Angels Ministers | Page 4

having his walk.
QUEEN. Poor dear Brown! Did she fly at you?
J.B. Well, 'twas like this, Ma'am; first Mop went for her, then she went
for him. And I tell ye she'd have scraped his eyes out if I'd left it to a
finish.
QUEEN. Ferocious creature! She must be mad.
J.B. Well, Ma'am, I don't know whether a cat-and-dog fight is a case of
what God hath joined together; but it's the hard thing for man to put
asunder! And that's the scraping I got for it, when I tried.
QUEEN. You must have it cauterised, Brown. I won't have you getting
hydrophobia.
J.B. You generally get that from dogs.
QUEEN. Oh, from cats too; any cat that a mad dog has bitten.
J.B. They do say, Ma'am, that if a mad dog bites you--you have to die
barking. So if it's a cat-bite I'm going to die of, you'll hear me mewing
the day, maybe.
QUEEN. I don't like cats: I never did. Treacherous, deceitful creatures!
Now a dog always looks up to you.
J.B. Yes, Ma'am; they are tasteful, attractive animals; and that, maybe,
is the reason. They give you a good conceit of yourself, dogs do. You
never have to apologise to a dog. Do him an injury--you've only to say
you forgive him, and he's friends again.
(_Accepting his views with a nodding smile, she resumes her pen, and
spreads paper_.)
QUEEN. Now, Brown, I must get to work again. I have writing to do.
See that I'm not disturbed.
J.B. Then when were you wanting to see your visitor, Ma'am? There's

his chair waiting.
QUEEN. Ah, yes, to be sure. But I didn't want to worry him too soon.
What is the time?
J.B. Nearly twelve, Ma'am.
QUEEN. Oh! then I think I may. Will you go and tell him: the Queen's
compliments, and she would like to see him, now?
J.B. I will go and tell him, Ma'am.
QUEEN. And then I shan't want you any more--till this afternoon.
J.B. Then I'll just go across and take lunch at home, Ma'am.
QUEEN. Yes, do! That will be nice for you. And Brown, mind you
have that leg seen to!
(_Mr. John Brown has started to go, when his step is arrested_.)
J.B. His lordship is there in the garden, Ma'am, talking to the Princess.
QUEEN. What, before he has seen _me_? Go, and take him away from
the Princess, and tell him to come here!
J.B. I will, Ma'am.
QUEEN. And you had better take Mop with you. Now, dear Brown, do
have your poor leg seen to, at once!
J.B. Indeed, and I will, Ma'am. Come, Mop, man! Come and tell his
lordship he's wanted.
(EXIT _Mr. John Brown, nicely accompanied by Mop_.)
(_Left to herself the Queen administers a feminine touch or two to
dress and cap and hair; then with dignified composure she resumes her
writing, and continues to write even when the shadow of her favourite
minister crosses the entrance, and he stands hat in hand before her,
flawlessly arrayed in a gay frock suit suggestive of the period when
male attire was still not only a fashion but an art.
Despite, however, the studied correctness of his costume, face and
deportment give signs of haggard fatigue; and when he bows it is the
droop of a weary man, slow in the recovery. Just at the fitting moment
for full acceptance of his silent salutation, the Royal Lady lays down
her pen_.)
QUEEN. Oh, how do you do, my dear Lord Beaconsfield! Good
morning; and welcome to, Balmoral.
LORD B. (_as he kisses the hand extended to him_). That word from
your Majesty brings all its charms to life! What a prospect of beauty I
see around me!

QUEEN. You arrived early? I hope you are sufficiently rested.
LORD B. Refreshed, Madam; rest will come later.
QUEEN. You have had a long, tiring journey, I fear.
LORD B. It was long, Madam.
QUEEN. I hope that you slept upon the train?
LORD B. I lay upon it, Ma'am. That is all I can say truly.
QUEEN. Oh, I'm sorry!
LORD B. There were compensations, Ma'am. In my vigil I was able to
look forward--to that which is now before me. The morning is beautiful!
May I be permitted to enquire if your Majesty's health has benefited?
QUEEN. I'm feeling "bonnie," as we say in Scotland. Life out of doors
suits me.
LORD B. Ah! This tent light is charming! Then my eyes had not
deceived me; your Majesty is already more than better. The tempered
sunlight, so tender in its reflections, gives--an interior, one may say--of
almost floral delicacy; making these canvas walls like the white petals
of an enfolding flower.
QUEEN. Are you writing another of your novels, Lord