The Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax | Page 6

the end of it, and it was perhaps lucky that
her tenderness had then so far prevailed over her wrath that she could
only give way to tears of self-pity, instead of voice to the defiant words
that had trembled on her tongue a minute ago.
"I did hope, dear, that you would not take it so much to heart," said her
mother, comforting her. "But it is mortifying to think of being sent to
school. What a pity we have let time go on till you are fifteen, and can
neither speak a word of French nor play a note on the piano!"
Bessie had so often heard Mr. Carnegie's opinion of these
accomplishments that her mother's regrets wore a comic aspect to her
mind, and between laughing and crying she protested that she did not
care, she should not try to improve to please _them_--meaning her
Woldshire kinsfolk mentioned in the lawyer's letter.
"You have good common-sense, Bessie, and I am sure you will use it,"
said her mother with persuasive gravity. "If you show off with your
tempers, that will give a color to their notion that you have been badly
brought up. You must do us and yourself what credit you can, going
amongst strangers. I am not afraid for you, unless you set up your little
back, and determine to be downright naughty and perverse."
Bessie's countenance was not promising as she gave ear to these
premonitions. Her upper lip was short, and her nether lip pressed
against it with a scorny indignation. Her back was very much up,
indeed, in the moral sense indicated by her mother, and as these
inauspicious moods of hers were apt to last the longer the longer they
were reasoned with, her mother prudently refrained from further
disquisition. She bade her go about her ordinary business as if nothing
had happened, and Bessie did go about these duties with a quiet
practical obedience to law and order which bore out the testimony to
her good common-sense. She thought of Mr. John Short's letter, it is
true, and once she stood for a minute considering the sketch of
Abbotsmead which hung above her chest of drawers. "Gloomy dull old
place," was her criticism on it; but even as she looked, there ensued the
reflection that the sun must shine upon it sometimes, though the artist
had drawn it as destitute of light and shade as the famous portrait of

Queen Elizabeth, when she wished to be painted fair, and was painted
merely insipid.
CHAPTER III.
_THE COMMUNITY OF BEECHHURST._
The lawyer's letter from Norminster had thrust aside all minor interests.
Even the school-feast that was to be at the rectory that afternoon was
forgotten, until the boys reminded their mother of it at dinner-time.
"Bessie will take you," said Mrs. Carnegie, and Bessie acquiesced. The
one thing she found impossible to-day was to sit still. We will go to the
school-feast with the children. The opportunity will be good for
introducing to the reader a few persons of chief consideration in the
rural community where Bessie Fairfax acquired some of her permanent
views of life.
Beechhurst Rectory was the most charming rectory-house on the Forest.
It would be delightful to add that the rector was as charming as his
abode; but Beechhurst did not call itself happy in its pastor at this
moment--the Rev. Askew Wiley. Mr. Wiley's immediate
predecessor--the Rev. John Hutton--had been a pattern for country
parsons. Hale, hearty, honest as the daylight; knowing in sport, in
farming, in gardening; bred at Westminster and Oxford; the third son of
a family distinguished in the Church; happily married, having sons of
his own, and sufficient private fortune to make life easy both in the
present and the future. Unluckily for Beechhurst, he preferred the north
to the south country, and, after holding the benefice a little over one
year, he exchanged it against Otterburn, a moorland border parish of
Cumberland, whence Mr. Wiley had for some time past been making
strenuous efforts to escape. Both were crown livings, but Otterburn
stood for twice as much in the king's books as Beechhurst. Mr. Wiley
was, however, willing to pay the forfeiture of half his income to get
away from it. He had failed to make friends with the farmers, his
principal parishioners, and the vulgar squabbles of Otterburn had
grown into such a notorious scandal that the bishop was only too
thankful to promote his removal. Mrs. Wiley's health was the ostensible

reason, and though Otterburn knew better, Beechhurst accepted it in
good faith, and gave its new rector a cordial welcome--none the less
cordial that his wife came on the scene a robust and capable woman,
ready and fit for parish work, and with no air of the fragile invalid it