 Part 1 Chapter 9 of the Daisy Chain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona. The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young. Part 1 Chapter 9. For the structure that we raise, time is with materials filled. Our two days and yesterdays are the blocks which we build. Truly shape and fashion these. Leave no yawning gaps between. Think not, because no man sees. Such things will remain unseen. Long fellow. When Ethel came home, burning with the tidings of the newly excited hopes for Cocksmoor, they were at once stopped by Margaret, eagerly saying, Is Richard come in? Pray call him. Then on his entrance. Oh Richard, would you be so kind as to take this to the bank? I don't like to send it by anyone else. It is so much. And she took from under her pillows a velvet bag so heavy that it weighed down her slender white hand. What, he has given you the care of his money? Said Ethel. Yes, I saw him turning something out of his waistcoat pocket into the drawer of the looking-glass and sighing in that very sad way. He said his fees had come to such an accumulation that he must see about sending them to the bank. And then he told me of the delight of throwing his first fee into Dear Mama's lap when they were just married, and his old uncle had given up to him and how he had brought them to her ever since. He said she had spoiled him by taking all trouble off his hands. He looked at it as if it was so sorrowful to him to have to dispose of it, that I begged him not to plague himself any more, but let me see about it as Dear Mama used to do. So he said I was spoiling him too, but he brought me the drawer and emptied it out here. When he was gone I packed it up and I had been waiting to ask Richard to take it all to the bank, out of his sight. You counted it, said Richard? Yes. There's fifty. I kept seventeen towards the week's expenses. Just see that it is right, said Margaret, showing her neat packets. Oh, Richie, said Ethel. What can expense signify when all that has been kicking about loose in an open drawer? What would not one of those rolls do? I think I'd better take them out of your way, said Richard quietly. Am I to bring back the book to you, Margaret? Yes, do, said Margaret. Pray do not tease him with it. And as her brother left the room, she continued, I wish he was better. I think he is more oppressed now than even at first. The pain of his arm, going on so long, seems to me to have pulled him down. It does not let him sleep, and by the end of the day he gets worn and fagged by seeing so many people and exerting himself to talk and think. And often, when there is something that must be asked, I don't know how to begin, for it seems as if a little more would be too much for him. Yes, Richard is right, said Ethel mournfully. It will not do to press him about our concerns. But do you think him worse today? He did not sleep last night, and he is always worse when he does not drive out into the country. The fresh air and being along with Richard are a rest for him. Today is especially trying. He does not think poor old Mr. Southern will get through the evening, and he is so sorry for the daughter. Is he there now? Yes, he thought of something that might be an alleviation, and he would go, though he was tired. I am afraid the poor daughter will detain him, and he is not fit to go through such things now. No, I hope he will soon come. Perhaps Richard will meet him. But oh, Margaret, what do you think Richard and I have been talking of? And, without perception of fit times and seasons, Ethel would have told her story. But Margaret, too anxious to attend to her, said, Hark! Was not that his step? And Dr. May came in, looking mournful and fatigued. Well, said he, I was just too late. He died as I got there, and I could not leave the daughter till old Mrs. Bowers came. Poor thing, said Margaret. He was a good old man. Yes, said Dr. May, sitting wherely down and speaking in a worn-out voice. One can't lightly part with a man one has seen at church every Sunday of one's life, and exchange so many friendly words with over his counter. It is a strong bond of neighborliness in a small place like this. And, as one girl's old, changes come heavier. The clouds return again after the rain. Thank you, my dear, as Ethel fetched his slippers and placed his stool for his feet, feeling somewhat ashamed of thinking it an achievement to have. Unbidden performed a small act of attention, which would have come naturally from any of the others. Papa, you will give me the treat of drinking tea with me? Said Margaret, who saw the quiet of her room would suit him better than the bustle of the children downstairs. Thank you, as he gave a smile of assent. That Margaret could not be made to listen this evening was plain, and all that Ethel could do was to search for some books on schools. In seeking for them, she displayed such confusion in the chiffonnier that Flora exclaimed, Oh Ethel, how could you leave it so? I was in a hurry, looking for something for Norman. All said it to Wright, said Ethel, gulping down her dislike of being reproved by Flora with the thought that Mama would have said the same. My dear, cried Flora presently, jumping up, what are you doing? Hiling up those heavy books on the top of the little ones. How do you think they will ever stand? Let me do it. No, no Flora, and Richard, in a low voice, gave Ethel some advice which she received seated on the floor in a mood between temper and despair. He is going to teach her to do it on the principles of gravitation, said Flora. Richard did not do it himself, but, by his means, Ethel, without being in the least irritated, gave the chiffonnier a thorough dusting and setting to writes, sorting magazines, burning old catalogs, and finding her own long lost undyne, at which she was so delighted that she would have forgotten all. In proceeding to read it, curled up on the floor amongst the heaps of pamphlets, if another gentle hint from Richard had not made her finisher task so well, as to make Flora declare it was a pleasure to look in, and Harry pronounced it to be all need and ship shape. There was no speaking to Margaret the next morning. It was French day, and Ethel had made strong resolutions to behave better, and whether there were fewer idioms or that she was trying to understand, instead of carping at the master's explanations, they came to no battle. Flora led the conversation, and she sustained her part with credit and gained an excellent mark. Flora said afterwards to Margaret, I managed nicely for her. I would not let M. Ballon blunder upon any of the subjects Ethel feels too deeply to talk of in good French, and really Ethel has a great talent for languages. How fast she gets on with Italian! That she does, said Margaret. Suppose you send her up, Flora. You must want to go and draw or practice, and she may do her arithmetic here, or read to me. It was the second time Margaret had made this proposal, and it did not please Flora, who had learned to think herself necessary to her sister, and liked to be the one to do everything for her. She was within six weeks of seventeen, and surely she'd need not be sent down again to the school room, when she had been so good a manager of the whole family. She was fond of study and of accomplishments, but she thought she might be emancipated from this winter, and it was not pleasant to her that a sister, only eighteen months older and almost dependent on her, should have authority to dispose of her time. I practiced in the evening, she said, and I could draw here if I wished, but I have some music to copy. Margaret was concerned at the dissatisfaction, though not understanding the whole of it. You know, dear Flora, she said, I need not take up all your time now. Don't regret that, said Flora. I like nothing so well as waiting on you, and I could attend to my own affairs very well here. I'll tell you why I proposed it, said Margaret. I think it would be a relief for Ethel to escape from Miss Winter's beloved Friday questions. Great nonsense they are, said Flora. Why don't you tell Miss Winter they are of no use? Mama never interfered with them, said Margaret. She only kept Ethel in her own hands, and if you'd be so kind as to change sometimes, and sit in the school room, we could spare Ethel without hurting Miss Winter's feelings. Well, I'll call Ethel if you like, but I shall go and practice in the drying room. The old schoolroom piano is fit for nothing but marry to hammer upon. Flora went away, evidently annoyed, and Margaret's conjectures on the cause of it were cut short by Ethel running in with a slate in one hand and two books in the other, the rest having all tumble down on the stairs. Oh Margaret, I am so glad to come to you. Miss Winter has set marriage to read, to be or not to be, and it would have driven me distracted to have stayed there. I have got a most beautiful sum in compound proportion about a lion, a wolf, and a bear eating up a carcass, and as soon as they have done it, you shall hear me say my ancient geography, and then we will do a nice bit of tasso, and if we have any time after that, I have got such a thing to tell you, only I must not tell you now, or I shall go on talking and not finish my lessons. It was not till all were done that Ethel felt free to exclaim, now for what I have been longing to tell you, Richard is going to, but the phase were unpropitious. Aubrey trotted in, expecting to be amused. Next came Norman, and Ethel gave up in despair, and after having affronted Flora in the morning, Margaret was afraid of renewing the offense by attempting to secure Ethel as her companion for the afternoon, so not till after the walk could Margaret contrive to claim the promise communication, telling Ethel to come and settle herself causally by her. I should have been very glad of you last evening, said she, for Papa went to sleep and my book was out of reach. Oh, I am so sorry, how I pity you, poor Margaret. I suppose I have grown lazy, said Margaret, for I don't mind those things now. I am never sorry for a quiet time to recollect and consider. It must be like the waiting in the dark between the slides of a magic lantern, said Ethel. I never like to be quiet. I get so unhappy. I am glad of resting and recollecting, said Margaret. It has all been so like a dream that merry morning and then slowly waking to find myself here in Dear Mama's place and Papa watching over me. Sometimes I think I have not half understood what it really is, and that I don't realize that if I was up and about I should find the house without her. Yes, that is the aching part, said Ethel. I am happy sitting on her bed here with you. You are a little of her, besides being my own dear pegtop. You are very lucky to miss the mealtimes and the evenings. That is the reason I don't feel it wrong to like to have Papa sitting with me all the evenings, said Margaret, though it may make it worse for you to have him away. I don't think it's selfish in me to keep him. He wants quiet so much, or to talk a little when it suits him. We are too many now, when he is tired. Oh, it is best, said Ethel. Nothing that you do is selfish. Don't talk of it, dear Margaret. It will be something like old times when you come down again. But all this time you are not telling me what I want so much to hear, said Margaret, about Coxmore. I am so glad Richard has taken it up. That he has. We are to go every Friday and hire a room and teach the children. Once a week we'll do a great deal if we can, but make them wish to learn. It is a much better plan than mine, for if they care about it, they can come to school here on Sunday. It is excellent, said Margaret, and if he is at home till Easter, it will give it a start, and put you in the way of it, and get you through the short days and dark evenings, when you could not so well walk home without him. Yes, and then we can all teach. Flora and Mary and you, when you are well again. Richard says it will be disagreeable, but I don't think so. They are such unsophisticated people. That Granny Hall is such a funny old woman, and the whole place wants nothing but a little care to do very well. You must prepare for disappointments, dear Ethel. I know, I know nothing is done without drawbacks, but I am so glad to make some beginning. So am I. Do you know, Mama and I were one day talking over those kinds of things, and she said she had always regretted that she had so many duties at home that she could not attend as much to the poor as she would like. But she hoped now we girls were growing up. We should be able to do more. Did she? That's all Ethel said, but she was deeply gratified. I've been wanting to tell you. I knew you would like to hear it. It seems to set us to work so happily. I only wish we could begin, said Ethel. But Richard is so slow. Of course we can't act without Papa's consent, and Mr. Wilmot's help. And he says Papa must not be worried about it. He must watch for his own time to speak about it. Yes, said Margaret. I know. I would not have it otherwise. But what is tiresome is this. Richard is very good, but he is so dreadfully hard to stir up. And what's worse, so very much afraid of Papa, that while he is thinking about opportunities, they will all go by, and then it will be Easter and nothing done. He is not so much afraid of Papa as he was, said Margaret. He has felt himself useful and a comfort, and Papa is gentler, and that has cheered him out of the desponding way that kept him back from proposing anything. Perhaps, said Ethel, but I wish it was you. Can't you? You always know how to manage. No, it is Richard's affair, and he must do it as he thinks fit. Don't sigh, dear Ethel. Perhaps he may soon speak. And, if not, you can be preparing in a quiet way all the time. Don't you remember how Dear Mama used to tell us that things hastily begun never turn out well? But this is not hasty. I've been thinking about it these six weeks, said Ethel. If one does nothing but think, it is all no better than a vision. I want to be doing. Well, you can be doing. Laying a sound foundation, said Margaret. The more you consider, and the wiser you make yourself, the better it will be when you do set to work. You mean by curing myself of my slovenly ways and impatient temper? I don't know that I was exactly thinking that, said Margaret, but that ought to be the way. If we are not just a thing in our niche at home, I don't think we can do much real good elsewhere. It would be hollow show goodness, said Ethel. Yes, that is true, and it comes across me now, and then what a horrible rich I am to be wanting to undertake so much when I leave so much undone. But, do you know, Margaret, there's no one such a help in those ways as Richard. Though he is so precise, he is never tiresome. He makes me see things and do them neatly without plaguing me and putting me in a rage. I'm not ready to bite off my own fingers or kick all the rattle traps over and leave them, as I am when Miss Winter scolds me, or nurse, or even flora sometimes. But it is as if I was gratifying him, and his funny little old bachelor tidy-isms divert me. Besides, he teaches me the theory, and never lays hold of my poor fingers, and, when they won't bend the wrong way, calls them frogs. He is a capital master for use, said Margaret, much amused and pleased, for Richard was her special darling, and she triumphed in any eulogy for those who ordinarily were too apt to regard his dullness with superior compassion. If he would only read our books and enter into poetry and delight in it, but it is all nonsense to him, said Ethel, I can't think how people can be so different. But oh, here he comes. Richie, you should not come upon us before we are aware. What, I should have heard no good of myself? Great good, said Margaret. She was telling me you would make a neat-handed woman of her in time. I don't see why she should not be as neat as other people, said Richard Gravely. Has she been telling you our plan? And it was, again, happily discussed. Ethel satisfied by finding him fully set upon the design, and Margaret given cordial sympathy and counsel. When Ethel was called away, Margaret said, I am so glad you have taken it up, not only for the sake of Coxmore, but of Ethel. It is good for her not to spend her high soul in dreams. I am afraid she does not know what she undertakes, said Richard. She does not, but she will keep her from being turned back. It is just a thing to prevent her energies from running to waste, and her being so much with you and working under you is exactly what one would have chosen. By contrary, said Richard, smiling. That is what I was afraid of. I don't have to understand or follow her, and when I think a thing is nonsense, I see you all calling it very fine, and I don't know what to make of it. You are making yourself out more dull than you are, said Margaret, affectionately. I know I am stupid and seem tame and cold, said Richard, and you are the only one that does not care about it. That is what makes me wish Norman was the eldest. If I were as clever as he, I could do so much with Ethel, and be so much more to Papa. No, you would not. You would have other things in your head. You would not be the dear, dear old Richie that you are. You would not be a calm, cautious, steady balance to the quick silverheads some of us have got. No, no, Norman's a very fine fellow, a very dear fellow. But he would not do half so well for our eldest. He's too easily up and down again. And I am getting into my old way of repenting, said Richard. I don't mind so much, since my father has at least one son to be proud of, and I can be of some use to him now. Of the greatest and to all of us, I am so glad you can stay after Christmas and Papa was pleased at your offering, and said he could not spare you at all, though he would have tried, if he had been any real advantage to you. Well, I hope he will approve. I must speak to him as soon as I can find him with his mind tolerably disengaged. The scene that ensued that evening in the magic lantern before Margaret's bed did not promise much for the freedom of her father's mind. Harry entered with a resolute manner. Margaret, I wanted to speak to you, said he, spreading himself out with an elbow on each arm of the chair. I want you to speak to Papa about my going to see. It is high time to see about it. I shall be thirteen on the fourth of May. And you mean it seriously, Harry? Yes, of course I do, really and truly. And if it is to come to pass, it is time to take measures. Don't you see, Margaret? It is time, as you say, answered Margaret, reflectingly, and sadly surveying the bright boy, rosy cheek, round-faced, and blue-eyed, with the childish gladsomeness of countenance, that made it strange that his lot and life should be already in the balance. I know what you will all tell me, that it is a hard life, but I must get my own living some way or other, and I should like that way the best, said he earnestly. Should you like to be always far from home? I should come home sometimes, and bring such presence to Mary and Bailey, and all of you, and I don't know what else to be, Margaret. I should hate to be a doctor, I can't abide sick people, and I couldn't write sermons, so I can't be a clergyman, and I won't be a lawyer, I vow, for Harvey Anderson is to be a lawyer, so there's nothing left but soldiers and sailors, and I mean to be a sailor. Well, Harry, you may do your duty, and try to do right, if you are a sailor, and that is the point. Ah, I was sure you would not set your face against it, now you know I'll an earnest cliff. If you were to be like him, Margaret found herself blushing and broke off. Then you will ask Papa about it? You had better do so yourself. Boys had better settle such serious affairs with their fathers, without setting their sisters to interfere. What's the matter, Harry? You are not afraid to speak to Papa? Only for one thing, said Harry. Margaret, I went out to shoot pee-wits last Saturday with two fellows, and I can't speak to Papa while that's on my mind. Then you had better tell him at once. I knew you would say so, but it would be like a girl, and it would be telling of the two fellows. Not at all, Papa would not care about them. You see, said Harry, twisting a little. I knew I ought not, but they said I was afraid of a gun, and that I had no money. Now I see that was cheap, but I didn't then, and Norman wasn't there. I am so glad you've told me all this, Harry, dear, for I knew you had been less at home of late, and I was almost afraid you were not going on quite well. That's what it is, said Harry. I can't stand things at all, and I can't go moping about as Norman does. I can't live without fun, and now Norman isn't here. Half the time it turns to something I am sorry for afterwards. But Harry, if you let yourself be drawn into mischief here for one of Norman, what would you do at sea? I should be an officer. I am afraid, said Margaret, smiling. That would not make much difference inside, though it might outside. You must get the self-control, and leave off being afraid to be said to be afraid. Harry fidgeted. I should start fresh, and be out of the way of the Andersons, he said. That Andersons junior is a horrid fellow. He spites Norman, and he bullied me, till I was big enough to show him that it would not do, and though I am so much younger, he is afraid of me. He makes up to me, and tries to give me into all the mischief that is going. And you know that, and let him lead you? Oh, Harry. I don't let him lead me, said Harry indignantly, but I won't have them say I can't do things. Margaret laughed, and Harry presently perceived what she meant, but instead of answering, he began to boast. There never was a May in disgrace yet, and there never shall be. That is a thing to be very thankful for, said Margaret. But you know there may be much harm without public disgrace. I never heard of one of the Andersons being in disgrace yet. No, shabby fellows that just managed to keep fair with old Hoxton, and make a show, said Harry. They look at translations and copy old stock verses. Oh, it was such fun the other day. What do you think? Norman must have been dreaming, for he had taken his school, by mistake, Richard's old gratis that Ethel uses, and there were ever so many rough copies of her sticking in it. Poor Ethel! What consternation she would be in! I hope no one found it out. Why, Anderson Jr. was gaping about in despair for sins for his verses, and he comes on that, and slightly copies a whole set of her old ones. Done when she, Norman I mean, was in the fifth form. His subject was a river, and hers Babylon. But, altering a line or two, it did just as well. He never guessed I saw him, and thought he had done it famously. He showed them up, and would have got some noted good mark. But that, by great good luck, Ethel made two of her pentameters too short, which he had in the whip to find out. Thinking all Norman did must be right. So he has shown up a girl's verses. Isn't that rare? cried Harry, dancing on his chair with triumph. I hope no one knows they were hers. Bless you, no, said Harry, who regarded Ethel's attainments as something contraband. Do you think I could tell? No, that's the only pity, that he can't hear it. But, after all, I don't care for anything he does. Now I know he has shown up a girl's verses. Are these verses of poor Ethel safe at home? Yes, I took care of that. Mind you don't tell anyone, Margaret. I never told even Norman. But all your school fellows aren't like these. You have Hector Ernstcliff. He's a nice fellow enough, but he is little and down in the school. Who will be making a fourth form of myself to be after him? The fact is, Margaret, they are a low, un-gentlemanly lot just now. About sixth and upper fifth form, said Harry, lowering his voice into an anxious, confidential tone. And since Norman has been less amongst them, they've got worse. And you see, now home is different. And he's unlike what he was. I'm thrown on them, and I want to get out of it. I didn't know that was it before, but Richard showed me what set me on thinking of it, and I see she knew all about it. That she did. There is a great deal in what you say, Harry, but you know she thought nothing would be of real use but changing within. If you don't get a root of strength in yourself, your ship will be no better to you than school. There will be idle midshipmen, as well as idle schoolboys. Yes, I know, said Harry, but do you think Papa will consent? She would not have minded. I can't tell. I should think he would, but if any scheme is to come to good, it must begin by you telling him of the going-out shooting. Harry sighed. I'd have done it long ago if she were here, said. I never did anything so bad before without telling, and I don't like it at all. It seems to come between him and me when I wish him good night. Then, Harry, pray do tell him. You'll have no comfort if you don't. I know I shan't, but then he'll be so angry. And do you know, Margaret, it was worse than I told you. For a coffee of partridges got up, and, unluckily, I had got the gun, and I fired and killed one. And that was regular poaching, you know? And when we heard someone coming, how we did cut. Axe, the other fellow, I mean, got it and cooked it in his bedroom and ate it for supper. And he laughed about it, but I felt so horrid all the week. Supposed a keeper had got a summons. I can only say again, the only piece will be in telling. Yes, but he will be so angry. When that lot of fellows a year or two ago did something like it, and shot some of the abbot-stoke rabbits, don't you remember how much he said about it being disgraceful, and ordering us never to have anything to do with their gunnery? And he will think it is so very bad to have gone out on a lark just now. Oh, I wish I hadn't done it. So do I indeed, Harry. But I'm sure, even if he should be angry at first, he will be pleased with your confessing. Harry looked very reluctant and disconsolate, and his sister did not wonder for Dr. May's way of hearing of a fault was never to be calculated on. Come, Harry, said she. If he is ever so angry, though I don't think he will be, do you think that will be half as bad as this load at your heart? Besides, if you are not bold enough to speak to him, do you think you can ever be brave enough for a sailor? I will, said Harry, and the words were hardly spoken before his father's hand was on the door. He was taken by surprise at the moment of trial, coming so speedily, and had half a mind to retreat by the other door. He was stayed by the reflection that Marwood would think him a coward, unfit for a sailor, and he made up his mind to endure whatever might be tied. Harry here? This is company I did not expect. Harry has something to say to you, Papa. Eh, my boy, what is it? said he kindly. Papa, I have killed a Partridge. Two fellows got me to hire a gun and go out shooting with them last Saturday, said Harry, beaking firmly and boldly now he had once begun. We meant only to go after pee wits, but a Partridge got up and I killed it. Then came a pause. Harry stopped and Doctor May waited, half expecting to hear that the boy was only brought to confession by finding himself in a scrape. Margaret spoke, and he could not be happy till he had told you. Is it so? Is that the whole? said the Doctor, looking at his son with a king glance, between affection and inquiry, as if only waiting to be sure the confession was free before he gave his free forgiveness. Yes, Papa, said Harry, his voice ended up losing their firmness, as the sweetness of expression gained the day on his father's face. Only that I know, it was very wrong, especially now, and I am very sorry, and I beg your pardon. The latter words came between sighs, fast becoming sobs, in spite of Harry's attempts to control them, as his father held out his arm and drew him close to him. That's Mama's own brave boy, he said, and he's here, in a voice which strong feeling had reduced to such a whisper that even Margaret could not hear. She only saw how Harry, sobbing aloud, clung tighter and tighter to him, till he said, Take care of my arm, and Harry sprang back at least a yard, with such a look of dismay that the Doctor laughed. No harm done, said he. I was only a little in dread of such a young lion. Come back, Harry, and he took his hand. It was a bad piece of work, and it will never do for you to let yourself be drawn into every bit of mischief that is on foot. I believe I had to give you a good lecture on it, but I can't do it after such a straightforward confession. You must have gone through enough in the last week not to be likely to do it again. Yes, Papa, thank you. I suppose I must not ask you any questions about it for fear of betraying the fellows, said Dr. May, half smiling. Thank you, Papa, said Harry, infinitely relieved and grateful, and quite content for some space to lean in silence against the chair, with that encircling arm round him, while some talk passed between his father and Margaret. What a world of thought passed through the boy's young soul in that space. First there was a thrill of intense burning love to his father, scarcely less fondness to his sweet motherly sister. A clinging feeling to every chair and table of that room, which seemed still full of his mother's presence. A numbering over of all the others with ardent attachment, and a flinging from him with horror the notion of asking to be far away from that dearest father, that loving home, that arm that was round him. Anything rather than be without them in the dreary world. But then came the remembrance of cherished visions, the shame of relinquishing a settled purpose, the thought of weary morrows, with the tempers among his playmates, and his home blank in melancholy, and the roaming spirit of enterprise stirred again, and reproached him with being a baby, for fancying he could stay at home forever. He would come back again with such honors as Alan Ernstcliffe had brought, and oh, if his father so prized them in a stranger, what would it be in his own son? Come home to such a greeting as would make up for the parting. Harry's heart throbbed again for the boundless sea, the tall ship and the wondrous foreign climes, where he had so often lived in fancy. Should he, could he speak? Was this the moment? And he stood gazing at the fire, oppressed with the weighty reality of deciding his destiny. At last Dr. May looked in his face. Well, what now, boy? You have your head full of something. What's coming next? Out it came. Papa, will you let me be a sailor? Oh, said Dr. May. That has come on again, is it? I thought that you had forgotten all of that. No, Papa, said Harry, with the manly coolness that the sense of his determination gave him. It was not a mere fancy, and I have never had it out of my head. I mean it quite an Ernest. I had rather be a sailor. I don't wish to get away from Latin and Greek. I don't mind them, but I think I could be a better sailor than anything. I know it is not all play, but I'm willing to rough it, and I'm getting so old, it is time to see about it. So will you consent to it, Papa? Well, there is some sense in your way of putting it, said Dr. May. You have it strong in your head, then, and you notice not all fair weather work? Then I do. Alan told me histories, and I've read all about it. But one must rough it anywhere, and if I am ever so far away, I'll try not to forget what's right. I'll do my duty, and not care for danger. Well said, my man, but remember, it is easier talking by one's own fireside than doing when the trial comes. And will you let me, Papa? I'll think about it. I can't make up my mind as quick as directly, you know, Harry, said his father, smiling kindly, but I won't treat it as a boy's fancy, for you've spoken in a manly way and deserve to be attended to. Now run down and tell the girls to put away their work, for I shall come down in a minute to read prayers. Harry went, and his father sighed and mused. That's a fine fellow, so this is what comes of bringing six sailors home. One's own boys must be catching the infection. Little monkey, he talks as wisely as if he were forty. He is really set on it. Do you think, Margaret? I'm afraid so. I think so, said Margaret. I don't think he ever has it out of his mind. And when the roving spirit once lays hold of a lad, he must have his way. He is good for nothing else, said Dr. May. I suppose a man may keep from evil in that profession, as well as in any other, said Margaret. Aha, you are a bit too, are you? Said the doctor. Does the husbandman, and Viper, is it? Then a smile turned into a heavy sigh, as he saw he had brought color to Margaret's pale cheek, but she answered calmly. Dear Mama did not think it would be a bad thing for him. I know, said the doctor pausing, but it never came to this with her. I wish he had chosen something else, but— and Margaret thought it right to lay before her father some part of what he had said of the temptations of the school at Stoneboro. The doctor listened and considered at last he rose, and said, Well, I'll set Richie to write to Ernest's cliff, and hear what he says. What must be must be. Tis only asking me to give up the boy, that's all. And as he left the room, his daughter again heard his sigh, and half uttered words. Oh, Maggie, Maggie! End of Part 1, Chapter 9, Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona Part 1, Chapter 10 of The Daisy Chain This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona The Daisy Chain, by Charlotte Mary Young Part 1, Chapter 10 A tale would rouse adventurous courage in a boy, and make him long to be a mariner, that he might row the main. South Hey A feldred had the satisfaction of seeing the tailors at school on Sunday, but no calls made their appearance, and on inquiry, she was told, face, ma'am, they said they would not come. So Ethel condemned Granny Hall as a horrid, vile, false, hypocritical, old creature. It was no use having anything more to do with her. Very well, said Richard, that I need not speak to my father. Richie, now, you know I meant no such thing. You know it is just what will happen continually. Of course there will be failures, but this is so abominable, when they had those nice frocks, and those two beautiful 18-pinny shells. There are three shillings out of my pound, thrown away. Perhaps there were some reason to prevent them. We will go and see. We shall only hear some more palavering. I want to have no more to say to, but here Ethel caught herself up, and began to perceive what a happiness it was that she had not the power of acting on her own impulses. The twins and their little brother of two years old were christened in the afternoon, and Flora invited the parents to drink tea in the kitchen and visit Lucy, while Ethel and Mary each carried a baby upstairs to exhibit to Margaret. Richard, in the meantime, had a conversation with John Taylor and learned a good deal about the district and the number of the people. At tea he began to rehearse his information, and the doctor listened with interest, which put Ethel in happy agitation, believing that the moment was come, and Richard seemed to be only waiting for the conclusion of a long tirade against those who ought to do something for the place. When, behold, Branch was climbing on her father's knee, begging for one of his Sunday stories. Ethel Redd was cruelly disappointed and could not at first rejoice to see her father able again to occupy himself with his little girl. The narration, in his low tones, roused her from her mood of excation. It was the story of David, which he told in language, scriptural, and poetical, so pretty and tender in its simplicity that she could not choose but attend. Ever in a non there was a glance towards Harry, as if he were secretly likening his own yellow-haired laddie to the shepherd boy ready of a fair countenance. So, tell me, Branch, he concluded, can you tell me how we may be like the shepherd boy, David? There aren't giants now, said Tom. Wrong is a giant, said his little sister. Right, my white-may flower, and what then? We are to fight, said Tom. Yes, and mine, that the giant, with all his armor, may be some great thing we have to do. But what did David begin with when he was younger? The lion and the bear. I, and mining his sheep. Perhaps little things, now you are little children, may be like the lion and the bear. So kill them off, get rid of them, cure yourself of whining or dobbling, or whatever it be, and mind your sheep well, said he, smiling sweetly in answer to the children's earnest looks, as they caught his meaning. And if you do, you will not find it near so hard to deal with your great giant struggle when it comes. Ah, thought Ethel, it suits me as well as the children. I have a great giant on Coxmore. And here I am, not allowed to attack him, because, perhaps, I am not minding my sheep, and letting my lion and my bear run loose about the house. She was less impatient this week, partly from the sense of being on probation, and partly because she, in common with all the rest, was much engrossed with Harry's fate. He came home every day at dinner time with Norman to ask if Alan Ernst's close letter had come, and at length Mary and Tom met them open mouth with the news that Margaret had it in her room. Thither they hastened. Margaret held it out with a smile of congratulation. Here it is, Harry. Papa said you were to have it, and consider it well, and let him know when you had taken time. You must do it soberly. It is once for all. Harry's impetuosity was checked, and he took the letter quietly. His sister put her hand on his shoulder. Would you mind my kissing you, dear Harry? And as he threw his arms round her neck, she whispered, Pray that you may choose right. He went quietly away, and Norman begged to know what had been Alan Ernst's close advice. I can scarcely say he gave any directed advice, said Margaret. He would not have thought that called for. He said, no doubt there were hardships and temptations, more or less, according to circumstances, but weighing one thing with another, he thought it gave us fair a chance of happiness as other professions, and the discipline and regularity had been very good for himself, as well as for many others he had known. He said, when a man is willing to go wrong there is much to help him, but when he is resolved on doing right he need not be prevented. That is what you may say of anything, said Norman. Just so, and it answers Papa's question, whether it was exposing Harry to more temptation than he must meet with anywhere. That was the reason it was such a comfort to have anyone to write to, who understands it so well. Yes, and knows Harry's nature. He said he had been fortunate in his captains, and had led, on the whole, a happy life at sea, and he thought, if it was so with him, Harry was likely to enjoy it more, being of a hearty, adventurous nature, and a sailor from choice, and not from circumstances. Then he advised for it? I did not think he would. You know he will not let Hector be a sailor. He told me he thought only a strong natural bed that way made it desirable, and that he believed Hector only wished it from imitation of him. He said too, long ago, that he thought Harry cut out for a sailor. A spirited fellow, said Norman, with a look of saddened pride and approval, not at all like one so near the same age. He is up to anything, afraid of nothing. He can look any boy in the school already. It will be worse than ever without him. Yes, you will miss your constant follower. He has been your shadow ever since he could walk. But there is a clock. I must not keep you any longer. Goodbye, Norman. Harry gave his brother the letter as soon as they were outside the house, and, while he read it, took his arm and guided him. Well, said Norman as he finished. It is all right, said Harry, and the two brothers said no more. There was something rising up in their throats at the thought that they had very few more walks to take together to bishop witch-cut school. Norman's heart was very full at the prospect of another vacancy in his home, and Harry's was swelling between the ardor of enterprise and the thought of bidding goodbye to each familiar object and, above all, to the brother who had been his model and admiration from babyhood. June, at length he broke out. I wish you were going, too. I should not mind it half so much, if you were. Nonsense, Harry. You want to be July after June all your life, do you? You'll be much more of a man without me. That evening Dr. May called Harry into his study to ask him if his mind was made up. He put the subject fairly before him, and told him not to be deterred from choosing what he thought would be for the best, but any scruples about changing his mind, which shall not think a bit the worse of you, better now than too late. There was that in his face and tone that caused Harry to say, in a stifled voice, I did not think you would care so much, Papa. I won't go if you do. Dr. May put his hand on his shoulder and was silent. Harry felt a strange mixture of hope and fear, joy and grief, disappointment and relief. You must not give it up on that account, my dear, he said at length. I should not let you see this if it did not happen at a time when I can't command myself as I ought. If you were an only son, it might be your duty to stay. Being one of many, it is nonsense to make a vow about parting with you. If it is better for you, it is better for all of us, and we shall do very well when you are once fairly gone. Don't let that influence you for a moment. Harry paused, not that he doubted, but he was collecting his energies. Then, Papa, I choose the navy. Then it is done, Harry. You have chosen in a dutiful, unselfish spirit, and I trust it will prosper with you, for I am sure your father's blessing. I and your mother's, too, go with you. Now then, after a pause, go and call Richard. I want him to write to Ernst Cliff about that naval school. You must take your leave of the Witchcutt Foundation on Friday. I shall go and give Dr. Hoxton notice tomorrow and get Tom's name down instead. And when the name of Thomas May was set down, Dr. Hoxton expressed his trust that it would pass through the school as free from the slightest blemish as those of Richard, Norman, and Harry May. Now that Harry's destiny was fixed, Ethel began to think of Coxmore again, and she accomplished another walk there with Richard, Flora, and Mary to question Granny Hall about the children's failure. The old woman's reply was a tissue of contradictions. The girls were idle hussies. All contrary, they plagued the very life out of her, and she represented herself as using the most frightful threats if they would not go to school. Breaking every bone in their skin was the least injury she promised them, till Mary, beginning to think her a cruel old woman, took all of her brother's coattails for protection. But I am afraid, Mrs. Hall, said Richard, in that tone which might be either ironical or simple. If you served them so, they would never be able to get to school at all, poor things. Less you, sir, do you think I'd ever lay a finger near them? It's only the way one must talk to children, you see, said she, patronizing his inexperience. Perhaps they have found that out, said Richard. Granny looked much entertained, and laughed triumphantly and shrewdly. Aye, aye, that they have, the lasses. They'd be sharp enough for anything, that they be. Why, when I tell little Jenny that there's the black man coming after her, what does she do, but she ups and says, Granny, I know it is only the wind in the chimney. Then I don't think it seems to answer, said Richard. Just suppose you were to try for once, really punishing them when they won't obey you. Perhaps they would do it next time. Why, sir, you see, I don't like to take this stick to them. They've got no mother, you see, sir. Mary thought her a kind grandmother, and came out from behind her brother. I think it would be kinder to do it for once. What do you think they will do as they grow older, if you don't keep them in order when they are little? This was foresight beyond Granny Hall, who began to expatiate on the trouble she had undergone in their service, and the excellence of Sam. There was certainly a charm in her manners, for Ethel forgot her charge of ingratitude, the other sisters were perfectly taken with her, nor could they any of them help giving credence to her a severations that Ginny and Polly should come to school next Sunday. They soon formed another acquaintance, a sharp-faced woman stood in their path, with a low girl in her hand, and arrested them with a low curtsy, and not a very pleasant voice, addressing herself to Flora, who was quite as tall as Richard, and appeared the person of most consequence. If you please, Miss, I wanted to speak to you. I have got a little girl here, and I want to send her to school, only I have no shoes for her. Why, surely, if she can run about here on the heath, she can go to school, said Flora. Oh, but there is all the other children to point at her. The poor thing would be daunted, you see, Miss, if I could but get some friend to give her a pair of shoes, I'd send her in a minute. I want her to get some learning. As I am always saying, I'd never keep her away if I had but got the clothes to send her in. I never let her be runnin' on the common, like them hauls, as is a shame to see them in nice frocks, as Mrs. Hall got by going hyper-critic about. What is your name, said Richard, cutting her short. What, say, if you please, sir? We heard there was good work up here, sir, and so we came, but I'd never have set foot in it if I had known what a dark, heathenish place it is, with never a gospel minister to come near it, and a great deal more to the same purpose. Mary whispered to Flora something about having outgrown her boots, but Flora silenced her by a squeeze of the hand, and the two friends of Coxmore felt a good deal puzzled. At last Flora said, You will soon get her clothed if she comes regularly to school on Sundays, for she will be admitted into the club. I will recommend her if she has a good character and comes regularly. Good morning, Mrs. Watts. Now we must go, or it will be dark before we get home, and they walk hastily away. Horrid woman was Ethel's exclamation. But Flora said innocent Mary, Why would you not let me give the little girl my boots? Perhaps I may if she is good and comes to school, said Flora. I think Margaret ought to settle what you do with your boots, said Richard, not much to Flora's satisfaction. It is the same, she said, if I approve, Margaret will not object. How well you helped us out, Flora, said Ethel, I did not know in the least what to say. It will be the best way of testing her sincerity, said Flora, and at least it will do the child good, but I congratulate you on the promising aspect of Coxmore. We did not expect to find a perfect place, said Ethel. If it were, it would be of no use to go to it. Ethel could answer with dignity, but her heart sank at the aspect of what she had undertaken. She knew there would be evil, but she had expected it in a more striking and less disagreeable form. That walk certainly made her less impatient, though it did not relax her determination, nor the guard over her lion and bear, which her own good feeling, aided by Margaret's counsel, showed her where the greatest hindrance is to her doing anything good and great. Though she was obliged to set to work so many principles and reflections to induce herself to wipe a pen, or to sit straight on her chair, that it was like winding up a steam engine to thread a needle, yet the work was being done. She was struggling with her faults, humbled by them, watching them, and overcoming them. Flora, meanwhile, was sitting calmly down in the contemplation of the unexpected services she had rendered, confident that her character for energy and excellence was established, believing it herself, and looking back on her childish vanity and love of domineering as long past and conquered. She thought her grown-up character had begun, and was too secure to examine it closely. End of Part 1, Chapter 10, Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona Part 1, Chapter 11 of The Daisy Chain This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen, Gilbert, Arizona The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young, Part 1, Chapter 11 One thing is wanting in the beamy cup of my young life. One thing to be poured in. I, and one thing is wanting to fill up the measure of proud joy and make it sin. FWF Hopes that Dr. May would ever have his mind free, seemed as fallacious as Mama's old promise to Margaret, to make dolls close for her whenever there should be no live dolls to be worked for in the nursery. Richard and Ethel themselves had their thoughts otherwise engrossed. The last week before the holidays was an important one. There was an examination by which the standing of the boys in the school was determined, and this time it was of more than ordinary importance, as the Randall Scholarship of one hundred pounds a year for three years would be open in the summer to the competition of the first six boys. Richard had never come within six of the top, but had been passed at every examination by younger boys, till his father could bear it no longer, and now Norman was too young to be likely to have much chance of being of the number. There were eight decidedly his seniors, and Harvey Anderson, a small quick-witted boy, half a year older, who had entered school at the same time, and had always been one step below him, had, in the last three months, gained fast upon him. Harry, however, met Norman to be one of the six, and declared all the fellows thought he would be, except Anderson's party. Mr. Wilmot, in a call on Ethel and Flora, told them that he thought their brother had a fair chance, but he feared he was overworking himself, and should tell the doctor so whenever he could catch him, but this was difficult, as there was a great deal of illness just then, and he was less at home than usual. All this excited the home party, but Norman only seemed annoyed by talk about it, and though always with a book in his hands was so dreamy and listless that Flora declared that there was no fear of his doing too much, she thought he would fail for want of trying. I mean to try, said Norman, say no more about it, pray. The great day was the 20th of December, and Ethel ran out, as the boys went to school, to judge of Norman's looks, which were not promising. No wonder, said Harry, since he had stayed up during Euripides and Cicero the whole length of the candle that had been new at bedtime, but never mind Ethel, if he only beats Anderson, I don't care for anything else. Oh, it will be unbearable if he does not. Do try, Norman, dear. Never you mind. He'll lie it up at the last moment, said Ethel, consolingly, to Harry, but she was very uneasy herself, for she had set her heart on his surpassing Harvey Anderson. No more was heard all day. Tom went at dinnertime to see if he could pick up any news, but he was shy, or was too late, and gained no intelligence. Dr. May and Richard talked of going to hear their speeches, and viva voce examination in the afternoon. Objects of great interest to all stone-borrow men. But just as they came home from the long day's work, Dr. May was summoned to the next town by an electric telegraph, and, as it was to a bad case, he did not expect to be at home till the mail train came in at one o'clock at night. Richard begged to go with him, and he consented, unwellingly, to please Mourgritt, who could not bear to think of his fending for himself in the dark on the railroad. Very long did the evening seem to the listening sisters. Eight and no tidings. Nine, the voice not come. Tom obliged to go to bed by sheer sleepiness, and Ethel unable to sit still, and causing Florida merely to wonder at her fidgeting so much. It would be so much better to fix her attention to some employment, while Margaret owned that Flor was right, but watched, and started at each sound, almost as anxiously as Ethel. It was ten, when there was sharp pull at the bell, and down flew the sisters. But all James was beforehand, and Harry was exclaiming, Ducks! James sees Ducks! Hooray! Fosse, Ethel, Mary! There stands the Ducks of Stoneborough! Where's Papa? Sent for to Whitford. But oh! Norman! Ducks! Is he really? To be sure, but I must tell Margaret, and I be rushed, shouted the news to her, but could not stay for congratulation. Roke Tom slumbered by wring it in his ear, and dashed into the nursery, where nurse for once forgave him for waking the baby. Norman, meanwhile, followed his eager sisters into the dry room, putting up his hand as if the light dazzled him, and looking, by no means, as if he had just achieved triumphant success. Ethel paused in her exultation. But is it? Is it true, Norman? Yes, he said wearily, making his way to his dark corner. But what was it for? How is it? I don't know, he answered. What's the matter, said Flora? Are you tired, Norman, dear? Does your headache? Yes, and the pain was evidently severe. Won't you come to Margaret, said Ethel, knowing what was the greater suffering? But he did not move, and they forbore to torment him with questions. The next moment here I came down, and an ecstasy, bringing in, from the hall, Norman's beautiful prize books, and showing off their Latin inscription. Ah, said he, looking at his brother. He is regularly done for. He ought to turn in at once. That Everard is a famous fellow for an examiner. He said he never had seen such a copy of verses, sent up by a school boy, and could hardly believe June was barely sixteen. Old Hoxton says he is the youngest dux they have had these fifty years that he has known the school. And Mr. Wilmot said, twice the most creditable examination he had ever known. And then I might tell Papa so. What did possess that ridiculous old landlubber at Whitford, to go and get on the sick list on this of all the nights of the year? June, how can you go and sing there when you know you ought to be in your birth? I wish he was, said Flora, but let him have some tea first. And tell us more, Harry, said Ethel. Oh, it is famous. I knew he would come right at last. It is too delightful if Papa was but here. Isn't it? You should have seen how Anderson grinned. He is only fourth, down below Forder and Chevio and Ash. Well, I did not think Norman would have been before Forder and Chevio. That is grand. It was the verses that did it, said Harry. They had an hour to do Themistocles on the hearth of Admitus, and there he beat them all to shivers. Twas' all done, smack smooth without a scratch, in al-caix, and Chevio heard Wilmot sing. Twas' no mere task but had poetry and all that sort of thing in it. But I don't know whether that would have done if he had not come out so strong in the recitation. They put him on in Priam's speech to Achilles, and he said it, Oh, it was too bad Papa did not hear him. Everyone held their breath and listened. How you do go on, muttered Norman, but no one he did, and Harry continued. He construed a chorus of Sophocles without a blunder. But what did the business was this, I believe. They asked all manner of out-of-the-way questions, history and geography, what no one expected. And the fellows who read nothing they can help were thoroughly posed. Porter had not a word to say, and the others were worse, for Chevio thought Queen Elizabeth Earl of Leicester was Simon de Montfort, and didn't know when that battle was, beginning with an E. Was it F. Sham or Edge Hill? Oh, Harry, you are as bad yourself. But anyone would know Leicester because of Kenilworth, said Harry, and I'm not sixth form. If Papa had but been there, everyone was asking for him and wishing it. For Dr. Hoxton called me. They shook hands with me and wished me joy of it, and told me to tell my father how well Norman had done. I suppose you look so happy they could not help it, said Flora, smiling at that honest, beaming face of joy. I, said Norman, looking up, they had something to say to him on his own score, which he has forgotten. I should think not, said Harry. Why, what do you think they said, that I had gone on as well as all the maze, and they trusted I should still and be a credit to my profession? Oh, Harry, why didn't you tell us? Oh, that is grand. And, as the two elder girls made this exclamation, Mary proceeded to a rapturous embrace. Get along, Mary. You are a throttling one. Mr. Everhart inquired from my father and Margaret, and said he called tomorrow, and Hoxton and Wilmett kept on wishing he was there. I wish he had been, said Ethel. He would have taken such delight in it, but, even if he could have gone, he doubted whether it would not have made Norman get on worse from anxiety. Well, Shivia wanted me to send up for him at dinner time, said Harry. For as soon as we sat down in the hall, June turned off Giddy and could not stay, and looked so horrid we thought it was all over with him, and he would not be able to go up at all. And Shivia thought you ought to send for Papa? Yes, I knew he would not be in, so we left him lying down on the bench in the cloister till dinner was over. What a place for catching cold, said Flora. So Shivia said, but I couldn't help it, and when we went to call him afterwards, he was all right. Wasn't it fun when the names were called over and made senior at the head? I don't think it will be better when I am a post-captain myself, but Margaret has not heard half yet. After telling it once in her room, once in the nursery, in whispers, like gusts of wind, and once in the pantry, Harry employed himself in writing. Norman is ducked in immense letters on pieces of paper, which he disposed all over the house to meet the eyes of his father and Richard on their return. Ethel's joy was sadly damped by Norman's manner. He hardly spoke, only just came in to wish Margaret good night, and shrank from her affectionate sayings, departing abruptly to his own room. Poor fellow, he is sadly overdone, said she, as he went. Oh, sighed Ethel, nearly ready to cry. It is not like what I used to fancy, it would be when he came to the head of the school. It will be different tomorrow, said Margaret, trying to console herself as well as Ethel. Then Harry has been on the strain this whole day, and long before, doing so much more than older boys. No wonder he is tired and worn out. Ethel did not understand what mental fatigue was, for her active, vigorous spirit had never been tasked beyond his powers. I hope he will be like himself tomorrow, said she, disconsolently. I never saw him rough and hasty before. It was even with you, Margaret. No, no Ethel, you are going to blame your own Norman for unkindness on this of all days in the year. You know how it was. You love him better, just as I do, for not being able to bear to stay in this room where Yes, said Ethel mournfully. It was a great shame of me. How could I? Dear Norman, how he does grieve, what love his must have been. But yet, Margaret, she said, impatiently in the hot tears breaking out. I cannot, cannot bear it, to have him not carrying one bit for all of us. I want him to triumph. I can't, without him. What, Ethel, you, who said you didn't care from your distinction and praise? Don't you think Dear Mama would say it was safer for him not to be delighted and triumphant? It is very tiresome said Ethel, nearly convinced, but in a slightly petulant voice. And does one not love those two dear boys tonight, said Margaret? Norman not able to rejoice in his victory without her, and Harry in such an ecstasy with Norman's honors. I don't think I ever was so fond of my two brothers. Ethel smiled and drew up her head and said no boys were like them anywhere, and Papa would be delighted, and so went to bed happier in her exultation, and in hoping that the holidays would make Norman himself again. Nothing could be better news for Dr. May, who had never lost a grain of the ancient school-party loyalty that is part of the nature of the English gentleman. He was a thorough stone-borrow boy, had followed the politics of the Blitchcote Foundation year by year all his life, and perhaps in his heart regarded no honor as more to be prize than that of Ducks and Randall Scholar. Harry was in his room the next morning as soon as ever he was stirring, a welcomed guest teased a little at first by his pretending to take it all as a sailor's prank to hoax him and Richard, and then free to pour out to delighted ears the whole history of the examination and of everyone's congratulations. Norman himself was asleep when Harry went to give this narration. He came down late and his father rose to meet him as he entered. My boy, he said, I had not expected this of you. Well done, Norman. And the whole tone and gesture had a heartfelt approval and joy in them that Ethel knew her brother was deeply thrilled by for his color deepened and his lips quivered into something like a smile though he did not lift his eyes. Then came Richard's warm greeting and congratulation he too showing himself as delighted as if the honors were his own and then Dr. May again in lively tones like old times laughing at Norman for sleeping late and still not looking while awake asking him if he was quite sure it was not all a dream. Well, said Norman, I should think it was if it were not that you all believe it. Harry had better go to sleep next, said Dr. May, and see what dreaming will make him. If it makes ducks of Norman who knows but it may make drakes of him? Ha! Ethel! O give us for our king such queens and for our ducks such drakes there had not been such a merry breakfast for months there was the old confusion of voices the boys Richard and the doctor had much to talk over of the school doings of this week and there was nearly as much laughing as in days past Ethel wondered whether anyone but herself observed that the voice most seldom heard was Norman's. The promise call was made by Dr. Hoxton and Mr. Everard an old friend and after their departure Dr. May came to Margaret's room with fresh accounts corroborating what Harry had said of the clear knowledge and brilliant talent that Norman had displayed to a degree that surprised his masters almost as much as the examiners. The copy of verses Dr. May brought with him and construed them to Margaret commenting all the way on their ease and the fullness of thought certainly remarkable in a boy of 16. They were then resigned to Ethel's keeping and she could not help imparting her admiration to their author with some apology for vexing him again. I don't want to be cross said Norman whom these words roused to a sense that he had been cherished last night but I cannot help it I wish people would not make such a fuss about it. I don't think you can be well, Norman. Nonsense there's nothing to matter with me but I don't understand you're not caring at all and not being the least pleased It only makes it worse, said Norman. I only feel as if I wanted to be out of the way. My only comfortable time yesterday was on that bench in the cool quiet cloister. I don't think I could have got through without that when they left me in peace till Cheviot and Harry came to route me up and I knew it was all coming. Ah! You have overworked yourself but it was for something. You have given Papa such pleasure and comfort as you can't help being glad of. That is very different from us foolish young ones and our trumpeting. What comfort can it be? I've not been the smallest youth all this time. When he was ill I left him to Ernstcliff and lay on the floor like an ass and if he were to ask me to touch his arm I should be as bad again. I find thing for me to have talked all that arrogant stuff about Richard. I hate the thought of it and as if to make arrows and barbs of it here's Richard making as much of this as if it was a double first class. He afraid to be compared with me, indeed. Norman, indeed this was going too far. We can't be as useful as the elder ones and when you know how Papa was vexed about Richard you must be glad to have pleased him. If I were he it would only make me miss her more. I believe he only makes much of me that he may not disappoint me. I don't think so. He is really glad and the more because she would have been so pleased. He said it would have been a happy day for her and there was more of a glad look than the sorry one. It was a glistening look that comes when he is watching baby or hearing Margaret say pretty things to her. You see it is the first bright morning we have had. Yes, it said Norman perhaps it was but I don't know. I thought half of it was dim. Oh, Norman. And another thing, Ethel I don't feel as if I had fairly earned it. Porter or Shevio I do have had it. They are both more really good scholars than I am and have always been above me. There was nothing I really knew better except those historical questions that no one reckoned on and not living at home with their sisters and books. They had no such chance and it is very hard on them and I don't like it. Well, but she really and truly beat them in everything. Ah, by chance there were lots of places in Construing where I should have broken down if I had happened to be set on in them. It was only a wonder I did not in that chorus or had only looked at it twice but Everard asked me nothing but what I knew and now and then I get into a funny state when nothing is too hard for me and that was how it was yesterday evening. Generally I feel as dull as a post said Norman yawning and stretching. I could not make a nonsense hexameter this minute if I was to die for it. I sort of berserk our fury said Ethel like that night you did the choral worm verses. It's very odd. Are you sure you are well, do Norman? To which he answered with displeasure that he was as well as possible ordered her not to go and make any more fuss and left her hastily. She was unhappy and far from satisfied. She had never known his temper so much affected and was much puzzled but she was too much afraid of vexing him to impart her perplexity even to Margaret. However the next day Sunday as she was reading to Margaret after church her father came in and the first thing he said was I want to know what you think of Norman. How do you mean? said Margaret in health or spirits. Both said Dr. May. Poor boy he has never held up his head since October and at his age that is hardly natural. He goes moping about has lost flesh and appetite and looks altogether out of order shooting up like a maypole too. Mind and body said Margaret while Ethel gazed intently at her father wondering whether she ought to speak for Margaret did not know half what she did. Nothing about the bad nights nor what he called the funny state. Yes both. I fancied it was only his rapid growth and the excitement of this examination and that it would go off but I think there's more amiss. He was lounging about doing nothing when the girls were gone to school after dinner and I asked him to walk down with me to the alms house. He did not seem very willing but he went and presently as I had hold of his arm I felt him shivering and saw him turn his pale as a sheet. As soon as I noticed it he flushed crimson and would not hear of turning back. Stoutly protesting he was quite well but I saw his hand was quivering even when I got into church. Why Ethel you have turned as red as he did. Then he has done it exclaimed Ethel in a smothered voice. What do you mean? Speak Ethel. He has gone past it. The place whispered she. The doctor made a sound of sorrowful ascent as if much struck. Then said You don't mean he has never been there since? Yes said Ethel. He has always gone round Randall's alley or the garden. He has said nothing but has contrived to avoid it. Well said Dr. May after a pause. I hope none of us knew the exact spot. We don't he never told us but he was there. Was he exclaimed your father? I had no notion of that. How came he there? He went on with Mr. Ernstcliffe and saw it all said Ethel as her father drew out her words apparently with his eye and then came up to my room so faint that he was obliged to lie on the floor ever so long. Faint how long did it last? said her father examining her without apparent emotion as if it had been an indifferent patient. I don't know things seem so long that evening till after dark at least and it came on in the morning. No the Monday. I believe it was your arm for talking of going to see you always brought it on till Mr. Ward gave him a dose of brandy and water and that stopped it. I wish I had known this before derangement of the nervous system no doubt a susceptible boy like that I wonder what sort of nights he has been having. Terrible one said Ethel I don't think he ever sleeps quietly till morning. He has dreams and he groans and talks in his sleep Harry can tell you all that. Bless me cried Dr. May in some anger what have you all been thinking about to keep this to yourselves all this time? He could not bear to have it mentioned said Ethel timidly and I didn't know that it signified so much does it? It signified so much that I had rather have given a thousand pounds than have let him go on all this time to be overworked at school and wound up to that examination. Oh dear I am sorry said Ethel in great dismay if you had but been at home when Chevio wanted Harry to have sent for you because he did not think him fit for it and Ethel was much relieved by pouring out all she knew though her alarm was by no means lessened by the effect it produced on her father especially when you heard of the funny state a fine state of things he said I wonder it has not brought on a tremendous illness by this time a boy of that sensitive temperament meeting with such a shock never looked after the quietest and most knocked down of all and therefore the most neglected his whole system disordered and then driven to school to be harassed and overworked if we had wanted to occasion brain fever we could not have gone a better way to set about it I should not wonder if health and nerves were damaged for life oh Papa Papa cried Ethel in extreme distress what shall I do I wish I had told you but I'm not blaming you Ethel you knew no better but it has been grievous neglect it is plain enough there is no one to see after you said the doctor with a low groan we may be taking it in time said Margaret soft voice it is very well it has gone on no longer three months as long enough said Dr May I suppose continued Margaret it will be better not to let Dear Norman know we are uneasy about him no no certainly not don't say a word of this to him I shall find Harry and ask about these disturbed nights and then watch him trusting it may not have gone too far but there must be dreadful excitability of brain he went away leaving Margaret to comfort Ethel as well as she could by showing her that he had not said the mischief was done putting her in mind that he was want to speak strongly and trying to make her thankful that her brother would now have such care as might avert all evil results but oh said Ethel his success has been dearly purchased End of Part 1 Chapter 11 Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen Gilbert Arizona Part 1 Chapter 12 of The Daisy Chain This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen Gilbert Arizona The Daisy Chain by Charlotte Mary Young Part 1 Chapter 12 It hath do me motul woe Ye hath it? Use quote he this medicine Every day this may or that thou dine go lokin' in upon the fresh Daisy and though thou be for woe in point to die that shall fold greatly lessen thee of thy pine Chaucer That night Norman started from what was not so much sleep as a trans of oppression and suffering and beheld his father's face watching him attentively Papa What's the matter? said he starting up Is anyone ill? No, no one Lie down again said Dr. May possessing himself of a hand with a burning spot in the palm and a throbbing pulse But what made you come here? Have I disturbed anyone? Have I been talking? Only mumbling a little but you look very uncomfortable But I'm not ill What are you feeling my pulse for? said Norman uneasily To see whether that restless sleep has quickened it Norman scarcely let his father count for a moment before he asked What o'clock is it? A little after twelve What does make you stay up so late, Papa? I often do when my arm seems likely to keep me awake Richard has done all I want Prano stay here in the cold said Norman with feverish impatience as he turned upwards the cool side of his pillow Good night No hurry said his father still watching him There's nothing to matter repeated the boy Do you often have such unquiet nights? Oh, it does not signify Good night and he tried to look settled and comfortable Norman said his father in a voice betraying much grief It will not do to go on in this way If your mother was here you would not close yourself against her Norman interrupted him in a voice strangled with sobs It is no good seeing it I thought it would only make it worse for you But that's it I cannot bury the being without her Dr. May was glad to see that a gush of tears followed this exclamation as Norman hid his face under the coverings My poor boy said he hardly able to speak Only one can come for you truly But you must not turn for me You must let me do what I can for you though it is not the same I thought it would grieve you more I said Norman turning his face towards him again What? To find my children feeling with me and knowing what they have lost? Surely not, Norman And it is of no use added Norman hiding his face again No one can comfort There you are wrong said Dr. May with deep feeling There is much comfort in everything in everybody in kindness and all around if one can only open one's mind to it But I did not come to keep you awake with such talk I saw you are not quite well so I came up to see about you And now, Norman you will not refuse to own that something is the matter I did not know it said Norman I really believe I am well if I could get rid of these horrible nights I either lie awake tumbling and tossing or I get all sorts of unbearable dreams Ah, when I asked Master Harry about you all the answer I could get was that he was quite used to it and did not mind it at all as if I asked for his sake How fast that boy sleeps He is fit for amid Shipman's birth But do you think there is anything amiss with me? I shall know more about that tomorrow morning Come to my room as soon as you are up unless I come to you Now I have something to read before I go to bed and I may as well try if it will put you to sleep Norman's last sight that night was of the outline of his father's profile and he was scarcely awake the next morning before Dr. May was there again Unwilling as he had been to give way it was a relief to relinquish the struggle to think himself well and to venture to lounge and doddle rest his heavy head and stretch his inert limbs without fear of remark his father found him after breakfast lying on the sofa in the dry room with a greet play by his side telling Ethel what words to look out Add it again exclaimed Dr. May Carry it away Ethel I will have no Latin or Greek touch these holidays You know said Norman if I don't sap I shall have no chance of keeping up You'll keep nowhere if you don't rest it is only euripides and I can't do anything else said Norman languidly Very likely I don't care You have to get well first of all and the Greek will take care of itself Go up to Margaret I put you in her keeping while I am gone to Whitford After that I dare say Richard will be very glad to have a holiday and let you drive to Abedstoke Norman rose and weirdly walked upstairs while his sister lingered to excuse herself Papa I did not think euripides would hurt him he knows it all so well and he said he could not read anything else Just so, Ethel Poor fellow he has not spirits or energy for anything His mind was forced into those classic holidays when it wanted rest and now it has not spring enough to turn back again Do you think him so very ill? Not exactly but there's low fever hanging about him and we must look after him well and I hope we may get him right I have told Margaret about him I can't stop any longer now Norman found the baby in his sister's room and this was just what suited him The days he showed a marked preference for her brothers and to find her so merry and good with him pleased and flattered him far more than his victory at school He carried her about danced her whistled to her and made her admire her pretty blue eyes in the glass most successfully till nurse carried her off but perhaps he had been sent up rather too soon for as he sat in the great chair by the fire he was teased by the constant coming and going all the petty cares of a large household transacted by Margaret orders to butcher and cook Harry racing in to ask to take Tom to the river Tom who was to go when his lesson was done coming perpetually to try to repeat the same unhappy bit of as in proscenty each time in a worse wine How can you bear it Margaret? said Norman as she found you dismissed Tom and laid down her account book taking up some delicate fancy work Mercy here's another as enter a message about lamp oil in the midst of which Mary burst in to beg Margaret to get Miss Winter to let her go to the river with Harry and Tom No indeed Mary I could not think of such a thing you had better go back to your lessons and don't be silly as she looked much disposed to cry No one but a Tom boy would dream of it added Norman and Mary departed disconsolate while Margaret gave a sigh of weariness and said as she returned to her work there I believe I have done I hope I was not cross with poor Mary but it was rather too much to ask I can't think how you can help being cross to everyone said Norman as he took away the books she had done with I am afraid I am said Margaret sadly it does get trying at times I should think so this eternal worrying must be more than anyone can bear always lying there too it is only now and then that it grows tiresome said Margaret I am too happy to be of some use and it is too bad to repine but sometimes a feeling comes of it's being always the same as a little change would be such a treat aren't you very tired of lying in bed yes very sometimes I fancy that it is only fancy that I could move better if I was up and dressed it has seen more so lately since I have been stronger when do you think they will let you get up there's the question I believe Papa thinks I might be lifted to the sofa now and oh how I long for it but then Mr. Ward does not approve of my sitting up even as I am doing now and wants to keep me flat Papa thinks that of no use and likely to hurt my general health and I believe the end of it will be that he will ask Sir Matthew Fleed's opinion is that the man he calls Matt yes you know they went through the university together and were at Edinburgh and Paris but they have never met since he set up in London and grew so famous I believe it would be a great treat to Papa to have him and it would be a good thing for Papa too I don't think his arm is going on right he does not trust to Mr. Ward's treatment and I'm sure someone else ought to see it did you know Margaret that he sits up quite late because he cannot sleep for it yes I hear him moving about but don't tell him so I would not have him guessed for the world that it kept me awake and does it why if I think he is awake in a pain I cannot settle myself to sleep but that is no matter having no exercise of course I don't sleep so much but I am very anxious about him he looks so thin and gets so fag and no wonder ah Mr. Everard told me he was quite shocked to see him and would hardly have known him and Norman grown from the bottom of his heart well I shall hope much from Sir Matthews taking him in hand said Margaret cheerfully he will mind him though he will not Mr. Ward I wish the holidays were over said Norman with a yawn as expressive as a sigh that's not civil on the third day said Margaret smiling when I'm so glad to have you look after me so as to set Flora at liberty what can I do you any good said Norman with a shade of his former alacrity to be sure you can a great deal better not come near me otherwise for I make everyone into a slave I want my morning reading no that book on advent there shall I read it to you thank you that's nice and I shall get on with baby's frock Norman read but air long took to yawning Margaret begged for the book that she willingly resigned saying have her that he liked it only he was stupid she read on allowed till she heard a succession of heavy breathings and saw him fast asleep and so he continued to awake by his father's coming home Richard and Ethel were glad of a walk for Margaret had found them a pleasant errand their cocks more children could not go home to dinner between service and afternoon school and Margaret had desired the cook to serve them up some broth in the back kitchen to which the brother and sister were now to invite them Mary was allowed to take her boots to Rebecca Watts since Margaret held that goodness had better be profitable at least at the outset and Harry and Tom joined the party Norman in the meantime was driving his father a holiday preferment highly valued in the days when Dr. May used only to assume the reins when his spirited horses showed too much consciousness that they had a young hand over them or when the old hack took a fit of laziness now Norman needed Richard's assurance that the bay was steady so far was he from being troubled with his ancient desire that the Steve would wear right up on his hind legs he could neither talk nor listen till he was clear out of town and found himself master of the animal and even then the words were few and chiefly spoken by Dr. May until after going along about three miles of the Turnpike road he desired Norman to turn down a cross-country lane where does this lead comes out at Aputstock but I have to go to an outlying farm Papa said Norman after a few minutes I wish you would let me do my Greek is that what you have been pondering all this time what may not the bonus Homer is slumber sometimes it is not Homer it is Euripides I do assure you Papa it is no trouble and I get much worse without it well stop here the road grows so bad that we will walk and let the boy lead the horse to meet us at Woodcott Norman followed his father down a steep narrow lane little better than a stony water course and began to repeat if you would but let me do my work I've got nothing else to do and now they have put me out I should not like not to keep my place very likely but hello how swell this is said Dr. May as they came to the bottom of the valley where a stream rushed along colored with a turban creamy yellow making little whirlpools where it crossed the road and brawling loudly just above where roared and foam between two steep banks of rock crossed by a foot bridge of planks guarded by a handrail of rough poles the doctor had traversed it and gone a few paces beyond when looking back he saw Norman very pale with one foot on the plank and one hand grasping the rail he came back and held out his hand which Norman gladly caught at but no sooner was the other side of chain then the boy though he gasped with relief exclaim this is too bad wait one moment please and let me go back he tried but the first touch of the shaking rail and glance had the chasm disconcerted him and his father seeing his white cheeks and rigid lips said stop Norman don't try it you are not fit he added as the boy came to him reluctantly I can't bear to be such a britch said he I never used to be I will not let me conquer it and he was turning back but the doctor took his arm saying decidedly no I won't have it done you are only making it worse by putting a force on yourself but the father Norman was from the bridge the more displeased he was with himself and more anxious to dare it again there's no bearing it he muttered let me only run back I'll overtake you I must do it if no one looks on no such thing said the doctor holding him fast if you do you'll have it all over again at night that's better than to know I am worse than Tom I tell you Norman it is no such thing you will recover your tone if you will only do as you are told but your nerves have had a severe shock and when you force yourself in this way you'll only increase the mischief nerves muttered Norman distantly I thought they were only fit for fine ladies Dr. May smiled well will it content you if I promise that as soon as I see fit I'll bring you here and let you march over that bridge as often as you like I suppose I must be contented but I don't like to feel like a fool you need not while the moral determination is sound but my Greek papa at it again I declare Norman you are the worst patient I ever had Norman made no answer and Dr. May presently said well let me hear what you have to say about it I assure you it is not that I don't want you to get on but that I see you are in great need of rest thank you papa I know you mean it for my good but I don't think you do know how horrid it is I have got nothing on earth to do or care for the school work comes quite easy to me and I'm sure thinking is worse and then Norman spoke vehemently now they have put me up it will never do to be beaten and all the four others ought to be able to do it I did not want or expect to be ducks but now I am you could not bear me not to eat my place and to miss the Randall scholarship as I certainly shall if I do not work these whole holidays Norman I know it said his father kindly I am very sorry for you and I know I am asking of you what I could not have done at your age indeed I don't believe I could have done it for you a few months ago it is my fault that you have been let alone to have an over strain and pressure on your mind when you were not fit for it and I cannot see any remedy but complete freedom from work at the same time if you fret and harass yourself about being surpassed that is as you say much worse for you than Latin and Greek perhaps I may be wrong and study might not do you the harm I think it would at any rate it is better than tormenting yourself about next half year so I will not positively forbid it but I think you had much better let it alone I don't want to make it a matter of duty I only tell you this that you may set your mind at rest as far as I am concerned if you do lose your place I will consider it as my own doing and not be disappointed I had rather see you a healthy, vigorous, useful man than a poor, peeling, nervous stretch of a scholar if you would get all the prizes in the university Norman made a little murmuring sound of a scent and both were silent for some moments then he said then you will not be displeased papa if I do read as long as I feel it does me no harm I told you I don't mean to make it a matter of obedience do as you please I had rather you read than vex to yourself I am glad of it thank you papa said Norman in a much cheered voice they had in the meantime been mounting a rising ground clothed with stunted wood and came out on a white heath brown with dead bracken a hollow traced by the tops of leafless trees marked the course of the stream that traversed it and the inequalities of ground becoming more rugged and outlines and grayer in coloring as they receded till they were closed by a dark fur wood beyond which rose in extreme distance the grand mass of Welsh mountain heads purple against the evening sky except where the crowing peaks bore a veil of snow behind the sky was pure gold gradually shading into pale green and then into clear light wintry blue while the sun sitting behind two of the loftiest seemed to confound their outlines and blend them in one flood of soft hazy brightness doctor may looked at his son and saw his face clear up his brow expand and his lips unclose with admiration yes said the doctor it is very fine is it not I used to bring mama here now and then for a treat because it put her in mind of her Scottish hills well yours are the golden hills of heaven now my Maggie he added hardly knowing that he spoke aloud Norman's throat swelled as he looked up in his face and cast down his eyes hastily to hide the tears that have gathered on his eyelashes I'll leave you here said doctor may I have to go to a farmhouse close by in the hollow behind us there's a girl recovering from a fever I'll not be 10 minutes so wait here when he came back Norman was still where he had left him gazing earnestly and the tears standing on his cheeks he did not move till his father laid his hand on his shoulder they walked away together without a word and scarcely spoke all the way home doctor may went to Margaret and talked to her of Norman's fine character an intense affection for his mother the determined temper and quietly born grief for which the doctor seemed to have worked himself into a perfect enthusiasm of admiration but lamenting that he could not tell what to do with him study or no study heard him alike and he dreaded to see health and spirits shattered forever they tried to devise change of scene but it did not seem possible just at present and Margaret besides her fears for Norman was much grieved to see this added to her father's troubles at night doctor may again went up to see whether Norman whom he had moved into Margaret's former room were again suffering from fever he found him asleep in a restless attitude as if he had just dropped off and waking almost at the instant of his entrance he exclaimed is it you I thought it was mama she said it was all ambition then starting and looking around the room and at his father he collected himself and said with a slight smile I didn't know I had been asleep I was awake just now thinking about it Papa I'll give it up I'll try to put next half out of my head and not mind if they do pass me that's right my boy said the doctor at least a cheviot and ford are due for they ought I only hope Anderson won't I can stand anything but that but that is nonsense too you are quite right Norman said the doctor and it is a great relief to me that you see the thing so sensibly no I don't see it sensibly at all Papa I hate it all the time and I don't know whether I can keep from thinking of it when I have nothing to do but I see it is wrong I thought all ambition and nonsense was gone out of me when I cared so little for the examination but now I see though I did not want to be made first I can't bear not to be first and that's the old story just as she used to tell me to guard against ambition so I'll take my chance and if I should get put down why it was not fair that I should be put up and it is what I ought to be and serve me right into the bargain well that's the best sort of sense your mother's sense said the doctor more affected than he liked to show no wonder she came to you in your dream Norman my boy if you had come to such a resolution I was half in hopes you had some such notion when I came upon you unfair of you down I think that sky did it said Norman in a low voice it made me think of her in a different way and what you said too what did I say I don't remember but Norman could not repeat the words and only murmured golden hills it was enough I see said the doctor you had dwelt on the blank here not taken home what it is to her I almost sobbed Norman I never could before that made me after a long silence and then I know how foolish I was and how she would say it was wrong to make this fuss when you did not like it about my place and that it was not for the sake of my duty but of ambition I knew that but till I went to bed tonight I could not tell whether I could make up my mind so I would say nothing end of part one chapter 12 recording by Nancy Cochran-Gergen Gilbert Arizona