The Beth Book. Grand Sarah

hair, the weirdest little elfin figure in the world. Finally, to escape capture, she ran up a ladder that had been left against a haystack. Blocks of hay had been cut out, leaving a square shelf half way down the stack, on to which Beth scrambled from the ladder. There was room enough for her to lie at her ease up there and recover her breath. The hay and the night-air smelt deliciously sweet. The stack she was on was one of the outer row. Beneath was the road along which the waggons brought their loads in harvest time; and this was flanked by a low wall, on the other side of which was a meadow, bordered with elms. Beth pulled up the hay about her, covered herself with it, and nestled amongst it luxuriously. The moon shone full upon her, but she had quite concealed herself, and would probably have fallen asleep after her exertions had it not been that just when drowsiness was coming upon her she was startled by the sound of a hurried footstep, and a girl in a light dress, with a shawl about her shoulders, came round the stack, and stood still, looking about her, as if she expected some one. Beth recognised her as Harriet Elvidge, the kitchen-maid; and presently Russell, one of the grooms, came hurrying to meet her from the other direction. They rushed into each other's arms.

      "Thou'st laäte," the girl grumbled.

      "Ah bin waatin' ower yon'er this good bit," he answered, putting his arm round her, and drawing her to the wall, on which they sat, leaning against each other, and whispering happily. The moon was low, and her great golden disk illumined the sky, against which the two dark figures stood out, silhouetted distinctly. The effect gave Beth a sensation of pleasure, and she racked her brains for words in which to express it. Presently the lovers rose and strolled away together. Then for a little it was lonely, and Beth thought of getting down; but before she had made up her mind, two other people appeared, strolling in the moonlight, whom Beth instantly recognised as Uncle James and the beautiful princess Blue-eyes-and-golden-hair. The princess had both her hands clasped round Uncle James's arm, and every now and then she nestled her face against his shoulder lovingly.

      "What will Jimmie-wimmie give his Jenny-penny?" she was saying as they approached.

      "First what will Jenny-penny give her Jimmie-wimmie?" Uncle James cooed.

      "First, a nice – sweet – kiss!"

      "Duckie-dearie!" Jimmie-wimmie gurgled ecstatically, taking the kiss with the playful grace of an elephant gambolling.

      Beth on the haystack writhed with suppressed merriment until her sides ached.

      But Jimmie-wimmie and Jenny-penny passed out of sight like Harriet and Russell before them. The moon was sinking rapidly. A sudden gust of air blew chill upon Beth. She was extremely sensitive to sudden changes of temperature, and as the night grew dull and heavy, so did her mood, and she began to be as anxious to be indoors again as she had been to come out. The fairy-folk had all vanished now, and ghosts and goblins would come in their stead, and pounce upon her as she passed, if she were not quick. Beth scrambled down from the haystack, and made for the side-door in hot haste, and was half-way upstairs, when it suddenly occurred to her that if she locked the door, Jimmie-wimmie and Jenny-penny would not be able to get in. So she retraced her steps, accomplished her purpose, slipped back to bed, and slept until she was roused in the morning by a shrill cry from Bernadine – "See, mummy! see, mummy! lazy Beth is in bed with all her clothes on!"

      Beth sat up, and slapped Bernadine promptly; whereupon Mrs. Caldwell slapped Beth.

      "Such is life," said Beth, in imitation of Aunt Grace Mary; and Mrs. Caldwell smiled in spite of herself.

      Later in the day Beth complained to Mildred of a bad cold in her head.

      "Oh dear!" Mildred exclaimed, "I expect Uncle James will talk at that cold as long as it lasts."

      "I know," Beth said. "Grace Mary, dear – or Aunt Victoria – have you observed that children always have colds and never have pocket-handkerchiefs?"

      Uncle James, however, had a bad cold himself that morning, and described himself as very much indisposed.

      "I went out of doors last night before retiring," he explained at luncheon, "tempted by the glorious moonlight and the balmy air; but before I returned the night had changed and become chilly, and unfortunately the side-door had shut itself, and every one was in bed, so I could not get in. I threw pebbles up at Grace Mary's window, but failed to rouse her, she being somewhat deaf. I also knocked and rang, but no one answered, so I was obliged to shelter in the barn. Harriet, however, appeared finally. She – er – gets the men's breakfasts, and – er – the kitchen-window – " But here Uncle James was seized with a sudden fit of sneezing, and the connection between the men's breakfasts and the kitchen-window was never explained. "She is an extremely good girl, is Harriet," he proceeded as soon as he could speak; "up at four o'clock every morning."

      "I wish to goodness my trollop was," said Lady Benyon. "She gets later every day. Where did you go last night?"

      "Oh – I had been loitering among the tombs, so to speak," he answered largely.

      Beth was eating cold beef stolidly, but without much appetite because of her cold, and also because there was hot chicken, and Uncle James had not given her her choice. Uncle James kept looking at her. He found it hard to let her alone, but she gave him no cause of offence for some time. Her little nose was troublesome, however, and at last she sniffed. Uncle James looked at Lady Benyon.

      "Have you observed," he said, "that when a child has a cold she never has a pocket-handkerchief?"

      Beth produced a clean one with a flourish, and burst out laughing.

      "What's the matter, Puck?" Lady Benyon asked, beaming already in anticipation.

      "Oh, nothing. Only I said Uncle James would say that if I sniffed. Didn't I, Mildred?"

      But Mildred, too wary to support her, looked down demurely.

      "Puck," said Lady Benyon, "you're a character."

      "There are good characters and there are bad characters," Uncle James moralised.

      "Arrah, thin, it isn't a bad character you'd be afther givin' your own niece," Beth blarneyed; and then she turned up her naughty eyes to the ceiling and chanted softly: "What will Jimmie-wimmie give his duckie-dearie to be good? A nice – sweet – kiss!"

      Uncle James's big white face became suddenly empurpled.

      "Gracious! he's swallowed wrong," Lady Benyon exclaimed in alarm. "Drink something. You really should be careful, a great fat man like you."

      Uncle James coughed hard behind his handkerchief, then began to recover himself. Beth's eyes were fixed on his face. Her chaunt had been a sudden inspiration, and its effect upon the huge man had somewhat startled her; but clearly Uncle James was afraid she was going to tell.

      "How funny!" she ejaculated.

      Uncle James gasped again.

      "What is the matter, Puck?" Lady Benyon asked.

      "Oh, I was just thinking – thinking I would ask Uncle James to give Mildred some chicken."

      "Why, of course, my dear child!" Uncle James exclaimed, to everybody's astonishment. "And have some yourself, Beth?"

      "No, thank you," Beth answered. "I'm full."

      "Beth!" her mother was beginning, when she perceived that Uncle James was laughing.

      "Now, that child is really amusing," he said – "really amusing."

      No one else thought this last enormity a happy specimen of her wit, and they looked at Uncle James, who continued to laugh, in amazement.

      "Beth," he said, "when luncheon is over I shall give you a picture-book."

      Beth accordingly had to stay behind with him after the others had left the dining-room.

      "Beth," he began in a terrible voice, as soon as they were alone together, trying to frighten her; "Beth, what were you doing last night?"

      "I was meditating among the tombs," she answered glibly; "but I never heard them called by that name before."

      "You bad child, I shall tell your mamma."

      "Oh for shame!" said Beth. "Tell-tale! And if you tell I shall. I saw you kissing