl 
 grey satin, half covered mth lace, totters in. 
 Behind her comes her niece. Miss Fleming. 
 More than ever like a white and gold lily 
 does she look as she advances by the side 
 of that brown old \\dtch, and pays her 
 devoirs to Miss Tyburn. She wears white 
 garments that sweej) in great soft folds to 
 the ground; they are bordered ^dth a Greek 
 pattern of gold, and about her neck, aiTns, 
 and waist are clasped heavy dead gold 
 coins. She looks all white and gold, fi'om 
 the crown of her head to the tips of her 
 embroidered hrodeqidns. The scanty folds 
 of the Greek bodice fall away exquisitely 
 from the gleaming ripe shoulders and 
 bosom ; the arms bare from shoulder to 
 AVTist taper divinely, and are softly nicked
 
 SEED TIME. 263 
 
 at elbow and wiist like a baby's. We all 
 hold our breath as we look at her; and 
 Paul Vasher, standing hard by, marks every 
 matchless point of face and figure as no 
 feminine eyes ever could, and — does not go 
 near her. On the contrary, he says some- 
 thing to Kate, who leads him up to Mary 
 Burns — comely, gentle, honest Mary — and 
 she goes off with him, looking hugely 
 flattered. Miss Fleming is seated in a low 
 chair talking to Mrs. Shrubb, fanning her- 
 self slowly with a quaint fan of crimson 
 feathers. The fat boy on seeing her has 
 gasped once and never got his breath back. 
 His father is sitting with a hand grasping 
 each knee, surveying her with senile ad- 
 mu-ation. Why is not Mr. Vasher by her 
 side ? Why is she sitting there alone ? She 
 looks as though she did not care, and yet I 
 am sure she does : not often can it fall to 
 lier lot to be slighted and set aside for 
 school-girls. 
 
 He goes up to her by-and-by though, 
 when the evening is wearing away; and 
 surely she is not proud, for she lays her 
 liand upon his arm, and they waltz together,
 
 2G4 COMIN' THliO' THE KYE. 
 
 melting into tJie long gliding step that each 
 possesses in such perfection. For a time 
 I sit still and look at them, at the dark 
 magnificent looks of the man and the fak 
 luxuriant beauty of the girl, and think that 
 never surely did a more splendid couple 
 stand up together ; they seem to be made 
 for each other. Presently I leave my seat 
 and go out into the corridor, which is bright 
 as noon-day in the clear, pale beams of the 
 September moon. 
 
 The hall door stands widely, invitingly 
 open. Beyond its lintel lies the broad, 
 sleeping, moon-washed earth, and down 
 below — oh, so sweet ! — gm-gles up the glad 
 notes of the nightingale. For a moment I 
 hesitate — over that thi-eshold I am forbidden 
 to go ; then, as the tread of many feet 
 comes down the corridor, I snatch up one 
 of the wraps lying about, and step foi*th 
 into the silver peace and beauty of the 
 night. Just outside the door is a dark 
 corner, formed by the projection of the 
 porch, and into this I slip, lest a teacher or 
 Buff should come to the door and discover 
 my unlawful whereabouts.
 
 SEED TIME. 265 
 
 The flowers are all fast asleep; they look 
 ghostly and weird in the ghstening light. I 
 wonder if they will wake up by-and-by, as 
 Hans Andersen's flowers did, and trip a 
 dainty measure to the music the nightingale 
 yonder furnishes ? Somehow I never can 
 believe that these flowers are but coloured 
 shapes : they seem to me to be so much 
 more worthy of souls and nerves than the 
 ugly, stupid folks that walk about the world. 
 There is not a breath of air abroad ; the 
 land is as still and imruffled as the dark blue 
 vault overhead, in w^hich the stars ghtter 
 countless and brilhant, as though a royal 
 hand had strown them. We think queer 
 thoughts sometimes, w^hen we stand per- 
 fectly alone and in utter silence, face to 
 face with the great mystery of nature : the 
 common prosaic, every-day life falls from 
 us, habit fades away, and custom is not; the 
 thousand ways and words and thoughts that 
 lay as a screen between us and her great 
 tiTiths, vanish like thin air ; the mortal coil 
 does not press so heavily upon us at these 
 times as at others, and some dim perception 
 of the universal law that governs God's
 
 2GG comin' thro' the kye. 
 
 earth Ijreatlies itself imperceptibly iuto our 
 souls. 
 
 I think I must have been out here a long 
 while, for I am growing cold. Time to go 
 in. I am just emerging, when, do\sTi the 
 conidor click, clack ! click, clack ! come the 
 tap of high-heeled shoes, and I hastily draw 
 back into my corner as the new-comer steps 
 over the threshold and stands, face and 
 form and robe, bathed in a flood of piu'e 
 silvery Hght. It is Miss Fleming, and she 
 stands quite motionless, looking up stead- 
 fastly at the sky overhead. All the soft 
 beauty of her face is gone ; in its place there 
 reigns a cold, still determination, that con- 
 trasts almost ^dolently mth the youth of her 
 lineaments. As she slowly lifts her arm 
 and right hand to heaven, her lips move, 
 and she looks like some relentless goddess, 
 who had been turned to stone in the act of 
 calHng down confusion and curses upon her 
 enemy. More footsteps — a man's this time 
 — come down the passage and approach the 
 door, pause for a moment, then come on 
 again. 
 
 " Had vou not better have a sliawl. Miss
 
 SEED TIME. 2G7 
 
 Fleming?" inquii-es Mr. Vaslier's voice. 
 '^ You will take cold." 
 
 At his polite, chill words she neither 
 speaks nor stirs, neither turns nor looks ; 
 she stands motionless, with her eyes fixed 
 upon the ground, looking [with her straight 
 hrow and antique raiment like a Greek 
 slave standing hefore her master. He 
 looks at her with a keen, devouring 
 scrutiny fi'om head to foot, and turns to 
 go. He is within the house, when she calls 
 to limi — 
 
 ''Do you want me?" he says, pausing; 
 but she does not answer, and he comes hack 
 slowly and stands a little apart from her. 
 "Is there anything more to he said between 
 us?" he asks. "Is it not all finished — 
 done with ? " 
 
 "To you, perhaps," she says; "but not to 
 me — not while my hfe lasts ! " 
 
 " You will forget," he says, looking down 
 with a dark and bitter frown; "you arc 
 young yet." 
 
 "Have you forgotten?" she asks below 
 her breath. " Do you fiiid it so easy ? "
 
 2G8 comin' thko' the hye. 
 
 *^ God knows ! " lie says, lifting his head 
 and staring up .at the sky, that is so '' thick 
 inlaid with patines of bright gold. ' ' ^ ' Women 
 can't feel things as men do." 
 
 ^' Do they not? " she cries, with a fierce 
 jangle in her sweet voice. '^ Have you 
 forgotten that it is the one who sins, not the 
 one who is sinned against, that sufi"ers the 
 most keenly ? Do you think that if it had 
 been through your fault or folly I lost my 
 happiness I should have mourned half as 
 heavily as I do now', knowing that it is vuj 
 oivn doing ^ " 
 
 ^' Why did you do it ? " he says, looking 
 down on her with an infinite yearning in 
 his eyes, an infinite agony in his voice. 
 "' We could have been so hap2^y, child." 
 
 ^' You were too hard upon me," she says, 
 with a shuddering moan. " Any other man 
 would have forgiven me if he had loved 
 me." 
 
 ''And did not I love you?" he asks, 
 quietly. 
 
 ''You cast me off," she says, lifting her 
 lovely face to his ; " I did not you." 
 
 " I never loved, never wanted any woman
 
 SEED TIME. 2G9 
 
 but yon," lie says, slowl3^ " I chose you 
 out of the whole world for my wife. I 
 would have worn yon as my fairest honour, 
 my priceless pearl ; and how did you reward 
 me?" 
 
 ^^I was never unfaithful to you," she says, 
 drearily. ' ' If ever I did anything wrong it 
 was before I knew you." 
 
 '' And there it was that you deceived 
 me," he says, with a heavy sigh. '^ You had 
 seemed so pure, and honest, and true." 
 
 '^ And so I was to you," she says swiftly 
 — ^' always true to you ! " 
 
 ^' Heavens ! " he says, throwing back his 
 head with a quick, sudden gestm-e, ^^when 
 I think of it all ! It was much such a 
 night as this three months ago — only three 
 months, that you and I stood together in 
 that garden — and I asked you to be my wife, 
 and you put your arms about my neck ; 
 and, as we stood together, your lover came 
 towards us and looked, first on one, then 
 on another, and went away. You never 
 said, ' That is my betrothed husband, whom 
 I have kissed and betrayed, as I will kiss 
 and betray you if I have the chance.' When
 
 270 COMIN THRO THE RYE. 
 
 he rode that steeplechase next mornmg so 
 madly, so recklessly, that all saw the goal 
 he strove to reach was death, and a quaiier 
 of an hour later was carried back to his 
 mother's carriage deacl^ did you feel no 
 remorse — no sorrow? You gave no sign. 
 You were shocked ; but he might have been 
 a common acquaintance, no more ; only 
 later, in looking over the poor lad's papers 
 (for I was a fiiend of his mother's), I came 
 upon a packet of your letters, and, you 
 being my promised wife, I thought no 
 shame of reading one." He pauses, and slie 
 droops her head in the moonhght and 
 shivers. Is she cold or shamed? ^' You 
 know the story," he says, wearily, " and 
 how we parted. I loved you then ; I 
 love you now, but differently, and it is 
 all over." 
 
 ^' You love me," she says, in her low, 
 passionate voice, ''and I — my God! do I not 
 love you 'I And yet we are to hve apart ! 
 Must it be so, beloved — must it be so ? " 
 
 ''It must be," he says, very gently. "AYe 
 can never be anything to each other — never 
 any more ! " She Ufts her head, and the
 
 SEED TIME. 271 
 
 agony in her face shows clear and strong in 
 the moonHght, as they stand looking at each 
 other, she so surpassingly fair, he so lofty of 
 stature and dark of face ; it seems sad, un- 
 natural, that they should suffer so. As she 
 turns away he puts out his hand and di'aws 
 her hack. " Silvia," he says hoarsely, and 
 in the Septemher evening he shivers like 
 a reed, '' I would have gone to the world's 
 end rather than have met you here to-night. 
 Wliat evil fate has brought us together 
 again so soon — so terribly soon ? Since we 
 parted I have been trying with all my 
 strength of body and soul to forget you, and 
 it seemed as thougli I were beginning to 
 succeed ; and now yoti have appeared before 
 me, to dash my hard- won peace from my 
 hand, and give me all the raging pain and 
 misery over again. If I were differently 
 made — if I could forget everything and 
 love you in the old fashion, I would do 
 it ; but I cannot. ... I love you still, but 
 with the worse half of my heart, not the 
 better. Something has gone from you in 
 my eyes that will iiever come back. Though 
 I manded you \ should have no respect for
 
 272 COMIN THRO THE RYE. 
 
 you ; in my eyes you would be no more 
 than a beautiful toy. The old worship is 
 dead, and it will never come back. And 
 though you think you love me now, a 
 woman who betrays one man will betray 
 another ; and it would not please me to see 
 my wife's eyes roving among my friends in 
 search of admiration." 
 
 ^^ I would have been faithful to you," she 
 says, very low. 
 
 ^' No, you would not," he says, with a 
 heavy sigli ; " it is not in you to be true to 
 any man. You only care for me because I 
 am out of your reach. If I were your 
 husband you would not rest till you had 
 played me false." 
 
 '^ And I have loved you so well, so well ! " 
 she says, TNith a sob, lifting the pale, lovely 
 face that has so changed during the past 
 minutes to his. 
 
 ''God help us both!" he cries passion- 
 atety, pale as she through his bronzed 
 darkness. He takes the soft face between 
 his two brown hands and gazes into it 
 eagerly, devouringly, as a man may look his 
 last on liis licart's delight, lying in the
 
 SEED TIME. 273 
 
 envious coffin that will by-and-by hide her 
 from his sight for ever. ^' Kiss me once, 
 love, before we part, and then pray God 
 that on earth we may never meet again." 
 
 She lays her arms, white as any lilies, 
 about his brown throat ; she lifts the beauti- 
 ful lips, out of which all colour has fled, and 
 kisses him — once. And he snatches her in 
 his embrace, and kisses her, not once but 
 many times, on lip and brow and shoulder, 
 with a strength that seems to crush her. 
 Then he sets her down abruptly, and strides 
 away into the night, and the gM stands 
 breathless, panting, with a deadly pallor 
 upon her face, a wild agony in her eyes. 
 ^' My love," . . . she says, '' my love." . . . 
 She puts her hand suddenly to her heart, as 
 though a knife had struck her newly, then 
 she turns and steps over the threshold. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 274 comin' theo' the eye. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 ''But mine and mine I loved, and mine I praised, 
 And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much 
 That I myself was to myself not mine 
 Valuing of her ; why she — oh ! she is fallen 
 Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea 
 Hath drops too few to wash her clean again." 
 
 ''^ Most extraordinary! " says Laiu'a Fielding, 
 resting her chin on her hands and her elbows 
 on her desk. ^' He actually left his hat 
 behind!" 
 
 ''Does any one know what became of it?" 
 asks Kate Lishaw. 
 
 " It was put in a bandbox," says Dora, 
 " and carried to the parsonage by a maid 
 servant, who made him a cui'tsey and said, 
 ' IVe brought you something as you di'opped 
 among our young ladies, sir ! ' " 
 
 "Nonsense ! " says Kate ; " but I must 
 confess I am disappointed in him ! After 
 all he proved a very little more valiant than
 
 SEED TIME. '27 T) 
 
 Mr. Kussell's friend ! He is very nice though/' 
 she adds, " and he dances splendidly." 
 
 ''He is magnificent," says Belle. "Did 
 yon ever see such shoulders or such a head? 
 And then his style — unimpeachable ! " 
 
 "His moustache is ," says Laura, " it 
 
 has that long, bold sweep that you never see 
 on a plain man's face ; and as to his eyes ' ' 
 
 " Bravo ! Laura," says Kate. 
 
 " He was a man You know the rest. 
 
 I'll tell you one thing," says Belle, " that 
 I am sure of; that exquisite piece of white 
 and gold. Miss Fleming, was at the bottom 
 of his sudden departure ; and I am certain 
 that if they are not lovers now, they were 
 once with a vengeance. They disappeared 
 together that night. I would have recon- 
 noitred, but was curveting in the Lancers. 
 After that, you know, he went.'" 
 
 "I should not mind being you, Helen 
 Adair," says Kate, patting me on the 
 shoulder. " You do the visiting, while we 
 all stay at home." 
 
 I am sitting in my bonnet and jacket, 
 awaiting the carriage that is to take me to 
 Lady Flytton's.
 
 270 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 "I don't want to go," I say earnestly; 
 ^'indeed I do not. Why Lady Flytton 
 asked me 1 cannot think, for she did not 
 know mother very well." 
 
 '^ What it is to have so many friends ! '* 
 says Belle ; '' I wish I had some I" 
 
 ^'And are yon coming back on Monday, 
 child ? " 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 '' I wonder if Mr. Vasher will go there ? " 
 says Kate. ^' Keep yonr eyes open, Helen 
 Adair, and tell ns all you see when you 
 come hack. Hark ! there is the carriage." 
 
 We go out. Yes, there it is, and the 
 spirited black horses, with theii' scarlet 
 rosettes, look far more fitted for a drive 
 in Hyde Park than to bowl along these 
 country lanes. 
 
 ^' Good-bye ! good-bye ! " say the Buffs. 
 
 The footman puts in my portmanteau, 
 and away I go, feeling like Cinderella with- 
 out the beauty. It is a lovely day, but oh ! 
 I wish I had a companion, for it is dull 
 sitting all alone behind those two gorgeous- 
 backed men-servants. How in\itingly the 
 nuts nod their brown faces at me from the
 
 SEED TIME. 277 
 
 hedge ! I should be happier walking in the 
 road with Jack, free to pick them, than 
 perched up here with nothing to do. I 
 wonder if I dare ask one of those men to 
 gather me some ? I cannot call them, for I 
 do not know their names, so I uplift my 
 voice in a ^^ hem ! " which I delivered point 
 blank at the middle of the footman's back. 
 
 ^*Did you speak, miss?" he asked, touch- 
 ing his hat and turning. 
 
 ^' A — not exactly," I say; ^' but I want 
 some of those nuts, can you pick them for 
 me?" 
 
 '' Certainly, miss," and in another minute 
 he is in the road, and scrambHng up the 
 hedge ; his long coat hampers his legs, the 
 powder flies from his hair to his shoulders, 
 but he is a man ^^ for a' that ; " and 
 finally, he brings me my nuts with an un- 
 rufiied countenance. I fancy I hear him 
 saying later in the servants' hall, ^* She's 
 low, she is ; she ate nuts out in the car- 
 riage, and cracked them with her own 
 teeth, she did." 
 
 And now we have passed throiigli the 
 lodge gates, and are rolling along between
 
 278 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 the avenue of tall trees that mark thc^ 
 approach to Flyttou. It is a beautiful old 
 place, and a footman ushers me through 
 stately passages and ante-rooms to the draw- 
 ing-room, in which I have some difficulty 
 in discovering Lady Flytton — so little, so 
 wizen, so shrunken is she. I make her 
 out at last in a far corner. I think she is 
 asleep, but she opens her eyes suddenly, 
 and bids me welcome, very kindly desiring 
 the footman to bring white wine and 
 grapes ; while I eat the latter, she chatters 
 away, with the garruhty of old age, of 
 mother, who was, she says, "a beautiful 
 young woman;" of everything, in short, 
 that her wandering thoughts hit upon. 
 Presently she leans back in her chah, and 
 without the smallest sign or word, goes 
 soundly to sleep. I am just wondering 
 what I am going to do with myself, and 
 thinking how lively it will be here, when 
 the glass door leading to the garden 
 swings back, and Silvia Fleming comes 
 into the room, and, without looking about 
 her, sits down mth her back to me in a 
 low cliaii*. Her hair is hanging down her
 
 SEED TIME. 279 
 
 back in thick curls ; she wears a plain 
 white wrapper, that by its severity makes 
 her beauty more than ever conspicuous. 
 There is a listless droop about the whole 
 figm'e as she leans back with her arms 
 clasped under her head. She has not been 
 seated there twenty seconds, when the door 
 opens, and '' Captain Chichester" is an- 
 nounced; he is tall, languid, hlasc, but 
 his steps and face quicken as he sj^ies the 
 recumbent figure in the red velvet chah*. 
 
 ^'How do you do?" he says, stooping over 
 her and holding out his hand ; but she does 
 not put out hers ; she only looks up at him 
 mth a lazy look of welcome, provocation, 
 which is it ? 
 
 *' Too hot!" she says; ^' would not one 
 think it August instead of September ? " 
 
 He sits down beside her, and they talk 
 in low voices. They do not seem to know 
 any one is present ; however, as I cannot 
 hear what they are saying, it is somewhat 
 unnecessary for me to announce myself, 
 though indeed I am not anxious to play 
 the degrading part of eaves-droiypcr again, 
 as I did a week ago.
 
 280 comin' thko' tiie it ye. 
 
 Is yonder coquette the passionate, de- 
 spairing woman that Paul Vasher kissed a 
 while ago so hotly ? Was it but a fine piece 
 of acting — her love and her misery? For 
 sui'ely, surely she is acting her own proper 
 character at this moment? No, she was 
 not acting then, but she was taken out of 
 herself for the time ; and Paul's estimate of 
 her is the right one, the taint of infidelity 
 in her nature is too deep to permit her 
 to be either a good or a faithful woman. 
 Admiration is meat and drink to her, flattery 
 the very air she breathes ; no man could 
 keep this woman straight any more than 
 a rope can be made of sand. She does not 
 love this man to whom she is talking, does 
 not even admire him, but she will fool him 
 to the top of his bent. A woman's vanity 
 takes many lives to feed it. So much I 
 guess randomly as I sit and watch her. 
 
 '^Little devil!'' says Lady Flytton, softly. 
 Turning to look at the old woman, I find 
 that she has come out of her sleep as sud- 
 denly as she entered it, and is sm-veying 
 the couple yonder with an expression of 
 countenance, that is, to say the least of it, 
 vicious.
 
 SEED TIME. 281 
 
 ^^ Good afternoon, Captain Chichester!" 
 she remarks austerely. 
 
 The young man looks round with an as- 
 tonishment that is ludicrous, rises and 
 comes toward the old lady. Silvia, I ob- 
 serve, does not move an inch. 
 
 ^' I did not know any one was here," he 
 says, holding out a hand that Lady Flytton 
 altogether overlooks. 
 
 **I dare say you did not," she says, 
 frostily ; and he goes back to his charmer, 
 looking somewhat red and decidedly 
 snubbed. Tea is brought in and we par- 
 take of it apart. Oh, it is dull ! If the little 
 woman does not like her company, why does 
 she not leave it ? Anon Captain Chichester 
 takes his departure, and it being near the 
 dinner hour, I am shown to my room, where 
 I array myself in my httle all, and modestly 
 habited in the same, descend to the draw- 
 ing-room. Silvia Fleming is there, and she 
 speaks some half-words of gi*eeting, giving 
 me the contemptuous, indifferent regard 
 that apparently she always bestows on her 
 own sex. Mrs. Fleming comes in, fat and 
 kind; I like her better than her daughter.
 
 282 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 last of all Lady Flytton ; and we go iu to 
 dinner, where there is next to no conversa- 
 tion, for the hostess devotes herself to her 
 knife and fork with the assiduity of a 
 woman who knows her time for wielding 
 the same is short, and the other two have 
 little conversation. In the drawing-room 
 later the two elders sit together, knitting 
 and talking, while Silvia's restless figure 
 paces up and do^Ti, up and do^Ti, the ter- 
 raced walk outside, and I sit at a table, 
 turning over a photograph hook, and pitying 
 myself from the very bottom of my soul. 
 
 "It is too ridiculous," says Mrs. Fleming's 
 vexed voice, rising in her excitement, " and 
 the offers and admiration she has had too ! " 
 
 " She is a bad little cat," sa3's Lady 
 Flytton, shaking her ungodly, Madeira- 
 warmed old head, '^ and she'll never come 
 to any good, never ! As to Paul Yasher, 
 he'll never marry her ; he knows her too 
 weU for that! " 
 
 I move quickly away before I hear more, 
 and marvel for the ninety-ninth time why 
 I was ever invited to Flytton.
 
 SEED TIME. 283 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 '' Give me that man, 
 That is not passions' slave, and I -vvill wear him 
 In my heart's core ; ay, in my heart of hearts.'' 
 
 A TAP at the door. ^^ Come in," I say, 
 pausing in my wrestle with my bonnet 
 strings — which I am tiying to settle in a 
 bow that ^ill not disgi-ace Lady Flytton's 
 smart chariot — and enter Sihda. Aj^parently 
 she is not going to chmx-h, for although we 
 start in five minutes' time, she wears a 
 white morning gown and slippers. 
 
 ''Will you do something for me?" she 
 asks, sitting down. 
 
 '' Tell me what it is first." I say, 
 cautiously. 
 
 *' You know Mr. Vasher ? " 
 
 ''Yes!" 
 
 " Will you give him this note after 
 church?"
 
 284 comin' thro' the kye. 
 
 I look at the held-out billet, and for a 
 moment hesitate. I love to help lovers ; 
 but I like him, and I do not like her ; shall 
 I hwct him by taking it ? He is strong 
 enough to take care of himself. *^ Yes, I 
 will give it him," I say, and put it in my 
 pocket. 
 
 ''You are a good child," she says, and 
 goes away. 
 
 I wonder if he will be in church ? Yes, 
 he is there, as I discover twenty minutes 
 later, and he gives me a friendly look as I 
 go up the aisle behind Mrs. Fleming. That 
 old heathen Lady Flytton never goes to 
 church. The Buffs give me a smile or two, 
 and I wink affectionately at Mary Biu-ns 
 at a favourable opportunity. In the porch 
 outside, when the service is over, I find 
 Mr. Yasher, which is lucky ; for supposing 
 I had been obhged to run after him ? 
 
 ''When are you coming back, little one ? " 
 he asks. 
 
 " Soon ! To-moiTOW some time ! " I say, 
 flounderingly, then I thrust the note into 
 his hand and flee. 
 
 "Did you give it him?" asks Silvia,
 
 SEED TIME. i^y/> 
 
 as we are walking in the garden after 
 luncheon. 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 *^How hot it is!" she says, shrugging 
 her shoulders, ^^ there is a storm brewing ! " 
 
 She speaks truth, the morning was 
 sultry, the afternoon is worse, the aii* is 
 charged and heavy with heat, the skies are 
 closing in black as night, the very birds 
 have ceased singing ; all creation seems to 
 be holding its breath, awaiting one of 
 nature's fierce convulsions. With the same 
 instinct that has sent all the animals to 
 their hiding-places, I go in, leaving Silvia 
 pacing up and down, with clasped hands, 
 and an intent look of Hstening upon her 
 face. I am not ashamed to confess it, I am 
 horribly, terribly afraid of a thunderstorm ; 
 the dread crack of the awful, invisible hosts 
 above always make me shiver, and through 
 my eyehds the lightning seems to strike 
 and blind me. After all I must be a 
 coward, for Jack does not mind it at all ; 
 he opens his eyes wide, and never puts his 
 fingers in his ears. The sisters are fast 
 asleep in a remote corner of the queer
 
 28G comin' theo' the eye. 
 
 shaped, many-angled room ; every now and 
 then a gentle snore attests to theii* happy 
 unconsciousness. When I am old, I dare say 
 I shall consider it a godly and suitable 
 employment to spend my sabbath after- 
 noons in slumber ; being young and broadly 
 awake, I find the time hangs veiy heavily 
 on my hands. I take a peep at *^ Good 
 Words;" I look at the j)ictures in the 
 ^' Sunday at Home," finally I take up 
 Lady Flytton's album, which I have indeed 
 already explored, but still find interesting, 
 thanks to the extraordinary unhandsome - 
 ness of her friends and relations ; her 
 defuilct husband bearing the palm away 
 from them all for general unsavouiiness, 
 imbecility, and grimace. I am just grin- 
 ning at the photograph of a very short 
 man, who has a most ferocious expression 
 of countenance, and looks as though he 
 were saying, '^ Laugh at me if joxi dare ! " 
 when the door opens, and Paul Vasher is 
 announced. The sisters do not awake, and 
 he does not see me. In another moment 
 he is face to face with Silvia, who comes 
 hastily through the glass door.
 
 SEED TIME. 287 
 
 '^ You sent for me," he says, '' and I have 
 come." 
 
 " Come out into the garden," she says 
 abruptly. 
 
 And they go out together, along the 
 terrace, and disa^^pear among the trees. 
 An hour sKps away, the light fails strangely ; 
 the skies are of ink, save where a lurid- 
 tipped cloud betokens mischief; every leaf 
 and tree and flower stands stirless ; there 
 is not a living thing to be seen. 
 
 Steps come quickly along the terrace, and 
 Paul Yasher comes in alone. I am half 
 leaping up to speak to him, when some- 
 tliing in his face checks me, and I fall 
 back ; in another moment he is gone. The 
 closing door awakens Lady Flytton, who 
 sits up, and asks sharply — 
 
 '' Wlio was that just went out ? " 
 
 ''Mr. Vasher." 
 
 '' Vasher here ! " screams the old woman. 
 *' Has that little cat been up to some more; 
 of her tricks ? Well, he didn't stay long ! " 
 And she composes herself to sleep again. 
 
 ''Was I snoring, child?" asks Mrs. 
 Fleming, with some anxiety.
 
 288 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 '' Not mncli ! " 
 
 Hark ! A few drops of rain, heavy as 
 lead, fall with a hissing sound upon the 
 pavement ; a low faint moan comes sweep- 
 ing up over the land, and now with an 
 awful, shivering reverberation, the heavens 
 are rent in twain, the forked lightning 
 leaps out, the floodgates of heaven are 
 loosed, and the storm is upon us. I 
 bury my head in my hands to shut out 
 the glare of the hghtning, but thi'ough the 
 hideous discord, I hear Mrs. Fleming's voice 
 ask, in sharp fear, '^ Where is Silvia ? " 
 
 Out yonder; out in the fury and teeth 
 of the storm, as reckless, as wild as the 
 hurricane itself ; and God only knows what 
 depths of misery and shame she is sounding. 
 Paul Yasher's face was not hard to read. 
 And child as I am, I know that she has 
 played her last stake and lost. 
 
 In her present mood she will court death, 
 if I know anything of her character. Some 
 one must find her, and bring her back. 
 But who ? I will. My hfe out there is 
 as much in God's hand as here; and though 
 I do not love her, I would do this much
 
 SEED TIME. 289 
 
 for my worst enemy. I take my hands 
 from my eyes, snatch up a shawl lying near, 
 and, heedless of Mrs. Fleming's exclama- 
 tions of horror, step out on to the terrace. 
 Down comes the waterspout in its resist- 
 less strength, almost heating me to earth ; 
 blinded with Hghtning, deafened with 
 thunder, bewildered by the hurly-burly, I 
 push on, looking hither and thither, in 
 every nook and corner, but I cannot find 
 her. Stronger and fiercer grows the storm. 
 At my side a tree smitten in mid-air 
 by an unseen hand, is wliirled aloft, and 
 hurled crashing to the ground; a rabbit 
 struck dead by Hghtning Kes in my path, 
 overhead, from end to end of heaven, echoes 
 that long, hollow, shuddering peal that 
 always sounds to me like the shrieks and 
 wild laughter of lost souls in Hades. At 
 last I come upon her, sitting under a tree, 
 in a far-off corner, looking out at the storm 
 as indifferently as though it were a pageant 
 arranged for her especial amusement. 
 
 '' Silvia 1 " I cry while yet I am a Httle 
 way off, ^* Silvia ! " But she never stirs, 
 never lifts her head, or unclasps her hands, 
 
 YOL. I. U
 
 290 COMIN THKO THE RYE. 
 
 or seems to know my voice, while all about 
 her lie the wrack and ruin of the void 
 hurricane ; and a few yards away, an oak 
 struck with hghtning stands bare and 
 ghastly, stripped of its bark. I am stepping 
 towards her, when — oh, my God ! — the 
 heavens above us open ; a great hght shines 
 upon our faces, and, cleaving the air, there 
 rushes towards us a great crimson ball of 
 flame. I shut my eyes, and stand motion- 
 less : is not this death ? and with a hiss 
 and a smrl, and a burning breath that 
 scorches my face, it smites the groimd at 
 my feet, and a great 'smoke belches forth, 
 and hides everything from my eyes. Dimly 
 I grope my way round to the other side ; 
 I am not killed, therefore Silvia must 
 
 be But there she sits looking just as 
 
 she looked before the bolt fell. 
 
 " Ahve and imharmed, thank God ! " I 
 cry, taking her cold hand in mine. 
 
 ^^ If it had only killed me," she says, in 
 a whisper, pointing her finger at the sullen 
 flames ; "if I had been only one step 
 nearer " 
 
 " Come away ! " I say gently, and she
 
 SEED TIME. 291 
 
 does not resist, but lets me lead her away 
 like a child. Her face is pale as the dead ; 
 her lovely eyes look straight before her, 
 as though they beheld only one object ; her 
 hair hangs dank and heavy down her 
 dripping back. An uncommonly nice couple 
 we look as we reach the house, with pools 
 of water running from our clothes; as 
 beaten down and draggled as yonder poor 
 flowers that lie with broken stalks in their 
 churned-up beds. 
 
 Mrs. Fleming shrieks at her daughter's 
 face — and, indeed, she might well have 
 taken some grievous hurt out in the storm 
 to judge by her looks — but the girl pulls 
 herself wearily away. 
 
 *^ Leave me alone," she says, and goes 
 slowly up the stairs, to the great embellish- 
 ment of her aunt's carpeting, and I follow. 
 On the landing she turns round. 
 
 " Come into my room, by-and-by," she 
 says. 
 
 I have sHpped out of my wet clothes, and 
 am almost attired in dry ones, when Mrs. 
 Fleming comes in, bearing a tumbler of 
 hot wine, which she makes me drink. It
 
 292 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 tastes very good, but surely it is rather 
 strong ? 
 
 She goes away, and I proceed with my 
 toilet ; but somehow, I don't seem to be 
 quite mistress of my legs, and in crossing 
 the room I have to tack a good deal. My 
 ideas, too, are very hazy. I find myself sur- 
 veying various articles of my attire with 
 a benignant and fixed smile, instead of 
 putting them on ; and I am by-and-by, 
 distinctly conscious that, Tsith no apparent 
 vohtion of my own, I am standing before 
 my looking-glass, swaying from side to 
 side, and saying, in an indistinct voice, 
 ^^ My intentions is good. Jack, but my 
 legs is w^eak." And after that I know 
 nothing, save that I am blessedly, soundly 
 asleep. 
 
 The clock is striking seven as I awake, 
 and Mrs. Fleming is looking down on me 
 with some anxiety. 
 
 '' What does it all mean ?" I say, rubbing 
 my eyes ; '* I never went to sleep like this 
 in the day-time before. Was it the thun- 
 derbolt?" 
 
 *'No," says Mrs. Fleming, ''I think it
 
 SEED TIME. 293 
 
 was the wine. I put brandy in it to keep 
 the cold out, and forgot you were not used 
 to it." 
 
 " And so I have been tipsy," I say, 
 putting my hand to my head; "oh, what 
 would papa say if he could see me ? " 
 
 "Say it was my fault," says Mrs. 
 Fleming, " and now my dear, don't trouble 
 about that; can you go to Silvia now? 
 She has been asking for you." 
 
 " I will be ready in a minute ; but, 
 Mrs. Fleming, you will never tell any one 
 about it, tvill you ? " 
 
 "Never," she says, smiling, and goes 
 away. 
 
 To my knock at Silvia's door, I receive 
 no answer ; pushing it open, I enter. She 
 is standing by a window, looking at the 
 smoke that rises from the spot where the 
 bolt lies embedded. She is talking to lier- 
 self, and does not seem to see or heai* 
 me, although I am before her eyes. 
 
 " I was wrong to wish it had killed me," 
 she mutters ; " after all it's a stupid thing to 
 do — to die. Talli of the proud contempt 
 of spirits risen, it is the living, who have
 
 294 comin' theo' the eye. 
 
 the best of it, and despise the dead. If I 
 had died to-day, the women who hate me, 
 would have said, ^ Poor creature ! ' he would 
 have said, ' Poor Silvia.' I should have 
 been looor Silvia, a weak loving fool to 
 all eternity to him. I T\ill hve ! — hve to 
 punish the scorn and coldness that has 
 dared repay such love as mine — hve to 
 make him rue the day he made Silvia 
 Fleming stoop to pray in vain. When he 
 least expects me, I ^ill be there ; in the 
 hour of his joy, I will stand by his side 
 and strike the cup from his hps ; in his 
 night of sorrow, I will rejoice over him — 
 and since I cannot have his love, I ^ill 
 work his misery — and this I T\ill do, so help 
 me, God!'' 
 
 The last hmd gleam of the storm is on 
 her set face, and in her T\dde eyes. Has the 
 afternoon actually crazed her brain ? " 
 
 '' Are you there, child ? " she says, turn- 
 ing round sharply. ^' Have you heard all 
 the nonsense I have been talking ? " 
 
 '' Some of it." 
 
 ^' Bah ! " she says ; " I have a bad habit
 
 SEED TIME. 295 
 
 of talking aloud. You were a good little 
 thing to come out and find me like that ; 
 it would not have been pleasant to be 
 killed by that bolt, eh?" 
 
 ''No," I say, shuddering, ''but it was 
 very near, a narrow escape. Have you 
 told Mrs. Fleming ? " 
 
 " Not I ! How that old woman, my aunt, 
 would have hopped, if she had seen it all ! 
 That red thing coming through the air, you 
 and I with oui' mouths wide open, at least 
 
 yours was " She goes off into a fit of 
 
 laughter, that does not strike me as being 
 particularly seemly. 
 
 "You can go now," she says ; " will you 
 send my mother up to me ? " 
 
 Truly Silvia Fleming has somewhat odd 
 manners. Down in the drawing-room I 
 find the sisters looking out of a T\dndow at 
 the desolation of the garden, and ha^dng 
 delivered my message to Mrs. Fleming, 
 proceed to inform Lady Flytton of the 
 shave we had, to which she listens with 
 many upliftings of her hands and exclama- 
 tions.
 
 296 comin' theo' the rye. 
 
 ^* And all that little cat's fault," she says. 
 '^ Whatever will your mother say, when 
 she hears that I took so little care of you ? 
 As to that Silvia, it's my belief she is being 
 saved up for something worse ! "
 
 SEED TIME. 297 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " A heat full of coldness ; a s-vreet full of bitters ; a pain 
 full of pleasantness wliich maketh thoughts have eyes and 
 hearts and ears ; bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned 
 by jealousy, killed by dissembling, turned by ingratitude 
 — and this is love. " 
 
 ^' I WONDER if Paul will come to-night," says 
 Mr. Frere, stirring the fire mth a reckless- 
 ness highly reprehensible in a godly man 
 during these days of greedy coal merchants 
 and champagne -drinking colliers. 
 
 It is rainy October now, and the nights 
 are cold and frosty, and without, mother 
 earth is drawing the flow^ers, her darlings, 
 down into her brown breast, as Hans 
 Andersen tells us, away fi'om the Frost- 
 King's breath, which strikes chilly against 
 the tender green stalks and late-tanying 
 fuchsias, myrtles, and magnoUas. 
 
 '^ I don't think he is coming back at all ! "
 
 298 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 I say, nodding; ^' he has been gone such a 
 long, long time, you know — weeks ! " 
 
 ^^ Paul always keeps his word," says 
 Mr. Frere. ''He is sure to come back. 
 Besides, he left all his things here." That 
 is conclusive, for however heart-broken a 
 man may be, he does not usually forget his 
 dressing-case and his little comforts. 
 
 '* The ground is good for walking just 
 now," says Mr. Frere. '' I dare say he has 
 got as far as Devonshire." 
 
 Yes, the ground is good for walking, but I 
 think all roads are pretty much alike to him 
 just now. As I sit staring into the fire, I 
 seem to see Mr. Vasher walking swift and 
 fast, trying to escape from his restless 
 thoughts ; trying to quench a flame that 
 will not be put out. Pshaw ! Probably I 
 see a myth and a fallacy, and at this very 
 moment he is dancing a jig or 
 
 *^ Are you asleep ? " asks a cheerful voice 
 behind me. 
 
 *'You have come back!" I cry starting 
 up ; '' how glad I am. We were beginning 
 to think you were lost ! " 
 
 As the firelight falls on his face I see that
 
 SEED TIME. 299 
 
 it is pale and worn as that of a man who 
 has fought a battle against fierce odds, and 
 though wounded and hard pressed in the 
 conflict — tvon. 
 
 ^' Where is my uncle?" he says looking 
 round. 
 
 "He was here a minute ago, but Mrs. 
 Pim fetched him to go to Sally Lane, who 
 says she is dying." 
 
 ^ ' I wonder how long she will be about 
 it?" 
 
 '^ She has been dying for twenty years," I 
 say, laughing, " and she will probably be 
 dying for twenty more ! Dying with her 
 means _2:'or^." 
 
 "Does my uncle give her a bottle to 
 soothe her last moments ? " 
 
 " Always ! About once a month, you 
 know; and she is far too careful a body to 
 go off until she has drunk the last di'op ; 
 then the thought of the next bottle supports 
 her." 
 
 Mr. Vaslier laughs. " Do you know," he 
 says, " tliat I have missed you, child, during 
 these past weeks ? Over and over again I 
 have wished I had your saucy chatter to
 
 300 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 listen to. What have you been doing with 
 yonrseK — anything particular ? ' ' 
 
 ^' Something very particular," I say 
 solemnly, "or at least — almost. '^It is a 
 miracle you do not find Miss Fleming's 
 pieces and mine laid out in baskets." 
 
 "What do you mean," he asks shai-ply. 
 " You have been in danger — and Silvia ? " 
 
 " It was a thunderbolt," I explain ; " she 
 and I were only a few yards apart, and it 
 fell between us." 
 
 "And you were out in the storm that 
 day, you two? " 
 
 " I went to look for Silvia, she was out 
 in it." 
 
 " Did she not come in after I left ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Good heavens," he cries, striking his 
 head with his clenched fist. " What a 
 brute I was ? W^here is she now ? " 
 
 "At Homburg." 
 
 " I wonder what she is doing ! " he says 
 half to himself. 
 
 "Flirting!" I answer, almost before I 
 know what I am saying, I have an imhappy 
 knack of blurting out the thought that is 
 uppermost in my mind.
 
 SEED TIME. 301 
 
 ^'Wliat makes you think so, child? "he 
 asks, turning quickly to me. 
 
 ^' I did not mean to say that, Mr. Vasher. 
 I was only thinking." 
 
 ''And your opinion of her?" he says, 
 looking at me. ''I always like to have a 
 very young person's opinion about another 
 — it is always true ; what is it ? " 
 
 '' She is young," I say thoughtfully, '' and 
 well-born and rich and beautiful, and — I 
 am sorry for her." 
 
 '' Sorry ! " he says, looking at me keenly, 
 '' and why are you sorry ? What more does 
 she want? " 
 
 '' She is not happy," I say, turning my 
 head away that he may not see how red my 
 face is. If he only knew that I know the 
 whole story, that I have been an eaves- 
 dropper ! 
 
 '' You have not told me what you think 
 of her," he says ; '' I want an answer." 
 
 '' I am not fond of her," I say slowly. I 
 would not trust her ; she is rather cruel, but 
 she could love well " 
 
 '' And never be faithful," says Paul. 
 *' Well ! you will be a woman some day,
 
 302 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 little one ; shall I give you some advice ? 
 But no, you would not take it ; you will fall 
 in love like the rest, some day ! " 
 
 '' And why should I not ? " I ask ; 
 ^^ everybody does ! " 
 
 "Love," he says, ''is made up of vanity 
 and vexation, folly and bitterness ; it turns 
 to dust between the teeth." 
 
 "Your creed is a hard one," I say. 
 " Now, I have seen some lovers (I think of 
 Alice and Charles), who never have any of 
 that ; they are fair in each other's eyes, and 
 though they squabble sometimes, they never 
 think of using any of those long words you 
 do ; they positively would not understand 
 them." 
 
 " Perhaps they are worthy of each other," 
 he says. " When two people trust one 
 another, then their love is a pleasant thing, 
 a jewel. But if a man loves a woman, and 
 she proves unworthy, and he loves her still, 
 cannot you guess something of the battle 
 that is fought in that man's soul — the 
 higher nature crying. Desist ! the lower. 
 Yield! The indomitable will and self- 
 respect of the man fighting against the
 
 SEED TIME. 303 
 
 quenchless passionate longing after the 
 beauty of the woman he renounces . . . the 
 integrity of the mind warring against the 
 heart that rises in fierce revolt against such 
 sacrifices . . . the lily of renunciation against 
 the crimson blossom of love . . . and the 
 crowning sin and shame if it all must be 
 that, while he knows her worthies sness, he 
 cannot forget her — her sweet words and 
 ways . . . her veil of rippling hair, her 
 clinging lips ... in these memories must 
 lie that man's chief tortures. . . ." 
 
 He passes his hand impatiently over his 
 forehead and starts up. '' Forgive me 
 child," he says, "I have been thinking 
 aloud. Does my psychological study 
 interest you ? Poor devil, I hope he may 
 reach the shore, don't you ? A past error 
 throughly repented of is the best basis for 
 future good conduct ! Can I take any 
 message to Silverbridge for you to-morrow, 
 little one?" 
 
 ^'You are going there?" I say, clasping 
 my hands. '' Oh ! can you not put me in 
 your pocket ? Shall you stay long ? " 
 
 "■ Only a couple of days. I am going
 
 304 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 abroad afterwards ; and when I come back 
 you will be a grown-up young lady ? " 
 
 ''Worse luck!" I say dolefully. '''l 
 should like to put off ' tails ' for another 
 ten years ! ' ' 
 
 '' Tell me," he says, leaning forward and 
 taking my face in his hands, '' how old are 
 you?" 
 
 ''Fourteen!" 
 
 " So much ? you look about twelve ; you 
 
 have a dear little face, and a sweet 
 
 But I won't say I hope you will be pretty 
 w^hen I come back ! If ever you pray 
 heartily for anything, child, pray that you 
 may never grow up beautiful." 
 
 "There is not much fear!" I say 
 ruefully. " I don't think any amount of 
 praying would mend matters ! " 
 
 "If you are good," he says, "that is aU 
 you want, and I think you will be." 
 
 "*' People like one so much better when 
 one is pretty than when one is plain," I say 
 meditatively. " Plain people get all the 
 leavings. Might not one be good and 
 pretty too?" 
 
 "They might, but they very seldom
 
 SEED TIME. 305 
 
 are ! No ; when I come back, child, I hope 
 I shall find you just as you are now." 
 
 ^' May I not grow, sh' ? " 
 
 ^^ Grow as much as you please, child ; 
 but don't grow out of honesty ! " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 30G comin' thro' the eye, 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
 Than wish a snow in May's new fangled shows, 
 But like of each thing that in season grows. " 
 
 Christmas lias come with his garment of 
 snow and crown of holly and icicles, with 
 his jolly red face and lavishly-filled hands, 
 and he has ahode with ns a little space, 
 wielding his sceptre royally at feast and 
 wassail ; but now that the poor old year, the 
 friend out of which he grew, is dying, and 
 the new one in all its pride and pomp is 
 dawning, he sweeps away from ns sorrowfully, 
 and we see his face no more. Jack and I, 
 home for the holidays, have been very hter- 
 ally obeying the golden mandate that bids 
 mankind '' Gather ye roses while ye may," 
 and we have eaten plum-pudding and Christ- 
 mas cates galore, reaping the punishment of
 
 SEED TIME. 307 
 
 our unholy gluttony in aches and pains that 
 we have had to take upon oui' backs and 
 bear in silence, venturing on no complaint ; 
 for in the somewhat unique rules of our 
 family there is a stringent one : " Thou shalt 
 not be sick." Ill or well, faint, pain-stricken 
 or bilious, in our places at table we must 
 appear; and if unkind nature, refusing to be 
 tutored, makes our faces pale and anxious, 
 by angry looks and words are we made to 
 feel the shamelessness and iniquity of our 
 conduct. If either of us have a bout of real 
 illness that refuses to be knocked on the 
 head in deference to the governor's will, 
 the culprit is placed under the ban of an 
 awful and crushing displeasure below stairs, 
 that person's name is never mentioned, and 
 when the convalescent makes his appear- 
 ance in public, white and attenuated, his 
 presence is ignored; he is considered to have 
 disgraced himself past all forgiveness. To 
 call in Esculapius is a dangerous and most 
 tickhsh proceediag, and only ventured on in 
 a case of extreme emergency ; he knows his 
 peril, and comes with reluctance and departs 
 with alacrity. All things considered, we
 
 308 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 have had rather a stormy time of it lately. 
 Over and above the perpetual little disasters 
 that will occur in so tightly managed a 
 household (for every one knows that human 
 nature if squeezed in at one place will burst 
 out in another), the long expected difficulty 
 about Ahce's and Charles's matrimonial 
 affairs has appeared upon the scene. The 
 six months of probation having expu'ed, 
 Captain Lovelace has pressed for a formal 
 engagement, and hinted at a wedding day, 
 only to be met with contumely and dis- 
 missed with insult and mockery. He does 
 not come here now — his place knows him no 
 more, and the rebelHous look on my sister's 
 lovely face brings her many a bitter word 
 and hard sneer ; but outwardly, at least, she 
 acquiesces in her lot, and says no word on 
 the subject, good, bad, or indifferent. She 
 is growing very thin, our pretty Ahce. It 
 might move any man's heart to see how her 
 face pales day by day, how slender her httle 
 wrists and waist are. But papa never heeds, 
 never looks ; he lays hard burdens upon his 
 children, and does not touch them mth so 
 much as the tip of his finger. I think we
 
 SEED TIME. 309 
 
 would deal him out greater mercy than he 
 deals us. 
 
 Although I was so faithful a gooseberry 
 to Ahce, she never speaks of Charles Love- 
 lace to me. Often I come upon her and Milly 
 in close confabulation, and feel unreasonably 
 vexed; for, after all, is not Milly sixteen, and 
 old enough to understand, while I am but 
 fourteen, and supposed to know nothing 
 whatever on the subject of love and coiu't- 
 ship ? Ah ! they don't know I have got 
 a sweetheart too ! That is a secret. I am a 
 good deal puzzled by Miss Ahce ; I thought 
 her so plucky, and good for any amount of 
 fighting. Can she be going to " lay her down 
 and dee " without a protest ? On this point 
 I am speedily disabused, making, in fact, a 
 discovery so astounding and petrifjdng, that 
 for a while I feel as though some one had 
 rapped me on the head smartly and then 
 run away, leaving me to recover as best I 
 might. 
 
 It is on thiswise. Diving under Alice and 
 Milly's bed one day, after a slippery vagrant 
 orange, I discover the ample space beneath 
 the huge old four-poster to be filled with
 
 310 COMIN THRO THE EYE. 
 
 packed and corded trunks — Alice's all, from 
 the imperial down to the bonnet-box. 
 
 Is she going away ? She has nowhere to 
 go to. An awful thought strikes me, and I 
 sit down on the floor, valance in hand, to 
 follow it up. Can she be going to run aivajjj 
 She has no money. Ah ! but Charles Love- 
 lace has, and I read of a couple the other 
 day who, after wasting away apart for six 
 months, ran away and got married, and be- 
 came fat directly. But then their governors 
 weren't a patch upon ours ! Alice never 
 can be meditating anything so desperate 
 as that. 
 
 As I sit ruminating, she herself comes in 
 and sits down opposite me — a charming 
 figm-e in her wdnter gown of dark blue, with 
 the snowy Quakerish kerchief and apron of 
 musHn. 
 
 ^' Alice," I say, lifting the valance and 
 pointing at the assemblage of boxes, ** are 
 you going aivay ? " 
 
 She looks at me considering. 
 
 " I did not w^ant you to know, Nell," she 
 says, *' but as you have found it out it can't 
 be helped. I am going to be mai'ried."
 
 SEED TIME. 311 
 
 '' Married ! " I repeat. '' Oh, Alice ! " 
 
 She looks such a child, as she sits yonder, 
 to wear a wedding ring on her finger and be 
 called Mrs., and order the dinner. 
 
 *^ It is all his fault," she says, nodding 
 towards a distant field where we can see the 
 governor harrying his work-people; "there 
 is nothing else to be done ! " 
 
 There is a clouded sorrowful look in her 
 blue eyes ; lovely bits of colour that savants 
 say are becoming year by year more rare, 
 the dark bro^Ti and slate slowly, but surely, 
 husthng the saucy azure off the human 
 countenance. 
 
 " Charles says it would have gone on hke 
 this for ever, and that we may as well get it 
 over now as in a year's time. If I stayed 
 here much longer, NeU, I should die!'' 
 
 " Dear love ! " I say, jumping up and 
 running to her. '' Well, it will be wretched 
 without you, disgusting" (the tears trickle 
 down my cheeks) ; " but I am not sorry, for 
 you will be happy, dear ! But, Alice, Alice, 
 2)a2)a ! " 
 
 '* His capers, you mean ? " 
 
 '' He will kill us 1" I say, with conviction.
 
 312 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 '^ Do not ever expect to receive any account 
 of what happens after you leave, for there 
 will not be one man left to tell the tale ! 
 You may look in the Times for the follow- 
 ing announcement : ^ At Silverbridge, the 
 wife and eleven children of Colonel Adaii', 
 the sad result of domestic circumstances 
 over which he had no control.' " 
 
 ^' Indeed, I do think of you all very 
 much," says Alice; ''it makes me veiy 
 miserable." 
 
 '* Don't fret, dear; we have weathered 
 storms enough, and why not that ? When 
 are you going ? " 
 
 '' To-morrow ! " 
 
 ^' Oh, Alice ! And you are going to 
 Mr. Skipworth's to-night ? " 
 
 '' Yes ; that w^as why we fixed to-morrow. 
 Charles's man is going to get all the boxes 
 out of the house, and Tabitha is going to 
 help him." 
 
 ''And would you have gone without tell- 
 ing me?" I ask, putting my arms round 
 her neck and raining down a steady diip of 
 tears on to her pretty head. 
 
 " I should have wished you good-bye,
 
 SEED TIME. 313 
 
 dear, but I did not mean to tell you, for 
 fear lie should ask you all round afterwards 
 if you knew anything." 
 
 ''MiUy knows?" 
 
 *'Yes." 
 
 *^ And mother?" 
 
 *^ Good heavens, no ! How shall I ever 
 say good-bye to her ? She will see you 
 have been crying, Nell." 
 
 ^' Do you think you will ever come back ? " 
 I ask piteously. '' Do you think you will go 
 away for ever? " 
 
 *^No, no," she says; "we will come and 
 see you at school, Charles and I, next half, 
 and we shall stay somew^here near here, so 
 as to see mother. Besides, sooner or later, 
 it will be made up." 
 
 "Never!" I say, shaking my miserable 
 head ; " he will never forgive you for getting 
 out of his clutches." 
 
 "Ahce!" calls mother in the distance, 
 and wdth a warm hug and kiss she goes 
 away. 
 
 " You do look a beauty ! " says Jack, meet- 
 ing me half an hour later. " Have you torn 
 your last remaining frock to ribbons ? "
 
 314 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 " Preserved goosebenies," I say, deter- 
 mined to put as bold a face upon matters 
 as I can ; " they were very sour, you know, 
 and they made my stomach ache, and I 
 howled." 
 
 '' Well, I never knew you cry about such 
 a trifle as that before," he says loftily. 
 
 I should like to tell him, but I must not. 
 Eight o'clock has strack. The governor and 
 mother, Ahce and Milly, set out for the 
 parsonage an hour ago ; scarcely within our 
 memory has he been known to spend an 
 evening out, but to-night he has really 
 gone. It is to be hoped Charles's man 
 and Tabitha will do their spiriting gently, 
 and not be caught. I wonder if Charles 
 Lovelace is wandering about among the 
 flower-beds keeping watch ? We have sup- 
 per, Amberley, Jack, Dolly, Alan, and I. I 
 am just thinking of retiring to my couch, 
 there to indulge in a good comfortable roar, 
 when Dolly appears bearing a small and 
 elaborately folded note, which she hands to 
 me: ^'J challenge you to a bolstering 
 match. — Jack." Now, if there is one thing 
 on earth I love more than another, it is a
 
 SEED TIME. 315 
 
 hearty, no- quarter-given bolstering match 
 round the house with Jack, and it is a treat 
 I very seldom get, thanks to the governor's 
 barnacle-like habit of sticking at home. To- 
 night is a splendid opportunity, we are 
 never likely to get such another ; but with 
 to-morrow's event impending over me, and 
 with my heavy heart holding me down, I 
 doubt if I should be able to give Jack those 
 vigorous whacks to which he is accustomed, 
 so I take a sheet of paper, vncite on it, ^' Can't. 
 Tm ill. — Nell," and fold it as elaborately 
 as his. Dolly goes away vdih. it, but 
 quickly returns with another. " You are 
 afraidj you ate enough supper for six. — 
 Jack;" to which I make answer, '^ I ain't! 
 I didn't! Gome on,'' and then prepare 
 for the conflict. I take off my dress and 
 upper petticoats and shoes, put on my 
 nightgown, tuck the sleeves well up over 
 my arms ; then, selecting my stoutest and 
 strongest pillow, I sling it over my back and 
 sally forth. The dimly lit passage is empty, 
 but I creep warily along, keeping a keen eye 
 to right and left, for behind yonder cliest the 
 foe may lurk, or fi'om out yonder half-shut
 
 316 comin' theo' the kye. 
 
 door he may suddenly spring ; and if I am 
 not prepared with my weapon, whack ! upon 
 my defenceless head will come a blow, heavy 
 in proportion to the skill of the hand that 
 aims it. Gingerly then I go, breathless 
 with expectation, every nerve strung to 
 its highest pitch ; but the foe does not 
 appear, and I am just wondering whether 
 he is lazy or meditating a dishonourable 
 attack from the rear, when, whirr ! fi'om the 
 oriel window comes a swift, well-directed 
 blow that would smite me to earth did I not 
 catch it midway with my pillow, which 
 meets the other in a sounding crack that 
 reverberates through the house. Now the 
 engagement is opened, the exchange of 
 comphments is brisk, and ducking, dodging, 
 slashing, backing, retreating, advancing, we 
 have a hand-to-hand encounter, until Am- 
 berley appears at the top of the stairs, 
 candlestick in hand, meek, scandahzed, 
 open-mouthed. Down the corridor I flee, 
 Jack in hot pursuit, showering liberal blows 
 on my vanishing tail; past x\mberley, who, 
 being in the hne of battle, receives a blow 
 intended for my worthless back, which smites
 
 SEED TIME. 317 
 
 the candlestick from her hand and flattens 
 her, a heap of ruins, against the wall ; down 
 the stairs like a flash of lightning ; through 
 the nurseries hke a clap of thunder, where 
 the nurse cries ^' Shame!" and the young- 
 sters, ^' Go it ! " out on the other side, down 
 the lower staircase, across the hall into the 
 dining-room. . . . hut where is Jack ? He 
 was at my heels a moment ago ; now he is 
 neither to be heard nor seen. ... Is he 
 listening at the door, or creeping up behind 
 me ? The room is in total darkness, save 
 for a tiny stream that shows under the half- 
 opened door from the hall lamp. I wonder 
 what all that commotion in the hall is 
 about ? Can Jack have run against Simp- 
 kins in his pursuit, and upset the old thing ? 
 HTe is sure to be here in a minute. ... I 
 mount a chair behind the door. ... As 
 he comes in I will deal him a blow that 
 will make him wink. Footsteps are ap- 
 proaching ; he is coming. ... I grasp my 
 bolster convulsively, the door opens, and, 
 bang ! with all the strength of my body and 
 soul, I bring it down on tlie head of— Jack ? 
 Scarcely. Does Jack swear like a trooper,
 
 318 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 and dance like a dervish ? Does Jack rush 
 madly hither and thither, vowing when he 
 catches me to '^ break everyboneinmyskin?" 
 My heart sinks like lead, the bolster drops 
 £i*om my limp fingers, my feet are glued to 
 the chair, as the awful conviction strikes me 
 that I have been bolstering the governor. 
 Some instinct of self-preservation, as he 
 comes near me in his furious search, makes 
 me leave my perch and dodge him swiftly 
 and noiselessly round and round. Finally, 
 watching my opportunity, I bolt out of the 
 door just as WilHam appears with candles, 
 shoot past him like a meteor, and am up the 
 stairs before you could say '' Jack Kobinson." 
 Papa, dashing out in hot pui'suit, butts head 
 foremost into the outstretched arms of the 
 footman, and they roll over and over and 
 over, master, man, candles and all. A con- 
 fused sound as of Wombwell's menagerie 
 ascends to my ears, as I fly past the maids 
 and fry who are hanging over the staii's 
 anxiously watching the march of events, and 
 having locked myseK into my chamber, I 
 sit down on the side of my bed ^^'ith my 
 eyes fixed upon the door, expecting it every
 
 SEED TIME. 319 
 
 moment to fly asunder and admit my execu- 
 tioner. But though I hear terrible sounds of 
 devastation and fury in the distance, the 
 minutes pass, and still he comes not. After 
 a while, therefore, I am able to di-aw a deep 
 breath, and contemplate the fact of my being 
 still ahve without any particular amazement. 
 
 By-and-by a gentle knock comes at the 
 door. '^Who is it?" I ask, trembhng. 
 Perhaps it is only a trick of my outraged 
 parent ? 
 
 ^' Me," says Jack's voice. Why will people 
 persist in believing that '' Me " is kno^\TL of 
 everybody and requii^es no bush ? I open the 
 door and let him in, lock it again, then tm'n 
 round and face him. 
 
 '^ You siieaJi!'' I say slowly; '^ you took 
 good care to hide yourself, didn't you ? And 
 you took good care not to warn me, didn't 
 you ? Fill ashamed of you ! " 
 
 '' That's just Hke a girl," says Jack, 
 sitting down. ^^ Stow your heroics a bit, and 
 listen to me. I followed you as far as the hall, 
 and lialf-way across I caught my foot in 
 a beast of a mat, and wont head foremost. 
 When I picked myself up you had vanished,
 
 320 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 and I was just wondering whether you had 
 gone into the Kbrary or the dining-room, 
 when a ring came at the front door-bell ; and 
 I had hardly got behind Venus, when in 
 walked the governor ! QuaiTelled with 
 Skippy, I suppose, or yearned for his 
 family; at any rate there he zvas. He 
 went into the dining-room, and the next 
 thing I heard was a fearful whacJc ! then 
 noise enough to hft the hair from one's 
 head. Then out you rushed, the governor at 
 your heels, and bang he went into WilHam's 
 arms, and over they went. Oh ! shall I 
 ever forget it ! " He stuffs a corner of the 
 sheet into his mouth and rolls. ^' The candles 
 were squashed as flat as pancakes, and the 
 governor, only too glad to vent his rage 
 on somebody, pommelled WiUiam like mad, 
 who was underneath and offered no resist- 
 ance, merely saying, * Don't, sir ! don't, sir ! 
 don't, sir ! ' without stopping for a single 
 moment. I was behind Venus all the time, 
 and I shook so that I nearly knocked the 
 poor soul over. By the time the governor 
 had finished off William, Amberley appeared, 
 bleating. The governor soon squashed her
 
 SEED TIME. 321 
 
 into a jelly; and after shaking his fist at 
 your door, and muttering darkly about 
 to-morrow, he stormed liimseK into the 
 Hbrary." 
 
 **Jack," I say, in a voice that I try 
 hard to make " don't-carish," "do you — do 
 you think he will hill me ? " 
 
 "No," says Jack, judicially, " because he 
 knows he would be hung if he did ; but if 
 he was sure he wouldn't be, he'd do it Hke 
 a shot! It's going rather far with him, you 
 know, to bolster him ! " 
 
 I shudder. Has this wi'etched hand of 
 mine really dealt him a smashing blow on 
 the head ? Perhaps it will wither up. 
 
 "What a mercy it is there is a gallows 
 in this country!" I say, ^ith a sigh. " It is 
 such a protection ! " 
 
 " 'Hard words break no bones,' says Jack 
 cheerfully, "and he w^on't whip you, you're 
 too big! Don't bother, Nell," he says, 
 putting his arm round my shoulders; "you 
 shall come and live with me some day, and 
 we'll be as jolly as sand-boys." 
 
 "Dear old fellow!" I say, rubbing my 
 miserable face against his cool red and 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 322 comin' thro' the rye. 
 
 white one. ^'You'll sit next to me at 
 breakfast to-moiTow, ivovJt you ? " 
 
 ''All right," he says, and presently gives 
 me a hug and goes away. 
 
 Oh, if only to-morrow would never come ! 
 If I might go to sleep now, this minute, 
 and not wake up again for five years ! Papa 
 would surely have forgotten then ? If time 
 would only step over breakfast, even, I 
 should be safe ; for by dinner-time Alice's 
 elopement will be known, and the one over- 
 powering fact will have cast all other mis- 
 demeanours into the shade. But, despite 
 prayer and longing, the cold grey dawn 
 comes at last. Groaning I rise and attire 
 myself for the slaughter. As in a dream, I 
 go downstairs and listen to prayers, and 
 then — I will not write down the details of 
 that breakfast. I must be a hardened 
 sinner, indeed, for when it is over my 
 spirit is not broken, nor my hair grey. I 
 am even able to reflect ^dth complacency 
 on the fact that I still possess my fuU 
 complement of arms, legs, teeth, etc.; for 
 at one time I trembled for each and all
 
 SEED TIME. 323 
 
 of these valuables. And now I am watch- 
 ing Alice put on her cloak and hat. She is 
 veiy pale, very trembling, but she does not 
 cry ; and when she is dressed, she goes into 
 mother's room and kisses her, saying she is 
 going to church." 
 
 Ay! she is going "to church," from 
 whence she will come out Alice Lovelace, 
 not Alice Adair — never oui' own pretty AUce 
 any more. As this thought strikes me, I 
 give a loud sob outside the door, which 
 makes her tm-n apprehensively; so I cram 
 my handkerchief into my mouth, and choke 
 inwardly. And now we are walking with 
 her across the sodden grass of the dismal, 
 bare garden, towards the postern gate, 
 where Charles Lovelace waits with a 
 travelling carriage and gi'eys. 
 
 " Good-bye," she says, looking into our 
 faces and weeping passionately. Tears do 
 not matter now ; there are no more ap- 
 pearances to be kept up. 
 
 '* Good-bye," say Milly and I, weeping 
 too, but with a difference. Through her 
 present sorrow the gay bright future looks ; 
 we know what we are going back to.
 
 324 comin' thro' the eye. 
 
 ^^ Good-bye," says Charles Lovelace, kiss- 
 ing our dripping countenances. 
 
 ^^ Good-bye, good-bye!" cries Alice, cling- 
 ing about our necks in turn. 
 
 And now she is in the carriage, the valet 
 jumps into the rumble and they are off; 
 Alice's lovely pale face looking out of the 
 window to the very last moment, away, 
 away, through the cold winter morning. A 
 couple of hundred yards away, papa is walk- 
 ing about, happy in the comfortable behef 
 that he holds all our lives in his own hand, 
 and that he can mete us out happiness or 
 misery, according to his sovereign will. 
 Well, one at least of his white slaves has 
 turned a rebel; he mil know it by twelve 
 of the clock, and then 
 
 '' Dilly, Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed," 
 I say to Milly as we go heavily back to the 
 house. '^ After all, we can only be killed 
 once!'' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Caxton Printing Works, Beccles