"Flowers!" said Hazel, as a thought flashed across her mind.

"Well, there now, if that ain't them upon your desk, nuss! That's my love-lies-bleeding, and London-tuft, and roses. Oh, just wait till I get hold on her. Did she bring 'em to you, miss?"

"Yes, Mrs Potts; she brought me the nosegay. I am very sorry that she should have done such a thing without asking leave."

"I ain't got much about the house that's nice to look at," said the woman, gazing wistfully at the flowers; "and she's been and cutten it all away. But only just wait till I get her home."

"Don't punish the girl, Mrs Potts," said Hazel quietly. "I think it was from thoughtlessness. Ophelia knew I was fond of flowers, and brought them for me. I will talk to her about it. Indeed I am very sorry that she should do such a thing."

"Well, miss, if so be as you're fond o' flowers, and will give her a good talking to, why I won't say no more about it. Ah, you bad gal!"

This was accompanied by a threatening gesture from the stout lady's fist, which, however, did not seem to cause Miss Feelier Potts much alarm, that young personage only looking half defiantly at her parent, and as soon as the latter's eyes were removed, indulging herself by making a few derisive gestures.

"You will take the flowers back with you, Mrs Potts. I am very sorry."

"Which I just won't, miss, so now then," said the woman sharply. "If you like flowers, miss, you shall have 'em; and if you could make a better gal of that Feelier, I'm sure there ain't nothing I wouldn't do for you. And now, as my water's all getting cold, I must be off!"

"But you said that you wished Ophelia to come home and help you. I don't like the girls being kept away, but of course it is her duty to help you at a time like this. Ophelia Potts."

"Yes, teacher; please I wasn't talking," said Feelier sharply.

"Come here."

"No, no, miss, you let her 'bide, and when I'm gone just you give her a good talking to."

"And you will not punish her, Mrs Potts?"

"No, miss, I'll leave it all to you;" and, quite tamed down by the quiet dignity of the young mistress, Mrs Potts returned to her soap and soda, and the little "bairn" that Feelier was to attend enjoyed itself upon the doorstep, off which it fell on an average about once every quarter of an hour, and yelled till it was lifted up by its mother's wet hands, shaken, and b.u.mped down again, when it returned to its former sport with its playthings, which consisted of four pebbles and an old shoe, the former being placed in the latter with solemn care, and shaken out again with steady persistency, the greatest gratification being obtained therefrom.

Meanwhile Hazel had an interview with Feelier, who listened attentively to "teacher's" remarks anent the objectionable plan of stealing other people's goods when a present is intended in another direction, all of which Miss Feelier quietly imbibed, and, mentally quoting the words of common use with her brothers, she said, "She'd be blowed if she'd bring teacher any more flowers, so there now!" while on being allowed to go back to her place she solaced herself by giving Ann Straggalls a severe pinch on the arm, and making her utter a loud cry.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

MRS THORNE DISCOURSES.

"Ah, my child, when will you grow wise?" said Mrs Thorne one day when Hazel, making an effort to master her weariness, was bustling in and out of the room with an ap.r.o.n on, her dress pinned up, and her sleeves drawn up over her elbows, leaving her white arms bare.

"Grow wise, dear! What do you mean?"

"Leave off doing work like a charwoman day after day, when you might be riding in your carriage, as I told Mrs Chute only this afternoon."

"You told Mrs Chute so this afternoon, mother! Has she been here?"

"Of course she has, Hazel," cried Mrs Thorne with asperity. "Do you suppose because I am humbled in my position in life I am going to give up all society? Of course I look upon it as a degradation to have to a.s.sociate with a woman like Mrs Chute--a very vulgar woman indeed; but if my daughter chooses to place me in such a position as this I must be amiable and kind to my neighbours. She is a very good sort of woman in her way, but I let her know the differences in our position, and--yes, of course I did--told her that my daughter might be riding in her carriage now if she liked, instead of drudging at her school; for I'm sure, though he did not say so, Edward Geringer would have kept a brougham for you at least, if you would only consent, even now, to be his wife. Why, only last week he said--"

"Mother, have you heard from Mr Geringer again?" cried Hazel, whose cheeks were crimsoning.

"Of course I have, my dear child. Why should I not hear from so old a friend? He said that if you would reconsider your determination he should be very, very glad."

"But you did not write back, mother?"

"Indeed I did, my dear. Do you suppose I should ever forget that I am a lady? I wrote back to him, telling him that I thought adversity was softening your pride, and that, though I would promise nothing, still, if I were a man, I said, in his position, I should not banish hope."

"O mother, mother! how could you write to him like that?" cried Hazel piteously.

"Because I thought it to be my duty," said Mrs Thorne with dignity.

"Young people do not always know their own minds."

Hazel turned away to busy herself over some domestic task, so that her mother should not read the annoyance in her face.

"Mrs Chute is a very weak, silly woman, Hazel, and I feel it to be my duty to warn you against her, and--and her son."

Hazel could not trust herself to speak, but went on working with her fingers trembling from agitation, and the tears dimming her eyes.

"She has been in here a good deal lately during school-hours, and she has got the idea into her head that you have taken a fancy to Mr Samuel Chute."

The little milk jug that Hazel was wiping fell to the floor with a crash.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, do be more careful, Hazel," cried Mrs Thorne angrily. "There's that broken now, and, what with your breakages and those of the children, it is quite dreadful. Of course she owned that her son was very much attached to you; but that I knew."

"You knew that, mother!" said Hazel, who was very pale now; and any one but the weak woman who was speaking would have understood the conflict between anger, shame, and duty going on in her breast.

"Of course I did, my dear. Do you suppose I do not know what men are, or that I am blind, I have not reached my years without being able to read men like a book," she continued with complacency. "I have seen Master Chute's looks and ways, and poppings into the girls' school; but as soon as his mother spoke I let her know that she need not expect anything of that sort, for I told her that my daughter would look far higher than to a national schoolmaster for her husband."

Hazel felt that she must rush out of the room and go upstairs to give free vent to the sobs that were struggling for exit, but making an effort to master the mortification from which she suffered, she stayed and listened as her mother prattled on with a quiet a.s.sumption of dignity.

"No, 'my dear Mrs Chute,' I said--and I must give the poor woman credit for receiving my quiet reproof with due submission and a proper sense of respect for me--'no, my dear Mrs Chute,' I said, 'you have been very kind to me, and my child is most grateful to your son for his attentions and the help he has been to her in giving her hints about the school and the children. Friends we may continue, but your son must never think of anything more. He must,' I told her, 'see for himself that a young lady of my daughter's position and personal attractions might look anywhere for a husband, and that already there were several who, even if they had not spoken, evidently were upon the point of doing so. Mr William Forth Burge was certainly very much taken by your ladylike manner; and that I had noticed several peculiar little advances made by the vicar; while a little bird told me that there were more impossible things than that Mr George Canninge might propose for your hand.' I would not stoop to mention what I had seen in several of the tradespeople here, but either of those three would be an eligible match for my daughter, and therefore I said, 'Mr Samuel Chute must, as a man full of common-sense, largely increased by education'--I said that, Hazel, as a stroke of diplomacy to soften the blow--'Mr Samuel Chute must see that such an alliance as he was ready to propose would be impossible.'

"It is a great responsibility, a family," said Mrs Thorne, lying back in her chair and gazing meditatively at her fingertips. "Percy is a great anxiety--he is always wanting money, and I am only too glad to keep on good terms with Mr Geringer, who really does keep the boy somewhat in order. Though certainly, Hazel, you might do worse than marry Edward Geringer. Perhaps he would be wiser if he married me," she said with a simper; "but of course middle-aged men prefer young girls.

Yes, Hazel, you might do worse than many Edward Geringer. He is not young; in fact, he is growing elderly. But he would leave you all his money; and a handsome young widow with a nice fortune and no inc.u.mbrances can marry again as soon as she pleases.

"Ah, dear me! dear me!" she went on with a sigh, "what a different fate mine might have been if you had not been so squeamish, Hazel, and I had had better health! But there, I will not murmur and repine. I have only one thought, and that is to see my children happy. By the way, it is of no use for you to make any opposition: those two girls must have new frocks and hats--I am quite ashamed to see them go out--and Percy wants five pounds. What in the world he can want five pounds for, I'm sure I don't know; but he says I cannot understand a young fellow's wants in a busy place like London. I've had--let me see--five and seven are twelve, and five are seventeen, and ten are twenty-seven, and ten are thirty-seven--thirty-seven pounds of Edward Geringer on purpose for that boy, and I hardly like to ask him for more. Percy is a very great anxiety to me, Hazel; and if Mr George Canninge should take it into his head to propose for you, my dear, he could so easily place your brother in some good post. He might make him his private secretary, and give him charge of his estates. Who knows? And--Bless the child, what is the matter?"

Matter enough: Hazel had sunk in a chair by the little side-table, her face bowed down into her hands, and she was weeping bitterly for her shame and degradation, as she silently sobbed forth an appeal to Heaven to give her strength to bear the troubles that seemed to grow thicker day by day.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE VICAR IS SYMPATHETIC.

Faint, pale, and utterly prostrate after a long and wearisome day in the school, heartsick at finding how vain her efforts were in spite of everything she could do to keep the attention of her pupils, Hazel Thorne gladly closed her desk, and left the great blank room, where three of the girls were beginning to sprinkle and sweep so as to have the place tidy for the following day.

The air had been hot and oppressive, and a great longing had come over the fainting mistress for that homely restorative, a cup of tea; but in spite of herself, a feeling of bitterness would creep in, reminding her that no such comfort would be ready for her, leaving her at liberty to enjoy it restfully and then go and take a pleasant walk somewhere in the fields. For she knew that the probabilities were that she would find the little fire out, and the dinner-things placed untidily upon the dresser, awaiting her busy hands to put away, after she had lit the fire and prepared the evening meal.

There would be no opportunity for walking; the household drudgery would take up her time till she was glad to go to bed and prepare herself for the tasks of another day.