A Flat Iron for a Farthing | Page 8

privilege to play in my father's dressing-room during part of
his toilet, and we had a stereotyped joke between us in reference to his
shaving, which always ended in my receiving a piece of the creamy
lather on the tip of my nose.
But it was one evening when the shadow hanging over the household
was deepest upon me, that I slipped unobserved out of the
drawing-room where Miss Burton was "performing" on my mother's
piano, and crept slowly and sadly upstairs. I went slowly, partly out of
my heavy grief, and partly because I carried Rubens in my arms. Had
not the lawyer kicked him because he lay upon the pedal? I was
resolved that after such an insult he should not so much as have the
trouble of walking upstairs. So I carried him, and as I went I condoled
with him.
"Did the nasty man kick him? My poor Ru, my darling, dear Ru! The
pedal is yours, and not his, and the whole house is yours, and not his
nor Miss Burton's; and oh, I wish they would go!"
As I whined, Rubens whined; as I kissed him he licked me, and the
result was unfavourable to balance, and I was obliged to sit down on a
step. And as I sat I wept, and as I wept that overpowering mother-need
came over me, which drives even the little ragamuffin of the gutter to
carry his complaints to "mother" for comfort and redress. And I took up
Rubens in my arms again, sobbing, and saying, "I shall go to Mamma!"
and so weeping and in the darkness we crept into the dressing-room.
I could see nothing, but I knew well where "Mamma" was, and
standing under the picture, I sobbed out my incoherent complaint.
"Good-evening, Mamma! Good-evening, Sister Alice! Please, Mamma,

it's me and Rubens." (Sobs on my part, and frantic attempts by Rubens
to lick every inch of my face at once.) "And please, Mamma, we're
very miser-r-r-r-rable. And oh! please, Mamma, don't let papa marry
Miss Burton. Please, please don't, dear, beautiful, golden Mamma! And
oh! how we wish you could come back! Rubens and I."
My voice died away with a wail which was dismally echoed by Rubens.
Then, suddenly, in the darkness came a sob that was purely human, and
I was clasped in a woman's arms, and covered with tender kisses and
soothing caresses. For one wild moment, in my excitement, and the
boundless faith of childhood, I thought my mother had heard me, and
come back.
But it was only Nurse Bundle. She had been putting away some clothes
in my father's bedroom, and had been drawn to the dressing-room by
hearing my voice.
I think this scene decided her to take some active steps. I feel
convinced that in some way it was through her influence that a letter of
invitation was despatched the following day to Aunt Maria.
CHAPTER IV
AUNT MARIA--THE ENEMY ROUTED--LONDON TOWN
Aunt Maria was my father's sister. She was married to a wealthy
gentleman, and had a large family of children. It was from her that we
originally got Nurse Bundle; and anecdotes of her and of my cousins,
and wonderful accounts of London (where they lived), had long figured
conspicuously in Mrs. Bundle's nursery chronicles.
Aunt Maria came, and Uncle Ascott came with her.
It is not altogether without a reason that I speak of them in this order.
Aunt Maria was the active partner of their establishment. She was a
clever, vigorous, well-educated, inartistic, kindly, managing woman.
She was not exactly "meddling," but when she thought it her duty to
interfere in a matter, no delicacy of scruples, and no nervousness

baulked the directness of her proceedings. When she was most
sweeping or uncompromising, Uncle Ascott would say, "My dear
Maria!" But it was generally from a spasm of nervous cowardice, and
not from any deliberate wish to interrupt Aunt Maria's course of action.
He trusted her entirely.
Aunt Maria was very shrewd, and that long interview with Nurse
Bundle in her own room was hardly needed to acquaint her with the
condition of domestic politics in our establishment. She "took in" the
Burtons with one glance. The ladies "fell out" the following evening.
The Burtons left Dacrefield the next morning, and at lunch Aunt Maria
"pulled them to pieces" with as little remorse as a cook would pluck a
partridge. I never saw Miss Eliza Burton again.
Aunt Maria did not fondle or spoil me. She might perhaps have shown
more tenderness to her brother's only and motherless child; but, after
Miss Burton, hers was a fault on the right side. She had a kindly
interest in me, and she showed it by asking me to pay her a visit in
London.
"It