HANNAH THE HOUSEMAID
There was an end of open strife among
the Brincliffe boys. The sight of that little
glittering blade had brought them up short with an
unpleasant shock. They stood astounded for a minute,
making no attempt to remove the traces of the conflict,
even when they heard the sound of the masters’
approach. They stood convicted, all together;
their disordered dress, collars unfastened and rumpled
hair, the untasted luncheon, the confusion of the
furniture, all told most graphically the tale of a
quarrel.
Silent and ashamed they slunk back
into their places when the head-master at last returned
to the school-room. But, to the universal surprise,
he only addressed a few short, grave sentences to them
on the subject, and announced that henceforth a master
would have charge of the room during the luncheon
interval.
“Hitherto, boys, I have allowed
you considerable liberty, regarding you, though young,
as civilized and Christian gentlemen. You have
shown me I was mistaken. Therefore I must treat
you differently until I see you become what I hoped
you already were. You might do worse than strive
to attain to this. To your classes, if you please!”
“Does anyone know where Trevelyan
minor is?” enquired Mr. Anderson presently,
looking into the mathematical class-room.
Jack sprang from his seat.
“Yes, I know! Please, sir,” turning
to his master, “will you excuse me?”
“No need for you to come, Brady,”
interposed Mr. Anderson; “tell me where he is,
that’s all.”
Jack hesitated; then, putting his hand in his pocket,
drew out a key.
“He’s in the book-room, sir. And
it’s locked.”
Now, as the book-room opened out of
the school-room, in which Mr. West was teaching, it
was impossible that the door could be unlocked, and
Toppin released, without the fact becoming known to
him. He looked up at sound of the key, and the
sight of the small, red-haired urchin, seated disconsolately
on a globe within, and swinging his short legs, evoked
a question.
“What has that lad been doing, Mr. Anderson?
Did you lock him up?”
“No, sir; it was Brady.”
“Indeed? And what business
had he to take the law into his hands? What were
you locked up for, Trevelyan?”
Poor Toppin was feeling very sorry
for himself, and distinctly bitter against Jack.
He had heard the sound of many interesting things
happening, and had a strong suspicion that he had been
forgotten. Aware that he had not merited such
hard treatment, he now replied plaintively:
“Nuffing at all, sir!”
“Well, in any case, I have not
yet given his training over to Brady,” observed
Mr. West dryly, and without further question Jack was
sentenced to twenty minutes’ detention at twelve
o’clock, “to see how he liked his own
treatment”.
“Rough on you, Jack of Both
Sides!” said Simmons, as he passed him on his
way into the open air. “Your policy’s
fine in theory, but I’m afraid it won’t
pay. Jack of Both Sides, friend of neither, eh?”
Jack’s reply was quite cheerful:
“Not so bad as that, thanks,
Lucy. We’re going to be friends all together,
the whole boiling of us, before we’ve done!”
“Think so?” said Hughes,
and shrugged his shoulders. “Not much chance
of that yet, I’m afraid. I spoke to Hallett
just now, and he wouldn’t even answer me.”
Jack seemed out of luck’s way
this week, for the next morning he had an accident
with the ink, was fined sixpence for breaking one of
the pots, and ordered upstairs to change his bespattered
garments.
Just outside his bedroom, in the passage,
he came upon one of the housemaids, in front of whom,
on the ground, lay a pillow and a heavy overcoat.
“Hullo, Hannah! Having
a pillow-fight with an overcoat, for fault of a live
enemy, eh? I’ve caught you in the act!
Now, I want you to do something for me. I’ve
been taking an ink shower-bath, you see, and I go
home to-day, and I must wear this jacket. Could
you
But there Jack stopped short, for
Hannah had broken into his sentence with a jerky little
sniff which he felt pretty sure was a stifled sob.
“Why, my good Hannah, what’s
up? I’m most awfully sorry if there is
anything wrong. Do tell us what it is!”
“Oh, well, Master Brady, I’m
sure it isn’t your doing, but it’s one
of the young gentlemen, and I don’t mind which,
but I do think it’s very ill-mannered and unkind,
and I’ve always tried to do my duty by you all,
and more than that sometimes; and it’s turned
my thumb-nail back and broken it, and the big buttons
banged in my face, and dragged my hair down; and it’s
no pleasure to do it, but I shall ’ave to
carry the tale to the master
“A booby-trap, I suppose,”
interposed Jack, looking thoughtful.
“Well, sir, a trap that’s
certain, for I walked in through the door as innocent
as a child; but I don’t see on that account that
I’m to be set down for a booby.”
“No, no; it’s only the
name for the trick,” Jack hastened to explain,
for Hannah was looking more hurt than ever. “You
balance the pillow on the door, you know and
it needs some care, because it might fall the wrong
way, don’t you see, and never hit you at all;
and adding the overcoat must have made it more difficult.”
There was an unconscious tinge of
admiration in Jack’s voice, and Hannah did not
seem entirely consoled. As he handed her his stained
jacket, however, he added: “You know, it
wasn’t meant for you, Hannah. You got it
by mistake. It was put up for Frere; I’m
sure of that. On these mornings he always comes
to this room first thing to practise his violin.
Whoever set the trap never thought about you, that’s
certain.”
“That don’t matter, sir,
it hurt me just as much,” persisted the maid.
“And they’ve no business, ’aven’t
the young gentlemen, to play pranks like this.
You never know what you’ll be let in for next.
I shall be in a heverlasting flutter now. It’s
worse than living in a monkey-house.”
“Have you ever tried that, Hannah?
I shouldn’t have thought this was actually worse;
but of course when one’s tried both
“Master Brady, you’re
teasing me, and you know my meaning quite well.”
Hannah’s voice was positively tearful, and Jack
grew alarmed.
“Nonsense! I wouldn’t
tease you for the world. But look here, I want
you to think better of what you said about
carrying the tale to Mr. West. There’s
an awful lot done by passing things over; you don’t
know! Let’s return these articles see,
it’s Cadbury’s pillow and Trevelyan’s
coat, so neither of them set the trap and
let’s agree to forgive and forget for once.
Won’t you?”
Jack could be very gentle and persuasive,
and Hannah’s heart was not proof against his
pleading.
“Well, sir, just this once,
since you put it like that, and hask so particular.”
“There’s an angel!
I knew you would. You come to me, Hannah, when
you’re in any fix, and see if I don’t
repay you for this. Hullo! here’s Frere
and his fiddle. I’d better scuttle.”
“Yes, Brady, I think you had
better,” observed Frere. “I heard
Mr. West asking for you.”
“Ugh! I never like being
asked for,” remarked Jack, and straightway vanished.
“So peace isn’t signed
yet,” he said to himself. “The campaign
has only changed its character, for secret and irregular
warfare. I don’t seem to have accomplished
much so far.”
Jack went home that Saturday feeling
rather discouraged. He little knew what his accidental
interview with Hannah, the housemaid, would result
in.
He was flinging his own and Trevelyan’s
muddy boots into the big basket which stood in the
scullery, on Monday evening, when a low voice close
at hand startled him.
“Please, Master Brady, if you
have a minute to spare, I should like to speak to
you.”
Jack turned round in surprise, to
face his friend of Saturday, the housemaid.
“Why, certainly. Fire away! I’m
all attention.”
“I hope you won’t think
me foolish, sir, but you you do seem sympithetic
like, though you can’t help me, I know; and yet
you told me to come to you, and it’s a relief
to out with one’s trouble; and Emma, she don’t
understand, because she’s going to be married,
and she don’t think of nothin’ else; and
Cook, she says she’s never ‘ad nothin’
to do with plants, not excep’ the eatin’
sorts, like cabbages and turnips
“But, Hannah, you haven’t
given me a chance yet. Plants?” said Jack.
“Yes, sir; I’ll tell you
all about it if I may. You see, my ’ome’s
at Brickland that’s a matter of four
miles from Elmridge, and my father, he’s
steadily wastin’, and doctor says there’s
no chance for him, not unless he gets to one of the
hopen-air ’ospitals, and he’s not to doddle
about the green-’ouse any more.”
“That’s a bad business,”
said Jack, looking grave. “Then your father
has been a gardener?”
“Yes, and a salesman in a small
way, sir. But now he’s to give up, and
sell all the plants. Doctor says he’ll never
again be fit for that work. It’s goin’
in and out of the cold and the heat and the damp that’s
so tryin’. He’s been holdin’
on as long as he could, but now he’s ready enough
to part with ’em, and if only he could get a
good price it’d maybe take ’im to the
hopen-air, and help to keep the ’ome together
till he’s well.”
“That sounds the wisest plan,”
observed Jack thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir, but the point is
the sellin’ of ’em. They ought to
go into a good big sale, where there’ll be plenty
of biddin’; they aren’t enough in themselves
to draw buyers. And Mother says in her letter
this mornin’ they’ve heard of one that’s
bein’ held in Elmridge on Saturday, a big one,
in the Rookwood grounds. They call it a ‘Nurserymen’s
Combine’; there’s a many of them joining,
and they’re willin’ to take in Father’s
little lot.”
“Surely the very thing!” said Jack.
“It seems so, doesn’t
it, sir? Father he sent round at once to make
arrangements. But what do you think? he can’t
get the carting of ’em done under three-and-six
a load; and, as he says, he hasn’t got half a
guinea to lay out that way. Why, it’d pay
his train to the hopen-air! So ’e’ll
have to let it slide, and not get such a chance again
in a hurry.”
“I’m sure I’m awfully
sorry about it,” responded Jack feelingly.
“But but but keep up your
spirits, and who knows what may turn up?”
And with this consoling advice, he turned on his heel.