'They meant it to be good,' said Dr. May. 'Come, I cannot have you severe and ungrateful.'
'So I have been telling myself, papa, all along; but, now that the day has come, and I have seen what jealousies, and competitions, and vanities, and disappointments it has produced--not even poor little Blanche allowed any comfort--I am almost sick at heart with thinking Cocksmoor was the excuse!'
'Spectators are more philosophical than actors, Ethel. Others have not been tying parcels all day.'
'I had rather do that than-- But that is the 'Fox and the Grapes,'' said Ethel, smiling. 'What I mean is, that the real gladness of life is not in these great occasions of pleasure, but in the little side delights that come in the midst of one's work, don't they, papa? Why is it worth while to go and search for a day's pleasuring?'
'Ethel, my child! I don't like to hear you talk so,' said Dr. May, looking anxiously at her. 'It may be too true, but it is not youthful nor hopeful. It is not as your mother or I felt in our young days, when a treat was a treat to us, and gladdened our hearts long before and after. I am afraid you have been too much saddened with loss and care--'
'Oh, no, papa!' said Ethel, rousing herself, though speaking huskily. 'You know I am your merry Ethel. You know I can be happy enough-- only at home--'
And Ethel, though she had tried to be cheerful, leaned against his arm, and shed a few tears.
'The fact is, she is tired out,' said Dr. May soothingly, yet half laughing. 'She is not a beauty or a grace, and she is thoughtful and quiet, and so she moralises, instead of enjoying, as the world goes by. I dare say a night's rest will make all the difference in the world.'
'Ah! but there is more to come. That Ladies' Committee at Cocksmoor!'
'They are not there yet, Ethel. Good-night, you tired little cynic.'
CHAPTER IV.
Back then, complainer... Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast Thy bread upon the waters, sure at last In joy to find it after many days.--Christian Year.
The next day Ethel had hoped for a return to reason, but behold, the world was cross! The reaction of the long excitement was felt, Gertrude fretted, and was unwell; Aubrey was pettish at his lessons; and Mary and Blanche were weary, yawning and inattentive; every straw was a burden, and Miss Bracy had feelings.
Ethel had been holding an interminable conversation with her in the schoolroom, interrupted at last by a summons to speak to a Cocksmoor woman at the back door, and she was returning from the kitchen, when the doctor called her into his study.
'Ethel! what is all this? Mary has found Miss Bracy in floods of tears in the schoolroom, because she says you told her she was ill- tempered.'
'I am sure you will be quite as much surprised,' said Ethel, somewhat exasperated, 'when you hear that you lacerated her feelings yesterday.'
'I? Why, what did I do?' exclaimed Dr. May.
'You showed your evident want of confidence in her.'
'I? What can I have done?'
'You met Aubrey and Gertrude in her charge, and you took them away at once to walk with you.'
'Well?'
'Well, that was it. She saw you had no confidence in her.'
'Ethel, what on earth can you mean? I saw the two children dragging on her, and I thought she would see nothing that was going on, and would be glad to be released; and I wanted them to go with me and see Meta's gold pheasants.'
'That was the offence. She has been breaking her heart all this time, because she was sure, from your manner, that you were displeased to see them alone with her--eating bon-bons, I believe, and therefore took them away.'
'Daisy is the worse for her bon-bons, I believe, but the overdose of them rests on my shoulders. I do not know how to believe you, Ethel. Of course you told her nothing of the kind crossed my mind, poor thing!'
'I told her so, over and over again, as I have done forty times before but her feelings are always being hurt.'
'Poor thing, poor thing! no doubt it is a trying situation, and she is sensitive. Surely you are all forbearing with her?'
'I hope we are,' said Ethel; 'but how can we tell what vexes her?'
'And what is this, of your telling her she was ill-tempered?' asked Dr. May incredulously.
'Well, papa,' said Ethel, softened, yet wounded by his thinking it so impossible. 'I had often thought I ought to tell her that these sensitive feelings of hers were nothing but temper; and perhaps-- indeed I know I do--I partake of the general fractiousness of the house to-day, and I did not bear it so patiently as usual. I did say that I thought it wrong to foster her fancies; for if she looked at them coolly, she would find they were only a form of pride and temper.'
'It did not come well from you, Ethel,' said the doctor, looking vexed.
'No, I know it did not,' said Ethel meekly; 'but oh! to have these janglings once a week, and to see no end to them!'
'Once a week?'
'It is really as often, or more often,' said Ethel. 'If any of us criticise anything the girls have done, if there is a change in any arrangement, if she thinks herself neglected--I can't tell you what little matters suffice; she will catch me, and argue with me, till-- oh, till we are both half dead, and yet cannot stop ourselves.'
'Why do you argue?'
'If I could only help it!'
'Bad management,' said the doctor, in a low, musing tone. 'You want a head!' and he sighed.
'Oh, papa, I did not mean to distress you. I would not have told you if I had remembered--but I am worried to-day, and off my guard--'
'Ethel, I thought you were the one on whom I could depend for bearing everything.'
'These were such nonsense!'
'What may seem nonsense to you is not the same to her. You must be forbearing, Ethel. Remember that dependence is prone to morbid sensitiveness, especially in those who have a humble estimate of themselves.'
'It seems to me that touchiness is more pride than humility,' said Ethel, whose temper, already not in the smoothest state, found it hard that, after having long borne patiently with these constant arguments, she should find Miss Bracy made the chief object of compassion.
Dr. May's chivalrous feeling caused him to take the part of the weak, and he answered, 'You know nothing about it. Among our own kith and kin we can afford to pass over slights, because we are sure the heart is right--we do not know what it is to be among strangers, uncertain of any claim to their esteem or kindness. Sad! sad!' he continued, as the picture wrought on him. 'Each trifle seems a token one way or the other! I am very sorry I grieved the poor thing yesterday. I must go and tell her so at once.'
He put Ethel aside, and knocked at the schoolroom door, while Ethel stood, mortified. 'He thinks I have been neglecting, or speaking harshly to her! For fifty times that I have borne with her maundering, I have, at last, once told her the truth; and for that I am accused of want of forbearance! Now he will go and make much of her, and pity her, till she will think herself an injured heroine, and be worse than ever; and he will do away with all the good of my advice, and want me to ask her pardon for it--but that I never will. It was only the truth, and I will stick to it.'
'Ethel!' cried Mary, running up to her, then slackening her pace, and whispering, 'you did not tell Miss Bracy she was ill-tempered.'
'No--not exactly. How could you tell papa I did?'
'She said so. She was crying, and I asked what was the matter, and she said my sister Ethel said she was ill- tempered.'
'She made a great exaggeration then,' said Ethel.
'I am sure she was very cross all day,' said Mary.
'Well, that is no business of yours,' said Ethel pettishly. 'What now? Mary, don't look out at the street window.'
