A Modern Tomboy | Page 7

with all her heart and soul.
When Miss Archer left her, having nothing particular to do herself and
being most anxious to avoid the strange girls, she went up the avenue,
and passing through a wicket-gate near the entrance, walked along by
the side of a narrow stream where all sorts of wild flowers were always
growing. Here might be seen the blue forget-me-not, the meadow-sweet,
great branches of wild honeysuckle, dog-roses, and many other flowers
too numerous to mention. As a rule, Lucy loved flowers, as most
country girls do; but she had neither eyes nor ears for them to-day. She
was thinking of her companions, and how she was to tolerate them.
And as she walked she saw in a bend in the road, coming to meet her, a
stout, elderly, very plainly dressed woman.
Lucy stood still for an instant, and then uttered a perfect shout of

welcome, and ran into the arms of her aunt Susan.
Mrs. Susan Brett was the wife of a hard-working clergyman in a town
about ten miles away. She had no children of her own, and devoted her
whole time to helping her husband in his huge parish. She spent little or
no money on dress, and was certainly a very plain woman. She had a
large, pale face, somewhat flat, with wide nostrils, a long upper lip,
small pale-blue eyes, and a somewhat bulgy forehead. Plain she
undoubtedly was, but no one who knew her well ever gave her looks a
thought, so genial was her smile, so hearty her hand-clasp, so
sympathetic her words. She was beloved by her husband's parishioners,
and in especial she was loved by Lucy Merriman, who had a sort of
fascination in watching her and in wondering at her.
From time to time Lucy had visited the Bretts in their small Rectory in
the town of Dartford. Nobody in all the world could be more welcome
to the child in her present mood than her aunt Susan, and she ran
forward with outstretched arms.
"Oh, Aunt Susy, I am glad to see you! But what has brought you
to-day?"
"Why, this, my dear," said Mrs. Brett. "I just had three hours to spare
while William was busy over his sermon for next Sunday. He is writing
a new sermon--he hasn't done that for quite six months--and he said he
wanted the house to himself, and no excuse for any one to come in.
And he just asked me if I'd like to have a peep into the country; that
always means a visit to Sunnyside. So I said I'd look up the trains, and
of course there was one just convenient, so I clapped on my hat--you
don't mind it being my oldest one--and here I am."
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Lucy. "I think I wanted you, Aunt Susan, more
than any one else in all the world."
She tucked her hand through her aunt's arm as she spoke, and they
turned and walked slowly along by the riverside.
Mrs. Brett, if she had a plain face, had by no means a correspondingly

plain soul. On the contrary, it was attuned to the best, the richest, the
highest in God's world. She could see the loveliness of trees, of river, of
flowers. She could listen to the song of the wild birds, and thank her
Maker that she was born into so good a world. Nothing rested her, as
she expressed it, like a visit into the country. Nothing made the
dreadful things she had often to encounter in town seem more
endurable than the sweet-peas, the roses, the green trees, the green
grass, the fragrance and perfume of the country; and when she saw her
little niece--for she was very fond of Lucy--looking discontented and
unhappy, Mrs. Brett at once perceived a reason for her unexpected visit
to Sunnyside.
"We needn't go too fast, need we?" she said. "If we go down this path,
and note the flowers--aren't the flowers lovely, Lucy?"----
"Yes," replied Lucy.
"We shall be in time for tea, shall we not? But tell me, how is your
father, dear? I see you are in trouble of some sort. Is he worse?"
"No, Aunt Susy; I think he is better. He has had better nights of late,
and mother is not so anxious about him."
"Then what is the worry, my love, for worry of some sort there
doubtless is?"
"It is the girls, Aunt Susy."
"What girls, my love?"
"Those girls that mother has invited to finish their education at
Sunnyside. They came yesterday, and the teachers, Mademoiselle
Omont and Miss Archer, arrived to-day. And the girls don't suit me--I
suppose I am so accustomed to being an only child. I cannot tell you
exactly why, but I haven't