"I don"t know," said the woman rather shortly. "We"se not friends."
"Why not?" asked Margaret, who had formerly been the peacemaker ofthe village.
"She stole my cat."
"Did she know it was yours?"
"I don"t know. I reckon not."
"Well! could not you get it back again when you told her it was yours?"
"No! for she"d burnt it."
"Burnt it!" exclaimed both Margaret and Mr. Bell.
"Roasted it!" explained the woman.
It was no explanation. By dint of questioning, Margaret extracted fromher the horrible fact that Betty Barnes, having been induced by a gypsyfortune-teller to lend the latter her husband"s Sunday clothes, onpromise of having them faithfully returned on the Saturday night beforeGoodman Barnes should have missed them, became alarmed by theirnon-appearance, and her consequent dread of her husband"s anger, andas, according to one of the savage country superstitions, the cries of acat, in the agonies of being boiled or roasted alive, compelled (as itwere) the powers of darkness to fulfil the wishes of the executioner,resort had been had to the charm. The poor woman evidently believedin its efficacy; her only feeling was indignation that her cat had beenchosen out from all others for a sacrifice. Margaret listened in horror;and endeavoured in vain to enlighten the woman"s mind; but she wasobliged to give it up in despair. Step by step she got the woman to admitcertain facts, of which the logical connexion and sequence was perfectlyclear to Margaret; but at the end, the bewildered woman simplyrepeated her first assertion, namely, that "it were very cruel for sure, andshe should not like to do it; but that there were nothing like it for givinga person what they wished for; she had heard it all her life; but it werevery cruel for all that." Margaret gave it up in despair, and walked awaysick at heart.
"You are a good girl not to triumph over me," said Mr. Bell.
"How? What do you mean?"
"I own, I am wrong about schooling. Anything rather than have thatchild brought up in such practical paganism."
"Oh! I remember. Poor little Susan! I must go and see her; would youmind calling at the school?"
"Not a bit. I am curious to see something of the teaching she is toreceive."
They did not speak much more, but thridded their way through many abosky dell, whose soft green influence could not charm away the shockand the pain in Margaret"s heart, caused by the recital of such cruelty; arecital too, the manner of which betrayed such utter want ofimagination, and therefore of any sympathy with the suffering animal.
The buzz of voices, like the murmur of a hive of busy human bees,made itself heard as soon as they emerged from the forest on the moreopen village-green on which the school was situated. The door waswide open, and they entered. A brisk lady in black, here, there, andeverywhere, perceived them, and bade them welcome with somewhat ofthe hostess-air which, Margaret remembered, her mother was wont toassume, only in a more soft and languid manner, when any rare visitorsstrayed in to inspect the school. She knew at once it was the presentVicar"s wife, her mother"s successor; and she would have drawn backfrom the interview had it been possible; but in an instant she hadconquered this feeling, and modestly advanced, meeting many a brightglance of recognition, and hearing many a half-suppressed murmur of"It"s Miss Hale." The Vicar"s lady heard the name, and her manner atonce became more kindly. Margaret wished she could have helpedfeeling that it also became more patronising. The lady held out a handto Mr. Bell, with-"
Your father, I presume, Miss Hale. I see it by the likeness. I am sure Iam very glad to see you, sir, and so will the Vicar be."
Margaret explained that it was not her father, and stammered out thefact of his death; wondering all the time how Mr. Hale could have bornecoming to revisit Helstone, if it had been as the Vicar"s lady supposed.
She did not hear what Mrs. Hepworth was saying, and left it to Mr. Bellto reply, looking round, meanwhile, for her old acquaintances.
"Ah! I see you would like to take a class, Miss Hale. I know it bymyself. First class stand up for a parsing lesson with Miss Hale."
Poor Margaret, whose visit was sentimental, not in any degreeinspective, felt herself taken in; but as in some way bringing her incontact with little eager faces, once well-known, and who had receivedthe solemn rite of baptism from her father, she sate down, half losingherself in tracing out the changing features of the girls, and holdingSusan"s hand for a minute or two, unobserved by all, while the firstclass sought for their books, and the Vicar"s lady went as near as a ladycould towards holding Mr. Bell by the button, while she explained thePhonetic system to him, and gave him a conversation she had had withthe Inspector about it.
Margaret bent over her book, and seeing nothing but that--hearing thebuzz of children"s voices, old times rose up, and she thought of them,and her eyes filled with tears, till all at once there was a pause--one ofthe girls was stumbling over the apparently simple word "a," uncertainwhat to call it.
"A, an indefinite article," said Margaret, mildly.
"I beg your pardon," said the Vicar"s wife, all eyes and ears; "but we aretaught by Mr. Milsome to call "a" an--who can remember?"
"An adjective absolute," said half-a-dozen voices at once. And Margaretsate abashed. The children knew more than she did. Mr. Bell turnedaway, and smiled.
Margaret spoke no more during the lesson. But after it was over, shewent quietly round to one or two old favourites, and talked to them alittle. They were growing out of children into great girls; passing out ofher recollection in their rapid development, as she, by her three years"
absence, was vanishing from theirs. Still she was glad to have seenthem all again, though a tinge of sadness mixed itself with her pleasure.
When school was over for the day, it was yet early in the summerafternoon; and Mrs. Hepworth proposed to Margaret that she and Mr.
