Hetty Gray | Page 2

forge, but she walked
backwards down the road, gazing at the horses as long as she could see
them. She loved the great handsome brutes, and if she had had her will
would have been sitting on one of their backs with her arms around his
neck. Coming to a turn of the road from which a path led on to an open
down, she blew a farewell kiss to the horses and skipped away across
the grass among the gold-hearted, moonfaced daisies, and the
black-eyed poppies in their scarlet hoods.
There were no other children to be seen, but Hetty made herself happy
without them. A large butterfly fluttered past her, almost brushing her
cheek, and Hetty threw back her curly head and gazed at its beauty in

astonishment. It was splendid with scarlet and brown and gold, and
Hetty, after a pause of delighted surprise, dashed forward with both her
little fat arms extended to capture it. It slipped through her fingers; but
just as she was pulling down her baby lips to cry, a flock of white and
blue butterflies swept across her eyes, and made her laugh again as she
pursued them in their turn.
At last she stumbled into a damp hollow place where a band of golden
irises stood among their tall shafts of green like royal ladies surrounded
by warriors. Hetty caught sight of the yellow wing-like petals of the
flag-lilies and grasped them with both hands. Alas! they were not alive,
but pinned to the earth by their strong stems. The butterflies were gone,
the flowers were not living. The little girl plucked the lilies and tried to
make them fly, but their heads fell heavily to the ground.
A big plough-boy came across the downs, and he said as he passed
Hetty,
"What are you picking the heads off the flowers for, you young one?"
"Why won't they fly like the butterflies?" asked Hetty.
"Because they were made to grow."
"Why can't I fly, too?"
"Because you were made to run."
When Hetty went into the school she had a scratch from a briar all
across her cheek.
"You are quite late, Hetty Gray," said the schoolmistress. "And what
have you been doing to scratch your face?"
"I was trying to make the flowers fly," said Hetty; and then she was put
to stand in the corner in disgrace with her face to the wall.

CHAPTER II
.
UNDER THE HORSES' FEET.
Mrs. Kane's cottage stood on a pretty bend of one of the village roads,
and belonged to an irregular cluster of little houses with red gables and
green palings. It was among the poorest dwellings in Wavertree, but
was neat and clean. The garden was in good order, and a white
climbing rose grew round the door, that sweet old-fashioned rose with
its delicious scent which makes the air delightful wherever it blows.

The cottage door stood open, and the afternoon sunlight fell across the
old red tiles of the kitchen floor. The tiles were a little broken, and here
and there they were sunk and worn; but they were as clean as hands
could make them, as Mrs. Kane would have said. A little window at
one side looked down the garden, and across it was a frilled curtain,
and on the sill a geranium in full flower. On the other side was the
fire-place, with chintz frill and curtains, and the grate filled with a great
bush of green beech-leaves. A table set on the red tiles was spread for
tea, and by it sat Mrs. Kane and her friend Mrs. Ford enjoying a
friendly cup together.
"She is late this evening," Mrs. Kane was saying; "but she'll turn up all
right by and by. If she's wild she's sharp, which is still something. She
never gets under horses' feet, nor drops into the pond, or anything of
that sort. If she did those sort of things, being such a rover, Mrs. Ford,
you see I never should have an easy moment in my life."
"I must say it's very good of you to take to do with her," said Mrs. Ford,
"and she nobody belonging to you. If she was your own child--"
"Well, you see, my own two dears went to heaven with the measles,"
said Mrs. Kane, "and I felt so lonesome without them, that when John
walked in with the little bundle in his arms that night, I thought he was
just an angel of light."
"It was on the Long Sands he found her, wasn't it?" asked Mrs. Ford,
balancing her spoon on the edge of her cup.
"On the Long Sands after the great storm," said Mrs. Kane; "and that's
just four years ago in May gone by. How a baby ever