The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations. Yonge Charlotte Mary
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though not in the way of forgetfulness. Now and then Norman caught at what gave this comfort, and it might be hoped he would do so increasingly; though, on this Christmas Day, Margaret felt very sad about him, as she watched him sitting over the fire, cowering with chilliness and headache, while every one was gone to church, and saw that the reading of the service with her had been more of a trouble than a solace.
She tried to think it bodily ailment, and strove hard not to pine for her mother, to comfort them both, and say the fond words of refreshing cheering pity that would have made all light to bear. Margaret’s home Christmas was so spent in caring for brother, father, and children, that she had hardly time to dwell on the sad change that had befallen herself.
Christmas was a season that none of them knew well how to meet: Blanche was overheard saying to Mary that she wished it would not come, and Mary, shaking her head, and answering that she was afraid that was naughty, but it was very tiresome to have no fun. Margaret did her best upstairs, and Richard downstairs, by the help of prints and hymns, to make the children think of the true joy of Christmas, and in the evening their father gathered them round, and told them the stories of the Shepherds and of the Wise Men, till Mary and Blanche agreed, as they went up to bed, that it had been a very happy evening.
The next day Harry discomfited the schoolroom by bursting in with the news that “Louisa and Fanny Anderson were bearing down on the front door.” Ethel and Flora were obliged to appear in the drawing-room, where they were greeted by two girls, rather older than themselves. A whole shower of inquiries for Dr. May, for Margaret, and for the dear little baby, were first poured out; then came hopes that Norman was well, as they had not seen him at church yesterday.
“Thank you, he was kept at home by a bad headache, but it is better to-day.”
“We came to congratulate you on his success—we could not help it—it must have been such a pleasure to you.”
“That it was!” exclaimed Ethel, pleased at participation in her rejoicing. “We were so surprised.”
Flora gave a glance of warning, but Ethel’s short-sighted eyes were beyond the range of correspondence, and Miss Anderson continued. “It must have been a delightful surprise. We could hardly believe it when Harvey came in and told us. Every one thought Forder was sure, but they all were put out by the questions of general information—those were all Mr. Everard’s doing.”
“Mr. Everard was very much struck with Norman’s knowledge and scholarship too,” said Flora.
“So every one says. It was all Mr. Everard’s doing. Miss Harrison told mamma, but, for my part, I am very glad for the sake of Stoneborough; I like a town boy to be at the head.”
“Norman was sorry for Forder and Cheviot,” began Ethel. Flora tried to stop her, but Louisa Anderson caught at what she said, and looked eagerly for more. “He felt,” said she, only thinking of exalting her generous brother, “as if it was hardly right, when they are so much his seniors, that he could scarcely enjoy it.”
“Ah! that is just what people say,” replied Louisa. “But it must be very gratifying to you, and it makes him certain of the Randal scholarship too, I suppose. It is a great thing for him! He must have worked very hard.”
“Yes, that he has,” said Flora; “he is so fond of study, and that goes halfway.”
“So is dear Harvey. How earnest he is over his books! Mamma sometimes says, ‘Now Harvey, dear, you’ll be quite stupified, you’ll be ill; I really shall get Dr. May to forbid you.’ I suppose Norman is very busy too; it is quite the fashion for boys not to be idle now.”
“Poor Norman can’t help it,” said Ethel piteously. “Papa will not hear of his doing any Latin or Greek these whole holidays.”
“He thinks he will come to it better again for entire rest,” said Flora, launching another look at her sister, which again fell short.
A great deal of polite inquiry whether they were uneasy about him followed, mixed with a little boasting of dear Harvey’s diligence.
“By-the-bye, Ethel, it is you that are the great patroness of the wild Cocksmoor children—are not you?”
Ethel coloured, and mumbled, and Flora answered for her, “Richard and Ethel have been there once or twice. You know our under nursery-maid is a Cocksmoor girl.”
“Well, mamma said she could not think how Miss May could take one from thence. The whole place is full of thieves, and do you know, Bessie Boulder has lost her gold pencil-case.”
“Has she?” said Flora.
“And she had it on Sunday when she was teaching her class.”
“Oh!” cried Ethel vehemently; “surely she does not suspect any of those poor children!”
“I only know such a thing never happened at school before,” said Fanny, “and I shall never take anything valuable there again.”
“But is she sure she lost it at school?”
“Oh, yes, quite certain. She will not accuse any one, but it is not comfortable. And how those children do behave at church!”
“Poor things! they have been sadly neglected,” said Flora.
“They are quite spoiling the rest, and they are such figures! Why don’t you, at least, make them cut their hair? You know it is the rule of the school.”
“I know, but half the girls in the first class wear it long.”
“Oh, yes, but those are the superior people, that one would not be strict with, and they dress it so nicely too. Now these are like little savages.”
“Richard thinks it might drive them away to insist at first,” said Ethel; “we will try to bring it about in time.”
“Well, Mrs. Ledwich is nearly resolved to insist, so you had better be warned, Ethel. She cannot suffer such untidiness and rags to spoil the appearance of the school, and, I assure you, it is quite unpleasant to the teachers.”
“I wish they would give them all to me!” said Ethel. “But I do hope Mrs. Ledwich will have patience with them, for they are only to be gained gently.”
The visitors took their leave, and the two sisters began exclaiming—Ethel at their dislike of her proteges, and Flora at what they had said of Norman. “And you, Ethel, how could you go and tell them we were surprised, and Norman thought it was hard on the other boys? They’ll have it all over the town that he got it unjustly, and knows it, as they say already it was partiality of Mr. Everard’s.”
“Oh, no, no, they never can be so bad!” cried Ethel; “they must have understood better that it was his noble humility and generosity.”
“They understand anything noble! No, indeed! They think every one like their own beautiful brother! I knew what they came for all the time; they wanted to know whether Norman was able to work these holidays, and you told them the very thing they wanted to hear. How they will rejoice with that Harvey, and make sure of the Randall!”
“Oh, no, no!” cried Ethel; “Norman must get that!”
“I don’t think he will,” said Flora, “losing all this time, while they are working. It cannot be helped, of course, but it is a great pity.”
“I almost wish he had not been put up at all, if it is to end in this way,” said Ethel. “It is very provoking, and to have them triumphing as they will! There’s no bearing it!”
“Norman, certainly, is not at all well, poor fellow,” said Flora, “and I suppose he wants rest, but I wish papa would let him do what he can. It would be much better for him than moping about as he is always doing now; and the disappointment of losing his place will be grievous, though now he fancies he does not care for it.”
“I wonder when he will ever care for anything again. All I read and tell him only seems to tease him, though he tries to thank me.”
“There is a strange apathy about him,” said Flora, “but I believe it is chiefly for want of exertion. I should like to rouse him if