The Poor Little Rich Girl | Page 3

plaintively. "For I'll be back at tea-time. And besides"--growing brighter--"you're to have--what do you think!--the birthday cake Cook has made."
"I hate cake!" burst out Gwendolyn; and covered her eyes once more.
"_Gwen-do-lyn!_" breathed Miss Royle.
Gwendolyn sat very still.
"How can you be so naughty! Oh, it's really wicked and ungrateful of you to be fretting and complaining--you who have so many blessings! But you don't appreciate them because you've always had them. Well,"--mournfully solicitous--"I trust they'll never be taken from you, my child. Ah, I know how bitter such a loss is! I haven't always been in my present circumstances, compelled to go out among strangers to earn a scant living. Once--"
Here she was interrupted. The door from the school-room swung wide with a bang. Gwendolyn, looking up, saw her nurse.
Jane was in sharp contrast to Miss Royle--taller and stocky, with broad shoulders and big arms. As she halted against the open school-room door, her hair was as ruddy as the panel that made a background for it. And she had reddish eyes, and a full round face. In the midst of her face, and all out of proportion to it, was her short turned-up nose, which was plentifully sprinkled with freckles.
"So you're goin' out?" she began angrily, addressing the governess.
Miss Royle retreated a step. "Just for a--a couple of hours," she explained.
Jane's face grew almost as red as her hair. Slamming the school-room door behind her, she advanced. "I suppose it's the neuralgia again," she suggested with quiet heat.
The color stole into Miss Royle's pale cheeks. She coughed. "It is a little worse than usual this afternoon," she admitted.
"I thought so," said Jane. "It's always worse--_on bargain-days_."
"How dare you!"
"You ask me that, do you?--you old snake-in-the-grass!" Now Jane grew pallid with anger.
Gwendolyn, listening, contemplated her governess thoughtfully. She had often heard her pronounced a snake-in-the-grass.
Miss Royle was also pale. "That will do!" she declared. "I shall report you to Madam."
"Report!" echoed Jane, giving a loud, harsh laugh, and shaking her hair--the huge pompadour in front, the pug behind. "Well, go ahead. And I'll report _you_--and your handy neuralgia."
"It's your duty to look after Gwendolyn when there are no lessons," reminded Miss Royle, but weakening noticeably.
"On _week_-days?" shrilled Jane. "Oh, don't try to fool me with any of your schemin'! I see. And I just laugh in my sleeve!"
Gwendolyn fixed inquiring gray eyes upon that sleeve of Jane's dress which was the nearer. It was of black sateen. It fitted the stout arm sleekly.
"This is the dear child's birthday, and I wish her to have the afternoon free."
"A-a-ah! Then why don't you take her out with you? You like the auto_mo_bile nice enough,"--this sneeringly.
Miss Royle tossed her head. "I thought perhaps _you'd_ be using the car," she answered, with fine sarcasm.
Jane began to argue, throwing out both hands: "How was I to know to-day was her birthday? You might've told me about it; instead, just all of a sudden, you shove her off on my hands."
Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed resentfully.
Miss Royle gave a quick look toward the window-seat. "You mean you've made plans?" she asked, concern supplanting anger in her voice.
To all appearances Jane was near to tears. She did not answer. She nodded dejectedly.
"Well, Jane, you shall have to-morrow afternoon," declared Miss Royle, soothingly. "Is that fair? I didn't know you'd counted on to-day. So--" Here another glance shot window-ward. Then she beckoned Jane. They went into the hall. And Gwendolyn heard them whispering together.
When Jane came back into the nursery she looked almost cheerful. "Now off with that habit," she called to Gwendolyn briskly. "And into something for your dinner."
"I want to wear a plaid dress," announced Gwendolyn, getting down from her seat slowly.
Jane was selecting a white muslin from a tall wardrobe. "Little girls ain't wearin' plaids this year," she declared shortly. "Come."
"Well, then, I want a dress that's got a pocket," went on Gwendolyn, "--a pocket 'way down on this side." She touched the right skirt of her riding-coat.
"They ain't makin' pockets in little girls' dresses this year," said Jane, "Come! Come!"
"'They,'" repeated Gwendolyn. "Who are 'They'? I'd like to know; 'cause I could telephone 'em and--"
"Hush your nonsense!" bade Jane. Then, catching at the delicate square of linen in Gwendolyn's hand, "How'd you git ink smeared over your handkerchief? What do you suppose your mamma'd say if she was to come upon it? _I'd_ be blamed--as usual!"
"Who are They'?" persisted Gwendolyn. "'They' do so many things. And I want to tell 'em that I like pockets in all my dresses."
Jane ignored the question.
"Yesterday you said 'They' would send us soda-water," went on Gwendolyn--talking to herself now, rather than to the nurse. "And I'd like to know where 'They' find soda-water." Whereupon she fell to pondering the question. Evidently this, like many another propounded to Jane or Miss Royle;