On Monday Pauline’s troubles began over again. She ought to have been very happy on this special day, for the birthday—the great, important birthday, her very own, when she would reach the completion of her fourteenth year—was near at hand. But although Pauline was perplexed1 and unhappy, there was nevertheless a birthday feeling in the air. In the first place, there was a great and exciting sense of mystery. The girls were seen darting2 quickly here and there; in every imaginable corner there were whispered consultations3. Aunt Sophia, in particular, 101never looked at Pauline without smiling. She was kindness itself. It seemed to the poor little girl that her aunt had taken a great fancy to her. This was the case. Miss Tredgold was interested in all her nieces, but even Verena with her daintiness and pretty face, and Briar with her most charming personality, did not attract Miss Tredgold as did the blunt-looking, almost plain child who called herself Pauline.
“She has got character and independence,” thought the good lady. “She will be something by-and-by. She will always be able to hold her own in the world. She is the kind of girl who could do much good. It hurt me very much to send her into Punishment Land, but she is all the better for it. Oh, yes, she must taste the rough as well as the smooth if she is to be worth anything. She will be worth a good deal; of that I am convinced.”
Miss Tredgold, therefore, had compassion4 on Pauline’s late indisposition, and made lessons as easy as possible for her. Thus Pauline had very little to do, except to think of that mystery which was growing thicker and thicker. In one way it helped her own dilemma5. With her sisters walking in twos and threes all over the place, it would not be at all remarkable6 for her to slip down at the appointed hour to the wicket-gate. Even Penelope would not notice her, so absorbed was she in assisting Adelaide to make a special present for Pauline.
As the day advanced the little girl became terribly nervous. She felt a sense of irritation7 when one of her sisters looked at her, whispered to her companion, and then turned away. She would almost have preferred Miss Tredgold to be as stern as she was before. Her whole mind was in a state of tumult8. She felt the net closing tighter and tighter around her. Even the birthday was scarcely interesting while such a weight rested on her heart. Miss Tredgold had said during the afternoon as they were all sitting together on the lawn:
“This is to be a great birthday. This is the very first birthday I have spent under your roof. You must all remember it as long as you live.”
“Oh, can I ever forget it?” thought poor Pauline. “But Aunt Sophy little knows that I shall not remember it for its kindness and its sunshine and its presents; I shall remember it always because I am such a wicked girl.”
Now as evening approached she could not help whispering to herself:
“The net is closing—closing round me. It is gathering9 me up into a heap. My legs and arms are tied. Soon the wicked, dreadful thing will press my head down, and I shall be powerless and lost.”
She thought out this metaphor10, and it seemed to haunt her footsteps.102
“It is right that a girl who told a black lie should be cramped11 up in it,” thought Pauline. “Oh, why hadn’t I courage to tell Aunt Sophy the truth? She might have been angry, but in the end she would have forgiven me. I would far rather have no notice whatever taken of my birthday than be as miserable12 as I am now.”
“That child isn’t well,” said Miss Tredgold to Verena, as Pauline was seen slowly creeping in a subdued13 sort of way in the direction of the lower shrubbery. “Why is she always stealing off by herself? I have a good mind to call her back and take her for a drive. It is a lovely evening, and a drive would do her good.”
“So it would, Aunt Sophy. You know how busy all the rest of us are finishing her presents. I am sure she would love to drive with you, for I think she is getting very fond of you.”
“Perhaps, my dear; but I have made up my mind not to have favorites. As long as you are all good I shall love you all.—Pauline—yes, Verena, I shall offer her a drive—Pauline, come here.”
Pauline hated to be called back, but she could not do otherwise than obey. She approached lingeringly.
“Yes, Aunt Sophy,” she said.
“Would you like to take a drive with me? We might go and find out how soon Peas-blossom and Lavender will be ready to come to their new home.”
At another time such a request on the part of Miss Tredgold would have enraptured14 Pauline; but she knew that it only wanted five minutes to six, and she doubted if Nancy would consent to be kept waiting long.
“No,” she answered slowly; “my head aches. Please, I would rather not take a drive.”
She did not wait for Miss Tredgold’s response, but continued her slow walk.
“The poor child is certainly ill,” said the good lady. “If she continues to look as poorly and as sadly out of sorts next week I shall take her to the seaside.”
“Will you, Aunt Sophy? How lovely! Do you know that Paulie and I have never been to the sea? We do so long to see it!”
“Well, my dear, I shall take you all presently, but I can’t say when. Now, as Pauline does not want to drive with me, I shall go into the house and finish some of my arrangements.”
Miss Tredgold went indoors, and Verena joined Briar and Patty, who were in a great state of excitement.
Meanwhile Pauline had reached the wicket-gate. She opened it and went out. Nancy was waiting for her. Nancy’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. She looked as if she had been quarreling with somebody. Pauline knew that look well. Nancy’s two friends Becky and 103Amy were standing15 at a little distance. There was a small governess-cart drawn16 up not far away, and Becky was stroking the nose of a rough little Forest pony17.
“Father gave me the cart and pony this morning,” said Nancy. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. The pony and cart aren’t much, perhaps, but still it is fun to have them to fly over the place. Well, and how goes her little high-and-mightiness? Frumpy, I can see. Grumpy, I can guess. Now, is Pauline glad to see poor old Nance—eh?”
“Of course, Nancy; but I have come to say——”
“We’ll have no ‘buts,’ darling, if you please.”
“I can’t come to the picnic, Nancy; I really cannot.”
“How white poor little Dumpy looks! Wants some one to cheer her up, or she’ll be dumped and frumped and grumped all in one. Now, darling, I’m going to put my arm round your waist. I am going to feel your little heart go pit-a-pat. You shall lean against me. Isn’t that snug18? Doesn’t dear old Nancy count for something in your life?”
“Of course you do, Nancy. I am fond of you. I have always said so,” replied Pauline.
“Then you will yield, darling, to the inevitable19.”
“I am yielding to it now,” replied Pauline. “I am not going with you because I can’t.”
“And you are going with me because you must,” Nancy responded. “For listen, Pauline. Although I am affectionate, I can be—oh, yes—dangerous. And if you don’t come, why, I can keep my word. Wednesday is your birthday. I wonder when the crown of the day will come?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, there always is a crown to a birthday. There is a time, either in the evening or in the morning, when the queen receives the homage20 of her subjects. She gets her presents, and there are pretty speeches made to her, and she has her dainty feast and her crown of flowers. Yes, that time is the crown of the day, and that is just the moment when the poor little queen shall topple down. The throne shall be knocked from under her; the presents will vanish; the sovereignty will cease to exist. Poor, poor little queen without a kingdom! How will you like it, Paulie? Do you think you could bear it? To have no kingdom and no crown and no presents and no love, and to be bitterly disgraced as well! How will you like it, Paulie?”
“I know that you............