Magnum Bonum Read online

  "How is it that you are a governess? I thought one was sure of a pension from a Russian grandee!"

  "These were not very grand grandees, only counts, and though they paid liberally, they could not pension one. So when I had done with the youngest daughter, I came to England and found a situation in London. I tried to look up our old set, but could not get on the track of anyone except Emily Collins, who told me you had married very soon, but was not even sure of your name. Very soon! Why, Caroline, your daughter looks as old as yourself."

  "I sometimes think she is older! And have you seen my Eton boy?"

  "Was it he who received the delightful popinjay, who 'Up and spak' so much to the purpose?" asked Mr. Ogilvie.

  "Yes, it was Allen. He is the only one you did not see in the morning. Did they do tolerably?"

  "I only wish I had any boys who did half as well," said Mr. Ogilvie, the lads being gone for more books.

  "I was afraid for John and Armine, for we have been unsettled, and I could not go on so steadily with them as before," she said eagerly, but faltering a little. "Armine told me he blundered in Phaedrus, but I hope he did fairly on the whole."

  "So well that if you ask my advice, I should say keep him to yourself two years more."

  "Oh! I am so glad," with a little start of joy. "You'll tell his uncle? He insisted-he had some impression that they were very naughty boys, whom I could not cope with, poor little fellows."

  "I can decidedly say he is learning more from you than he would in school among those with whom, at his age, I must place him."

  "Thank you, thank you. Then Babie won't lose her companion. She wanted to go to school with Armie, having always gone on with him. And the other two-what of them? Bobus is sure to work for the mere pleasure of it-but Jock?"

  "I don't promise that he may not let himself down to the standard of his age and develop a capacity for idleness, but even he has time to spare, and he is at that time of life when boys do for one another what no one else can do for them."

  "The Colonel said the boys were a good set and gentlemanly," said Carey wistfully.

  "I think I may say that for them," returned their master. "They are not bad boys as boys go. There is as much honour and kindliness among them as you would find anywhere. Besides, to boys like yours this would be only a preparatory school. They are sure to fly off to scholarships."

  "I don't know," said Carey. "I want them to be where physical science is an object. Or do you think that thorough classical training is a better preparation than taking up any individual line?"

  "I believe it is easier to learn how to learn through languages than through anything else."

  "And to be taught how to learn is a much greater thing than to be crammed," said Carey. "Of course when one begins to teach oneself, the world has become "mine oyster," and one has the dagger. The point becomes how to sharpen the dagger."

  At that moment three or four young people rushed in with arms full of books, and announcing that the uncle and aunt were coming. The next moment they appeared, and stood amazed at the accession of volunteer auxiliaries. Mr. Ogilvie introduced his sister, while Caroline explained that she was an old friend,-meanwhile putting up a hand to feel for her cap, as she detected in Ellen's eyes those words, "Caroline, your cap."

  "We came to see how you were getting on," said the Colonel, kindly.

  "Thank you, we are getting on capitally. And oh, Robert, Mr. Ogilvie will tell you; he thinks Armine too-too-I mean he thinks he had better not go into school yet," she added, thankful that she had not said "too clever for the school."

  The Colonel turned aside with the master to discuss the matter, and the ladies went into the drawing-room, the new room opening on the lawn, under a verandah, with French windows. It was full of furniture in the most dire confusion. Mrs. Robert Brownlow wanted to clear off at once the desks and other things that seemed school-room properties, saying that a little room downstairs had always served the purpose.

  "That must be nurse's sitting-room," said Carey.

  "Old nurse! She can be of no use, my dear!"

  "Oh yes, she is; she has lived with us ever since dear grandmamma married, and has no home, and no relations. We could not get on without dear old nursey!"

  "Well, my dear, I hope you will find it answer to keep her on. But as to this room! It is such a pity not to keep it nice, when you have such handsome furniture too."

  "I want to keep it nice with habitation," said Caroline. "That's the only way to do it. I can't bear fusty, shut-up smart rooms, and I think the family room ought to be the pleasantest and prettiest in the house for the children's sake."

  "Ah, well," said Mrs. Brownlow, with a serene good nature, contrasting with the heat with which Caroline spoke, "it is your affair, my dear, but my boys would not thank me for shutting them in with my pretty things, and I should be sorry to have them there. Healthy country boys like to have their fun, and I would not coop them up."

  "Oh, but there's the studio to run riot in, Ellen," said Carey. "Didn't you see? The upper story of the tower. We have put the boy's tools there, and I can do my modelling there, and make messes and all that's nice," she said, smiling to Mary, and to Allen, who had just come in.

  "Do you model, Carey?" Mary asked, and Allen volunteered to show his mother's groups and bas-reliefs, thereby much increasing the litter on the floor, and delighting Mary a good deal more than his aunt, who asked, "What will you do for a store-room then?"

  "Put up a few cupboards and shelves anywhere."

  It is not easy to describe the sort of air with which Mrs. Robert Brownlow received this answer. She said nothing but "Oh," and was perfectly unruffled in a sort of sublime contempt, as to the hopelessness of doing anything with such a being on her own ground.

  There did not seem overt provocation, but poor Caroline, used to petting and approval, chafed and reasoned: "I don't think anything so important as a happy home for the boys, where they can have their pursuits, and enjoy themselves."

  Mrs. Brownlow seemed to think this totally irrelevant, and observed, "When I have nice things, I like to keep them nice."

  "I like nice boys better than nice things," cried Carey.

  Ellen smiled as though to say she hoped she was not an unnatural mother, and again said "Oh!"

  Mary Ogilvie was very glad to see the two gentlemen come in from the hall, the Colonel saying, "Mr. Ogilvie tells me he thinks Armine too small at present for school, Caroline."

  "You know I am very glad of it, Robert," she said, smiling gratefully, and Ellen compassionately observed, "Poor little fellow, he is very small, but country air and food will soon make a man of him if he is not overdone with books. I make it a point never to force my children."

  "No, that you don't," said Caroline, with a dangerous smile about the corners of her mouth.

  "And my boys do quite as well as if they had their heads stuffed and their growth stunted," said Ellen. "Joe is only two months older than Armine, and you are quite satisfied with him, are you not, Mr. Ogilvie?"

  "He is more on a level with the others," said Mr. Ogilvie politely; "but I wish they were all as forward as this little fellow."

  "Schoolmasters and mammas don't always agree on those points," said the Colonel good-humouredly.

  "Very true," responded his wife. "I never was one for teasing the poor boys with study and all that. I had rather see them strong and well grown. They'll have quite worry enough when they go to school."

  "I'm sorry you look at me in that aspect," said Mr. Ogilvie.

  "Oh, I know you can't help it," said the lady.

  "Any more than Trois Echelles and Petit Andre," said Carey, in a low voice, giving the two Ogilvies the strongest desire to laugh.

  Just then out burst a cry of wrath and consternation, making everyone hurry out into the hall, where, through a perfect cloud of white powder, loomed certain figures, and a scandalised voice cried "Aunt Caroline, Jock and Armine have been and let all the arrowroot fly about."

&n
bsp; "You told me to be useful and open parcels," cried Jock.

  "Oh, jolly, jolly! first-rate!" shouted Armine in ecstasy. "It's just like Paris in the cloud! More, more, Babie. You are Venus, you know."

  "Master Armine, Miss Barbara! For shame," exclaimed the nurse's voice. "All getting into the carpet, and in your clothes, I do declare! A whole case of best arrowroot wasted, and worse."

  "'Twas Jessie's doing," replied Jock. "She told me."

  Jessie, decidedly the most like Venus of the party, being a very pretty girl, with an oval face and brown eyes, had retreated, and was with infinite disgust brushing the white powder out of her dress, only in answer ejaculating, "Those boys!"

  Jock had not only opened the case, but had opened it upside down, and the classical performances of Armine and Barbara had powdered themselves and everything around, while the draught that was rushing through all the wide open doors and windows dispersed the mischief far and wide.

  "Can you do nothing but laugh, Caroline?" gravely said Mrs. Brownlow. "Janet, shut that window. Children, out of the way! If you were mine, I should send you to bed."

  "There's no bed to be sent to," muttered Jock, running round to give a sly puff to the white heap, diffusing a sprinkling of white powder over his aunt's dress.

  "Jock," said his mother with real firmness and indignation in her voice, "that is not the way to behave. Beg your aunt's pardon this instant."

  And to everyone's surprise the imp obeyed the hand she had laid on him, and muttered something like, "beg pardon," though it made his face crimson.

  His uncle exclaimed, "That's right, my boy," and his aunt said, with dignity, "Very well, we'll say no more about it."

  Mary Ogilvie was in the meantime getting some of the powder back into the tin, and Janet running in from the kitchen with a maid, a soup tureen, and sundry spoons, everyone became busy in rescuing the remains-in the midst of which there was a smash of glass.

  "Jock again!" quoth Janet.

  "Oh, mother!" called out Jock. "It's so long! I thought I'd get the feather-brush to sweep it up with, and the other end of it has been and gone through this stupid lamp."

  "Things are not unapt to be and go through, where you are concerned, Mr. Jock, I suspect," said Mr. Ogilvie. "Suppose you were to come with me, and your brothers too, and be introduced to the swans on the lake at Belforest."

  The boys brightened up, the mother said, "Thank you most heartily, if they will not be a trouble," and Babie put her hand entreatingly into the schoolmaster's, and said, "Me too?"

  "What, Venus herself! I thought she had disappeared in the cloud! Let her come, pray, Mrs. Brownlow."

  "I thought the children would have been with their cousins," observed the aunt.

  "So we were," returned Armine; "but Johnnie and Joe ran away when they saw Mr. Ogilvie coming."

  Babie having by this time had a little black hat tied on, and as much arrowroot as possible brushed out of her frock; Carey warned the schoolmaster not to let himself be chattered to death, and he walked off with the three younger ones.

  Caroline would have kept her friend, but Mary, seeing that little good could be gained by staying with her at present, replied that she would take the walk now, and return to her friend in a couple of hours' time; and Carey was fain to consent, though with a very wistful look in her eyes.

  At the end of that time, or more, Janet met the party at the garden gate. "You are to go down to my uncle's, children," she said; "mother has one of her very bad headaches."

  There was an outcry that they must take her the flowers, of which their hands and arms were full; but Janet was resolute, though Babie was very near tears.

  "To-morrow-to-morrow," she said. "She must lie still now, or she won't be able to do anything. Run away, Babie, they'll be waiting tea for you. Allen's there. He'll take care of you."

  "I want to give Mother Carey those dear white flowers," still entreated Babie.

  "I'll give them, my dear. They want you down there-Ellie and Esther."

  "I don't want to play with Ellie and Essie," sturdily declared Barbara. "They say it is telling falsehoods when one wants to play at anything."

  "They don't understand pretending," said Armine. "Do let us stay, Janet, we'll not make one smallest little atom of noise, if Jock doesn't stay."

  "You can't," said Janet, "for there's nothing for you to eat, and nurse and Susan are as savage as Carribee islanders."

  This last argument was convincing. The children threw their flowers into Janet's arms, gave their hands to Miss Ogilvie, and Babie between her two brothers, scampered off, while Miss Ogilvie uttered her griefs and regrets.

  "My mother would like to see you," said Janet; "indeed, I think it will do her good. She told me to bring you in."

  "Such a day of fatigue," began Mary.

  "That and all the rest of it," said Janet moodily.

  "Is she subject to headaches?"

  "No, she never had one, till-" Janet broke off, for they had reached her mother's door.

  "Bring her in," said a weary voice, and Mary found herself beside a low iron bed, where Carey, shaking off the handkerchief steeped in vinegar and water on her brow, and showing a tear-stained, swollen- eyed face, threw herself into her friend's arms.

  But she did not cry now, her tears all came when she was alone, and when Mary said something of being so sorry for her headache, she said, "Oh! it's only with knocking one's head against a mattress like mad people," in such a matter-of-fact voice, that Mary for a moment wondered whether she had really knocked her head.

  Mary doubted what to say, and wetted the kerchief afresh with the vinegar and water.

  "Oh, Mary, I wish you were going to stay here."

  "I wish! I wish I could, my dear!"

  "I think I could be good if you were here!" she sighed. "Oh, Mary, why do they say that troubles make one good?"

  "They ought," said Mary.

  "They don't," said Carey. "They make me wicked!" and she hid her face in the pillow with a great gasp.

  "My poor Carey!" said the gentle voice.

  "Oh! I want to tell you all about it. Oh! Mary, we have been so happy!" and what a wail there was in the tone. "But I can't talk," she added faintly, "it makes me sick, and that's all her doing too."

  "Don't try," said Mary tenderly. "We know where to find each other now, and you can write to me."

  "I will," said Caroline; "I can write much better than tell. And you will come back, Mary?"

  "As soon as I can get a holiday, my dear, indeed I will."

  Carey was too much worn out not to repose on the promise, and though she was unwilling to let her friend go, she said very little more.

  Mary longed to give her a cup of strong coffee, and suggested it to Janet; but headaches were so new in the family, that domestic remedies had not become well-known. Janet instantly rushed down to order it, but in the state of the house at that moment, it was nearly as easy to get a draught of pearls.

  "But she shall have it, Miss Ogilvie," said Janet, putting on her hat. "Where's the nearest grocer?"

  "Oh, never mind, my dear," sighed the patient. "It will go off of itself, when I can get to sleep."

  "You shall have it," returned Janet.

  And Mary having taken as tender a farewell as Caroline was able to bear, they walked off together; but the girl did not respond to the kindness of Miss Ogilvie.

  She was too miserable not to be glum, too reserved to be open to a stranger. Mary guessed a little of the feeling, though she feared that an uncomfortable daughter might be one of poor Carey's troubles, and she could not guess the girl's sense of banishment from all that she had enjoyed, society, classes, everything, or her feeling that the Magnum Bonum itself was imperilled by exile into the land of dulness, which of course the poor child exaggerated in her imagination. Her only consolation was to feel herself the Masterman Ready of the shipwreck.

  CHAPTER VI. ENCHANTED GROUND.

  And sometimes a merry train Comes upon us from the l
ane All through April, May, or June, Every gleaming afternoon; All through April, May, and June, Boys and maidens, birds and bees, Airy whisperings from all trees. Petition of the Flowers-Keble.

  The headache had been carried off by a good night's rest; a droll, scrambling breakfast had been eaten, German fashion, with its head- quarters on the kitchen table; and everybody running about communicating their discoveries. Bobus and Jock had set off to school, and poor little Armine, who firmly believed that his rejection was in consequence of his confusion between os, ossis, and os, oris, and was very sore about it, had gone with Allen and Barbara to see them on their way, and Mother Carey and Janet had agreed to get some real work done and were actually getting through business, when in rushed, rosy and eager, Allen, Armine, and Babie, with arms stretched and in breathless haste.

  "Mother Carey! Oh, mother! mammie, dear! come and see!"

  "Come-where?"

  "To fairy-land. Get her bonnet, Babie."

  "Out of doors, you boy? just look there!"

  "Oh! bother all that! It can wait."

  "Do pray come, mother," entreated Armine;" you never saw anything like it!"

  "What is it? Will it take long?" said she, beginning to yield, as Babie danced about with her bonnet, Armine tugged at her, and Allen look half-commanding, half-coaxing.

  "She is not to know till she sees! No, don't tell her," said Armine. "Bandage her eyes, Allen. Here's my silk handkerchief."

  "And Janet. She mustn't see," cried Babie, in ecstasy.

  "I'm not coming," said Janet, rather crossly. "I'm much too busy, and it is only some nonsense of yours."

  "Thank you," said Allen, laughing; "mother shall judge of that."

  "It does seem a shame to desert you, my dear," said Carey, "but you see-"

  What Janet was to see was stifled in the flap of the handkerchief with which Allen was binding her eyes, while Armine and Babie sang rapturously-

  "Come along, Mother Carey, Come along to land of fairy;"

  an invocation to which, sooth to say, she had become so much accustomed that it prevented her from expecting a fairy-land where it was not necessary to "make believe very much."