'Two years ago,' said Anne, 'when you were all staying at Merton Hall, just before that nice nursery-maid of yours, Susan, married our man Evans.'
'Yes, I remember,' said Elizabeth; 'but what has that to do with your crime, whatever it may be?'
'A great deal,' said Anne; 'do not you recollect our hunting all over the garden one day for Winifred and Dora, and at last our asking old Ambrose whether he had seen them?'
'Oh yes, I think I do,' said Elizabeth; 'and he said that he had seen Susan and the children go down the blind walk. Then I said Dora had talked of seeing a blackbird's nest there, and he answered, with a most comical look, 'Ah! ha! Miss Woodbourne, I fancy they be two-legged blackbirds as Susan is gone to see.''
'Why, blackbirds have but two legs,' said Helen, looking mystified; 'what did he mean'?'
'That is exactly what Kate said,' said Elizabeth; 'but really I thought you were sharper, Helen. Cannot you guess?'
'Not in the least,' said Helen.
'That Evans was clipping the hedges,' said Anne.
Elizabeth and Anne indulged in a good laugh at Helen, as much as at Ambrose, and presently Elizabeth said, 'Well, but, Anne, where is your crime?'
'Oh! I thought you had remembered, and would spare me,' said Anne.
'But we have not,' said Elizabeth; 'so now for it.'
'Then if I am to tell,' said Anne, 'do not you recollect that I began to tell Rupert the story in the middle of dinner, when all the servants were there?'
'O Anne, I never fancied you such a goose!' said Elizabeth.
'My delinquencies made very little impression on you, then,' said Anne; 'I went on very fluently with the story till just as I had pronounced the words, 'two-legged blackbirds,' I saw Uncle Woodbourne's eye upon me, as he sat just opposite, with all its cold heavy sternness of expression, and at the same moment I heard a strange suppressed snort behind my chair.'
'Poor creature!' said Elizabeth; 'but you certainly deserved it.'
'I was ready to sink under the table,' said Anne; 'I did not dare to look up to Papa or Mamma, and I have been very much obliged to Mamma ever since for never alluding to that terrible dinner.'
'It is a regular proof that Fun is one of the most runaway horses in existence,' said Elizabeth; 'very charming when well curbed, but if you give him the rein-'
'Yes, I have been learning that by sad experience all my life,' said Anne, with a sigh.
'You will never be silly enough to give him up, though,' said Elizabeth.
'Silly, do you call it?' said Helen.
'People think so differently on those matters,' said Anne.
'Yes, but a 'spirit full of glee' is what I think the most delightful thing in the world,' said Elizabeth, 'and so do you.'
'Yes, in old age, when its blitheness has been proved to be something beyond animal spirits,' said Anne.
'And it is right that people should have animal spirits in their youth,' said Elizabeth, 'not grey heads on green shoulders, like some people of my acquaintance.-Do not be affronted, Helen; I dare say your head will grow greener all your life, it is better to-day than it was on Saturday morning.'
'But the worst of it is,' said Anne, 'that I believe it is very silly of me, but I am afraid Uncle Woodbourne has always thought me a most foolish girl ever since, and I do not like the idea of it.'
'Who would?' said Elizabeth; 'I am afraid I cannot tell you what he thinks of your sense, but of this I am sure, that he must think you the choicest damsel of his acquaintance, and wish his daughters were more like you.'
'And there could not have been the same meaning in his eye when he looked at you, as when he looked at Harriet,' said Helen.
'Oh no, I hope not,' said Anne.
'And you understood it a little better than one who can only feel personal inconvenience,' said Elizabeth; 'but how can I blame Harriet when I was the occasion of her fault? it is a thing I can never bear to think of.'
As Elizabeth said this, they came to a shop where Anne wished to buy some little presents for some children in the village at home, who, she said, would value them all the more for not being the production of the town nearest them. They pursued their search for gay remnants of coloured prints, little shawls, and pictured pocket- handkerchiefs, into the new town, and passed by Mr. Higgins's shop, the window of which was adorned with all the worst caricatures which had found their way to Abbeychurch, the portraits of sundry radical leaders, embossed within a halo of steel-pens, and a notice of a lecture on 'Personal Respectability,' to be given on the ensuing Friday at the Mechanics' Institute, by the Rev. W. Pierce, the Dissenting preacher.
Mr. Higgins appeared at the shop door, for the express purpose, as it seemed, of honouring Miss Merton and Miss Woodbourne each with a very low bow.
'There, Helen, is my punishment,' said Elizabeth; 'since you are desirous of poetical justice upon me.'
'Not upon you,' said Helen, 'only upon Harriet.'
'Harriet has lost Fido,' said Elizabeth.
Here Rupert came to meet them, and no more was said on the subject.
Rupert obeyed his sister tolerably well during most of the day, though he was sorely tempted to ask Elizabeth to send Anne an abstract, in short-hand, of the lecture on Personal Respectability; but he refrained, for he was really fond of his cousin, and very good-natured, excepting when his vanity was offended.
Anne however was in a continual fright, for he delighted in tormenting her by going as near the dangerous subject as he dared; and often, when no one else thought there was any danger, she knew by the expression of his eye that he had some spiteful allusion on his lips. Besides, he thought some of the speeches he had made in the morning too clever to be wasted on his mother and sister, when his cousins were there to hear them, and Anne could not trust to his forbearance to keep them to himself all day, so that she kept a strict watch upon him.
In the evening, however, Mr. Woodbourne called her and Helen to play some Psalm tunes from which he wanted to choose some for the Church. He spoke to her in a way which made her hope that he did not think her quite foolish, but she would have been glad to stay and keep Rupert in order. However, she was rejoiced to hear Elizabeth propose to him to play at chess, and she saw them sit down very amicably.
This proposal, however, proved rather unfortunate, for Elizabeth was victorious in the first battle, the second was a drawn game, and Rupert lost the third, just as he thought he was winning it, from forgetting to move out the castle's pawn after castling his king. He could not bear to be conquered, and pushed away the chess-board rather pettishly.
'Good morning to you, Prince Rupert,' said Elizabeth triumphantly; 'do you wish for any more?'
Rupert made no answer, but pulled the inkstand across the table, opened the paper-case, and took up a pen.
'Oh!' said Elizabeth, 'I suppose we may expect a treatise on the art of fortification, salient angles, and covered ways, not forgetting the surrender of Bristol.'
No reply, but Rupert scratched away very diligently with his pen, the inkstand preventing Elizabeth from seeing what he was about.
'Anne,' said Elizabeth, leaning back, and turning round, 'I am thinking of making a collection of the heroes who could not bear to be beaten at chess, beginning with Charlemagne's Paladins, who regularly beat out each other's brains with the silver chess-board, then the Black Prince, and Philippe of Burgundy. Can you help me to any more?'
Anne did not hear, and Rupert remained silent as ever; and Elizabeth, determining to let him make himself as silly as he pleased, took up her work and sewed on her braid very composedly. Katherine had come down again at dinner-time, and was working in silence. She had been standing by the piano, but finding that no one asked her to play, or took any notice of her, she had come back to the table.
'Dear me, Prince Rupert,' said she, looking over his shoulder, 'what strange thing are you doing there?'
'A slight sketch,' said he, 'to be placed in Lizzie's album as a companion to a certain paragraph which I believe she has studied.'
Rupert threw his pen-and-ink drawing down before Elizabeth. It was really not badly done, and she saw in a moment, by the help of the names which he had scribbled below in his worst of all bad writing, that it represented the Giants, Pope and Pagan, as described in the Pilgrim's Progress, while, close to Pope, was placed a delineation very like Don Quixote, purporting to be the superannuated Giant Chivalry, biting his nails at a dapper little
