LOST AND FOUND.
THAT night William smoked his pipe into the chimney, as usual. The girl, for a wonder, seemed out of spirits. William talked, but only old Martha answered; and when the time came, he wished all “Good night,” and went away to his study. The guest bid her “Good night” also, and departed to her room; and Martha Gillyflower, being now alone, made some final arrangements in the kitchen, and in a little time, according to her careful custom, knocked at the stranger’s door, purposing to go in and take away her candle.
No answer was returned.
“Just her head under her wing, and asleep wi’ her, like a bird,” said the old woman. But when she went in the girl was nowhere to be seen. The candle was there, but nothing was disturbed or missing except the small bag of scarlet cloth, and the things she had in it when she arrived. Her dark-gray cloak, too, had disappeared from the peg on which it hung beside the door.
“There it is!” said Mrs. Gillyflower, energetically. “See how she serves one! Why, it can’t be! There’s the bed turned down as I saw it an hour ago. Not a hand to it since — nothing stirred in the room but her cloak and the little red bag. Only her candle’s here. I’d say there wasn’t a soul in the room but myself tonight. And there’s her things gone, and her cloak; and — it may be she’s gone to Mall’s room to talk a bit; but I don’t think it — I don’t.
She hurried away, being, nevertheless, strongly of that opinion.
“Get up, Mall, and help me to look. The lass is gone! Sweetbrier’s goner as sure as you’re there! Get up, and don’t be ogglin’ there like a nofflin’; there’s Sweetbrier gane awa’, and tale or tidings o’ her nowhere.”
“Agoy!” exclaimed the lass, blinking and staring in wonder, just emerging from her deep first sleep.
“Come — will ye! Huddle yer things on, and come wi’ me this minute.”
Mall’s simple equipment was not long in completing.
“Now, ye look under the bedstocks — I can’t stoop so. Well, is she?”
“Na, neyâwheere,” answered the girl. “She’s outen — she’s awa’, I’m feared.”
“Nane o’ yer proas, child, but stir and look about ye. She was ever sa keen, but I doubt she is gane, she’d be awa’ like that Stir, lass — twill be a dull house without her.”
They were looking irresolutely about the room, as they stood with their backs to the bedstead; and there came from above, on Mrs. Gillyflower’s head, a tap with a little naked foot.
“Well, child?” said she, sharply, to Mall.
“Yes, ‘m,” answered Mall.
“Well? Is there aught? Is there nout to show or point to? WeH, will ye mind how ye’re turnin’ and knockin’ yersel’ about?”
“Yes, ‘m,” answered Mall “Ye searched the press, then — so did I, and now ye see— “
Here was another little tap of the same tiny foot “Stop that pushin’, ye fool!” said old Martha.
“Yes, ‘m,” said Mall, removing a little from her side.
“And noo ye see what gratitude is! She’s let herself out by the scullery-door, and she’s gane. She’s tae’n hersel’ awa’ without as much as ‘fares-ta-weel,’ the fause lass! We’ll just gang and see what way she went out, and then I’ll to your master in the study, and tell him a’ — and I could sit down here and greet!”
Mall looked on the point of “blubberin’,” as she termed it, also. At the same moment the same little foot was laid lightly on the shoulder of Mrs. Gillyflower, who had now turned towards the door.
“Tak yer hand aff my shooder — what’s the matter wi’ ye?” said the housekeeper, with a proper sense of the liberty — at the same time placing her own hand peremptorily, as she supposed, on Mall’s.
“I didn’t touch yer shooder, ma’am,” began the girl, but was interrupted by a squawl from Mrs. Gillyflower, and “Daratta! what’s that?”
The tiny toes that rested on her shoulder were in her grasp, instead of Mali’s fingers. Mall echoed Mrs. Gillyflower’s exclamation with a scream, as she beheld the same false hand for a moment on the old woman’s shoulder; and she bounced to the door with another bawl, where Martha clutched her with her right hand, hardly knowing what she did, with a “By Jen!” and a prayer.
A laugh — and down jumped the girlish stranger from the top of the old-fashioned low bedstead where she had been hiding.
“Ye did not see my shoes and stockings; I hid them in the bed, and my cloak is up there.”
The girl was laughing heartily, and looked so merry and pretty, that if you had been there you would certainly have laughed with her.
“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Gillyflower, with the indignation of fright. “Of all the turns ye’ve ever served me, this is the warst!”
What the other ill-turns may have been it would, perhaps, have puzzled our good old friend to recount.
“To think o’ yer treatin’ me sa! I wouldn’t a’ believed the parson. Na, na, na, — nane o’ that,” die said, waving off the laughing girl. “Na, na — I’ve done wi’ ye. I did na think ’twas in ye. What a nafflin’ I was, to care tuppence about ye! Ye’ve sarved me right, and, bout in the way o’ civility, I’ll never speak word more till ye. I’ve done wi’ ye — I’ve done wi’ ye quite!”
She had turned with dignity, and her hand was on the door, when the girl caught her.
“No, no — not a bit; ye’ll never have done with me. Ye’ll kiss me before ye go out, and we’ll dance together, you and me; for you’re my darling always, and I’ll be yours again.”
“To think o’ ye playin’ at peeping-hide, like a child! — there, don’t be a fool, let me go — and to give me that fright! Don’t ye be holdin me — let go, I desire.”
But all wouldn’t do. The girl, with bare feet, laughing merrily, and not a bit daunted, pulled her out by the substantial waist, and, singing a meny tune, whisked the old lass round in spite of herself.
“Ye let me go, miss, if ye please — tak’ yer hands away. I’m not going; I won’t, miss — we’re na’ that intimate.”
But on went the song, and round and round sails the good lady, protesting; and the girl — didn’t she look roguish, wild, and pretty? — capered such pretty steps on her bare feet, that at last old Martha’s dignity broke down, and, perhaps from the very effort to look grave, she burst out laughing, and never was the dance so wild as then.
“I don’t care,” screamed Martha. “I’m very angry, though I may be laughin’; and I’ll tell ye what— “
But her laughter increased, and grew at last so continuous and uproarious, that it was vain contending with it; so giving herself up, she danced with her own goodwill, and set to her pretty partner, with her fat old arms “akimbo,” and tears of laughter, in the general chorus, running down her ruddy cheeks. And at last, all laughing, they came to a standstill, and old Martha said, panting:
“Go to bed — I’m the biggest fool o’ the whole lot!”
And she gave the girl a kiss on the cheek, and a little slap, and ran out of the room at a trot.