Chapter III: Flo's Kitten

MRS. EYRE was busy in the kitchen for an hour or more. Then she came gently into the parlour, and found Flo sleeping and Hetty crying. She beckoned the girl out into the hall.

"What is wrong, Hetty?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I didn't mean to cry, but I'm that sorry for little Miss Flo. 'Tis so hard on her, the little creature! Oh, ma'am, will she ever be well?"

"I cannot tell you that, Hetty. God knows, and you know He loves her. The great London doctor thought she would recover—Dr. Haddon, our doctor here, was not so hopeful."

"And what is it, ma'am? Was she hurt in any way? I seem to remember mother saying it was a fall, but I did not heed it."

"Yes; two years ago she had a fall. She fell down the kitchen stairs. She did not seem so much hurt at first, but she must have got some terrible twist or strain, for not one day's health has she had since then, and as to growing, if I did not know it was impossible, I would say she has grown smaller. If we even knew exactly what was wrong,—but no one can find out. Come, Hetty, I have a lot of mending to do. Can you work nicely?"

"Not like Matty, ma'am. She's fond of it."

"And you are not?"

"Not I, ma'am. I'd rather scrub floors any day."

"Ah, well, we can't do only what we like, you know. Try to mend this for me. Miss Flo will not sleep long."

She might have slept a little longer, though, if Lina had not bounced into the room, clattering in her thick boots, to get something that she and Edgar wanted. Flora started, and probably hurt herself, for she began to cry piteously.

This occupied Mrs. Eyre, and Lina made off, for she knew very well that she had done wrong. However, she did not escape, for when Flo was quieted, Mrs. Eyre went out into the tiny strip of ground at the back of the house, which she called the garden, and brought in both the children. Edgar was supplied with a box of wooden bricks, with which he made himself happy in a quiet corner, and Lina was placed on a chair with her face to the wall, and kept there for some time.

"I have spoken to you for your heedless, noisy ways very often, Lina. You know that Flo is never to be startled, yet you rush in, making as much noise as a big rough boy."

"I forgot," said Lina; and she cried a little as she sat in punishment.

Foolish Hetty thought that Mrs. Eyre was hard upon the child, but it had been well for her if her mother had taught her to think of what she was doing when she was Lina's age.

Mr. Eyre came home very tired at seven o'clock. He was accountant and book-keeper at Messrs. Miller & Cartwright's great establishment, in the city of which the place where he lived was now a suburb, though it retained its old name of Little Hayes, given when it was a village three or four miles from B—. Tram lines now came to the end of the trim new road, with its red brick terraces, crescents, and villas; but the straggling village street in which the Hardys lived was as yet unchanged. Every year, to Mrs. Eyre's great grief, a new villa or a row of small 'genteel' houses appeared like magic on the pretty bit of common; she feared that before her children were grown up there would be no common left for them to play on.

Mr. Eyre came out of town on the tram-car, and Mrs. Eyre had tea ready in five minutes after he arrived. She had made a little meat pie, and had prepared a green salad that Mr. Eyre said would have made a man eat even if he were not hungry: which, he added, was not his case. Hetty had her tea all by herself in the kitchen, and was young enough to feel quite grand at having her own little teapot. Indeed, she could not feel lonely while she had that sixpence in her pocket.

The remaining days of that week passed uneventfully, until Saturday came. Mrs. Eyre was watchful, and Hetty had no great opportunity of distinguishing herself. She felt very well satisfied with herself, for, as she said, "The first week was nearly over, and she had only broken one plate, and sat down on Mrs. Goodenough's bonnet, which seemed none the worse."

But the week was not quite over.

"Celia," said Mr. Eyre, "this is Saturday, you know, and I shall be home by four o'clock. Now that you have that good-natured girl to see after Flo, don't you think you and the others might come out for a walk? It seems ages since we had a walk together, and these long evenings are delightful."

Mrs. Eyre, poor thing, felt nervous at leaving Flo even for a short time, knowing as she did that Hetty was rather giddy. Still, it was very hard upon her John to have to take his weekly walk alone, when all he cared for was to have his wife and children with him. She thought it would be unreasonable to refuse. So it was arranged that they were to be ready to set forth when he came home.

"Hetty, as I'm going to walk in the evening, I shall not go now. Will you take Miss Flo, and walk up and down before these houses? Now, Hetty, do not on any account leave the terrace."

"Mamma, why may not I go in the evening too?" asked Flo, in her precise little voice. "Hetty could carry me. Oh, mamma, do please let me go."

"No, my dearie; you know the doctor said you must not be out in the evening. Now my little Flo must be good—not selfish, you know."

"May Hetty take me up to the common? I do not like being here in the road."

"It is only for one day, dear. Now you know I want you to be good. Here's your nice pretty shawl. Let me—"

"I want to wear a jacket, like Lina, mamma. I hate being wrapped up in a shawl!"

"This is best for you, love. You know putting on a jacket hurts you."

"Come, Miss Flo," said Hetty. "I'll tell you stories all the time—new ones."

"Don't be f'etful, Flo," remarked Lina, who did not go to school on Saturday.

"You would be fr-r-r-etful if you were me," Flo answered, sounding the r very finely. "Yes, and more, too."

Hetty carried her off, thus bringing these personal remarks to a conclusion.

When Mr. Eyre came home, he found the party ready to set off. Going into the parlour for a word with Flo, he found her apparently asleep; so he stole out, and got the other children quietly out of the house, shutting the door softly. Hetty, sitting darning socks, presently saw a pair of tearful eyes opened.

"Hetty, it is wicked, I know, but I do feel that it is very hard on me."

"Miss Flo, dear, you know it is God's will, and He knows what is good for us. Mother always says so. She tells us not to murmur, because God sends what is good for us."

"Yes; but it's easy to say that," replied poor little Flo tearfully.

"Well, miss, when father died, quite sudden, and mother was left to feed and clothe us all without any help, not one word of a grumble did she ever say; but said it was God's doing, and He'd help her to bear it."

"Your mother must be very good, Hetty."

"That she is, Miss Flo. Come now, shall we play cat's cradle, or draughts? or shall I get Master Edgar's bricks, and we'll fix this tray with one end on the back of the sofa, and the other on the back of this chair; yes, it's quite steady. You were wishing only yesterday that you could have a play with these bricks. Now we'll see if we can build a tower, as Master Edgar does."

The bricks were a novelty, and as such they pleased the child for about half an hour. But Flo could only begin the tower; she could not stretch up her little arms to build it very high. Hetty was not very expert, and altogether the tower was a failure. Then poor Flo began to reflect again that it was very sad for her to be left at home when the others went on the common with papa.

"But you were there only yesterday, Miss Flo."

"Oh, but when papa goes, it is quite different. They will walk on and on, ever so far; they will get into a lane at the other side of the common, where there are flowers, woodbine, and pink and white roses, so pretty! They will stop at Mr. Gibson's, and see his lambs. I saw them last year, for then I could go in the little carriage, you know. They were so pretty; they skipped and jumped about so merry. I like to see things jump and run about. But I never see anything now, since papa brought the big doctor from London to see me. He was here, you know, to see some rich lady, and papa went to him, and told him about me, and he came. It was good of him, I know, but I wish he had not been so good, for he said I must lie still, and never be wheeled in the carriage. Oh, Hetty, take away the tray and the bricks. I think I hate them; it can't be wrong to hate dead bricks—only live things you know. What makes you cry, Hetty?"

"Because I am so sorry for you, Miss Flo, and I'd do anything to make you happy. Oh, Miss Flora, I have the loveliest thought! Mrs. Fenton, that lives not far from here, and is a friend of mother's, she has a beautiful Persian cat that her mistress—I mean the lady in London that was her mistress before she married—sent her for a Christmas box. And Minnie—that's her name—has kittens, and I know that last week they were not all given away, because she offered mother one, but mother couldn't have a second cat. Now I'm very sure that Mrs. Fenton would give me that kitten for you, and as soon as ever your mamma comes home, we'll ask if you may have it."

"Oh, Hetty, how lovely! What a very nice girl you are, Hetty! Mamma will let me have it, I know; for she said lately that she wished I had a kitten. What colour is it, Hetty?"

"Snow-white, with beautiful blue eyes; a real blue, not green, like common cats. And its fur is long and soft, and its tail as thick as a fur boa. They were the prettiest kittens I ever saw, and so merry! Mrs. Fenton had a big cork tied by a cord to the back of a chair, and those kittens were jumping at it and tumbling over each other; it was a sight to see. I'm only afraid they may be all gone, every one admires them so."

"This very moment," said Flo solemnly, "Mrs. Fenton may be going to give away the last of the kittens—the very last. Hetty, I'm afraid I'm going to cry. I should love that kitten so."

"Oh, don't cry, Miss Flo. Look, now; you promise me to lie quite quiet until I come back, and I'll just run round to Mrs. Fenton's, and sec if there's a kitten to be had."

"I will indeed; I'll lie here and never move. I always do when I promise. Do go, Hetty. I am longing for the kitten."

Without stopping to think, Hetty ran off. It really was but a step; she would have been back with Flo in ten minutes, but for one little obstacle. It was raining now, though the evening had promised so well. Hetty ran to Mrs. Fenton's, made her request, and got the kitten, the very last. Mrs. Fenton had made up her mind to keep it for herself, but gladly gave it when she heard for whom it was wanted. Hetty flew back through the fast-increasing rain, and very soon reached the door, when it suddenly dawned on her that having shut the said door when she left the house, she had no means of entering. If she knocked for ever, there was no one to let her in; and what would be worse, Flo might get frightened—might even try to reach the door. Clasping the kitten in her arms, Hetty sat down on the wet step, and cried in utter desolation.

She would be sent home at once, that was quite certain. For had not Mrs. Eyre told her not to leave Miss Flo, except to run down to the kitchen and put the pudding, which she had prepared, into the oven?—that pudding which was to form the great feature in the hungry children's meal when the walkers came home.

Hetty knew that if she were that moment in the kitchen, putting the pudding into the oven, instead of lamenting herself on the door-step, and adding to the dampness of the evening by shedding floods of tears, it would be too late, for she had quite forgotten to do it at the right time. This reflection did not raise her spirits, and the kitten began to wish itself back with its mother, so cold and damp and alarmed did it feel.

Presently steps were heard; then a voice saying cheerfully, "There, Lina; well done—you have run like a lamplighter. Are you very wet, Celia? Here we are safe at home, and nobody a bit the worse. Hilloa! What's this? Who are you, girl? What are you doing here? Why, Celia, it is Hetty!"

"Hetty!" exclaimed Mrs. Eyre, hurrying forward. "Oh, Hetty! how did this happen? Some one knocked, I suppose, and the door shut of itself; that happened to me once. Oh, my poor little Flo! You should have been more careful, Hetty. John, dear, open the door; you have the latchkey."

John put his hand into his pocket, felt all about, tried other pockets, and finally said, "What a stupid! I forgot to bring it. Now I must clamber over the garden wall; which I shouldn't mind only for my good clothes. Well, it can't be helped."

"Let me go, sir; I never thought of that!" cried Hetty. "I'm sure I can get over, sir. And then I'll let you in, and give Miss Flo the kitten. You'll let me do that before I have to go, won't you, ma'am?"

She ran along the side of the house towards the garden wall, and as she went she tied the kitten up in her apron. Putting the struggling little bundle on the top of the wall, she was over in a moment, for she was very active. Seizing the kitten, she ran into the house; she had soiled her neat calico apron, and torn two long strips out of it; but she was quite past fretting over that. She flew up the kitchen stairs and opened the hall door.

Mrs. Eyre hurried in and looked at Flo; the child was asleep, and seemed very comfortable.

"Oh, ma'am, you need not be afraid for Miss Flo, for I was very careful not to make any noise, and she was willing for me to go. I know you told me not to leave her, but I forgot. The poor little thing fretted so because she could not see the lambs, and I told her I thought I could get her a kitten, and then she wanted to get it at once; but I forgot what you said about leaving her, and I shut the door. Oh, dear, I am very sorry."

"Is that you, Hetty? How quick you went!" cried Flo, whom the sound of voices had awakened. "Had Mrs. Fenton a kitten left?"

"Oh, Miss Flo! Yes, my dear, she had. I've got it here."

She went up to the sofa, and Mrs. Eyre saw how the child's face brightened.

"Why, you are wet, Hetty! Is it raining? Oh! oh! what a beauty! Oh! you dear, darling kitten. Hetty, you are so kind; I will not fret a bit more. See how she curls herself up in my arms! And, oh, Hetty, it's actually purring! I didn't know such little cats could purr."

Hetty stooped and kissed the child; then she went out into the hall, where Mr. and Mrs. Eyre stood, watching the little scene. Lina was watching, too, with her hands full of sweet wild flowers; the two little boys were in the basket carriage, and were both asleep.

"Ma'am," said Hetty, "must I go to-night? I'm very, very sorry. It was dreadful careless of me—and to forget the pudding, too! I'll go this moment if you wish it, ma'am."

"Not to-night, Hetty. There is no real harm done, I am thankful to say. To-morrow I will decide. You may go down now, and get the things ready for tea. Put the pudding into the oven; we must use it cold to-morrow. The children must have some bread and jam to-night."

Here Edgar, who was generally a good-tempered child, and not given to greediness, raised a howl because he could have no pudding. He was only half awake, which must be his excuse. The noise roused Flo from rapt contemplation of the kitten.

"Oh, mamma! Have you come home? Come here and see what Hetty has brought me."

"Edgar, stop that noise at once! I'm ashamed of you; run upstairs with Lina. Yes, Flo, I see. It is a very pretty kitten—a Persian, I think."

"And Hetty was so kind, mamma; so sorry to see me cry, because I could not go with you all. She ran ever so quick to get the kitten from Mrs. Fenton, and I promised not to move, and I fell asleep; so she was back in a moment. Mamma, Hetty's mother is a very good woman. When her father died, she said it was God's will, and she did not fret. Hetty told me because I was fretting. Wasn't she very good, mamma? her mother, I mean."

Here Hetty came in with the tea-tray, and Flo was soon very busy, feeding her kitten with some milk, and laughing with delight to see its little tongue go in and out as it lapped.