Chapter III The Petition
The next few days passed away very happily. Having her sisters with her as companions quite equalled Lena’s fondest expectations. Not a jar or a discord had broken the harmony of those days as yet. Milly was so nice, and always ready to admire and enjoy everything that Lena did or proposed; and as to giving up things,—certainly little Lucy did sometimes want what her elder sisters were playing with, but it was very easy to please and satisfy her, she was such a sweet little thing. Lena often wondered how Auntie could have feared her not liking to do it.
It was the end of April when the Grahams came to West Meadenham, and now May had arrived—bright warm sunshiny May, enabling them to spend most of their time out of doors, either in the garden or the fields. And nicest of all, many a happy hour was spent on the sands and among the rocks, while their parents and Aunt walked up and down the Parade, watching them, or would sit with books and work on the shingle, ready to listen to all their doings when they rushed up breathless and eager to recount them.
But these bright delightful days could not last for ever. The first change was Colonel Graham’s leaving them for a few days on a visit to some relations; and Lena had a shrewd suspicion, from words that she had heard fall from Aunt Mary, that other changes were in store for them also; but at present she was too much occupied with her sisters to think much about it.
The day after Colonel Graham left, Mama and Auntie announced that they were going to be very busy, preparing Milly’s and Lucy’s summer-dresses, and that they wanted Hester’s assistance, so the three children might play out in the garden together quietly.
“Not go to the beach to-day?”
“I am afraid not. You can be very happy without going there for one afternoon.”
“But, Mama,” argued Lena, “it is such a pity not to go to-day, because it’s low tide in the afternoon, and we should be able to have such a nice long time on the rocks—do let us go.”
“Run away now and play in the garden, and we will see what can be done about it after dinner.”
“I do hope you will let us, Mama, Lena says.”
“Never mind what Lena says, Milly. You must both do what you are told. It is not the way to gain your wishes by being disobedient.”
The two girls went slowly and reluctantly from the room, and taking their hats, went into the garden.
What had come over them both I know not: perhaps it was that the last few days had been too pleasant, and they were beginning to think that things were always to be so for them; or perhaps it was that the first hot weather made them both feel a little bit cross and languid—it has that effect sometimes, I believe; but whatever the reason was, the fact was what I have stated: they both were feeling rather cross, and inclined to take a gloomy view of things. And their being told that they might not be able to go to the beach that day was a ready-made grievance for them.
They showed their feelings, however, in very different ways. While Milly went and sat down quietly on a garden-seat, and gazed wistfully at the object of her affections, the sea, Lena wandered about the garden in a restless, disconsolate sort of way. Lucy was busy playing by herself with a little cart and horse, and for a few minutes Lena played with her; but seeing Milly leaning forward and looking quite interested, she said hastily, “You must play by yourself now, Lucy; I want to go and speak to Milly.”
It is a curious fact that when one is idle and unsettled, one is apt to get a feeling of being ill used at seeing any one else looking interested and occupied. This was what Lena felt when she saw her sister not looking dull and wistful as before, but with a bright and animated expression on her face. Going up to her she said, “Milly, what are you looking at?”
No answer. This was irritating, so she repeated her question in a louder tone. Instead of speaking, Milly held up her hands, as if to impose silence on her.
This was too much for Lena in her present mood. Giving her sister a push, she exclaimed angrily, “How rude you are not to answer me! What are you looking at?”
“There now, Lena, you have spoilt it all.”
“Spoilt all what? How tiresome you are, Milly!”
“I was counting the ships that passed, or that I could see, and I wanted to count twenty, and I had only got to fourteen when you disturbed me. Now I must begin again.”
“Oh, that’s silly. It’s all very well when you are by yourself, but not when you have any one to play with.”
“What shall we do then?” asked Milly, who was now getting over her disappointment; and as she was more accustomed to give up her own wishes than Lena was, she was naturally of a far happier disposition. Little Lucy had been her constant companion; and Milly was so fond of her little sister, that she never thought it hard or disagreeable to put aside her own pleasures and wishes to please Lucy. So now she found it easy to give in to Lena also. Lena had not found out how much pleasanter and happier life is when one studies the happiness of others. Her happiness had been so studied by Aunt Mary that she took Milly’s good-natured assent as a matter of course.
“There is nothing nice to do here, the garden is so small; and Milly, don’t you think that Mama might let us go to the beach? Aunt Mary would, I know.”
“Mama will if she can; she always is good to us,” and she gave Lena a reproachful look for her last words.
Lena noticed the reproach in both words and look, but she answered, without remarking upon it, “She would not even let us stay and ask about it. I always coax and coax Aunt Mary till she says ‘Yes.’”
“Does she always say yes when you coax?” was the surprised remark elicited from Milly.
“Not always,” Lena had to confess, “but sometimes.”
There was a pause for a minute or two, and then Lena exclaimed eagerly, “Do you remember that man coming with a paper for Auntie to sign, and she told us it was a petition, and the man said the more people that signed it, the more likely it would be to succeed.”
“Yes; what of that?” answered Milly in an independent tone. She had gone back to her occupation of counting the vessels in sight and was once more absorbed in it.
“I don’t believe you listened to what I was saying; I do think it unkind of you.”
At this accusation Milly started, and turning round, said gently, “I didn’t mean to be unkind, but what has the petition to do with us?”
“O Milly, you are stupid. Don’t you see what I mean? Wouldn’t it be fine to write a petition to Mama to let us go to the beach?”
“Yes, let us: it would be something to do.”
“I will go in and get a sheet of paper and a pencil, and then we will all sign it. Do you remember how it began?”
“Let me try and remember,” said Milly with an air of wisdom, covering her face with her hands, as if to prevent any outside object from attracting her attention, only looking up, as Lena ran off to the house, to call out, “Mind and bring a pretty piece, Lena.”
“All right,” was the cheerful answer.
A few minutes after she returned with a packet of paper in her hand. “Look, I have brought ‘terra cotta;’ it’s a very fashionable colour,” was her announcement, as she held it out for her sister to see.
“It is not a very pretty colour though?”
“No, but the woman in the shop said it was very fashionable.” This was said in a tone that admitted of no reply.
Laying the paper on the seat they both knelt down upon the ground, and each began to write. They decided on writing a rough copy first, and then, as Lena said, “she, as the eldest, would copy it out tidily.”
“I took a look into the dictionary, to see that we were spelling it all right, for we mustn’t make mistakes in that, or Mama and Auntie would laugh at us.”
There was silence for a little while, as both heads were bent over their work: it was more difficult than they expected. At last Milly gave a great sigh, “I can’t think where humble came; it did somewhere, I know.”
“Yes, so it did. Now I remember; of course it ought to be at the end. We must put ‘Your humble children.’ Let me have a look at your paper. Why, I’ve got much more scratched out than you have. I’ve begun six times already.”
“It’s the beginning that is so difficult; but, Lena, I feel sure ‘humble’ was at the top somewhere.”
“Who was that petition to, I wonder?” said Lena.
“I am sure I don’t know.” And they both burst out laughing. Their ill-humour had all vanished by this time and they were in high spirits.
“It must have been to the ‘Queen.’”
“Then they would not have put ‘humble Queen.’”
At this there came another explosion of laughter.
“To our humble Mother and Aunt.” That certainly sounded quite wrong. They remembered that the words “Most Gracious” were what they had seen oftenest written before their Sovereign’s name.
At last they decided to write one together; it was more amusing in doing, and also more likely to be successful. Their continual peals of laughter soon attracted Lucy’s attention, and she hovered about them, quite ready and anxious to assist, and growing impatient at the long delay before she was allowed to sign her name.
After nearly an hour’s work they wrote the following:—
“To our Most Gracious Mother and Aunt.
“Please, dear darling Mama and Auntie—please let us go to the beach this afternoon, because it will be low tide, and perhaps we shall be able to catch some little crabs. We love playing on the rocks, and do want to go so much.
“Your loving and humble children, “HELENA MARY GRAHAM.
“MILLICENT GRACE GRAHAM.
“LUCY CAROLINE GRAHAM.
“P.S.—We don’t want anybody to go with us, and we will be very good.
“Our Petition”
These last two words were written in very large letters at the bottom of the page. They had an idea that it ought to be written somewhere, so that there would be no mistake as to the nature of the document.
When this was all done, they surveyed their work with great pride. Then Milly ran in for an envelope, and the petition was folded up and put in, and the address written—
“Mrs. GRAHAM,
“Miss SOMERVILLE.”
Going into the house, they gave it to Emma the servant. Taking her into their confidence, they easily obtained her promise to ring the hall-door bell, and bring it into the dining-room on a salver.
“What time would you like it brought in?” she asked with a smile, quite entering into the spirit of the fun.
“Soon,” said Milly, “or Lucy will let it all out.”
“She had better not,” began Lena.
“When I have handed round the plates I will get master to ring the bell, and then I will go out and bring it in.”
That was a delightful arrangement, and now all they had to do was to impress upon Lucy the necessity of silence.
As they were still pointing out to her the dreadful consequences that would follow, if she mentioned a word about what they had been doing, Hester was heard calling them in to get ready for their dinner.
That something was exciting the children, was very quickly seen by both Mama and Auntie, from the frequent and meaning looks they exchanged, and from the state of suppressed excitement they were all in.
The hall-door bell was heard to ring.
“There it is!” exclaimed Lucy, eagerly.
“Hush!” came immediately from the other two.
Then Emma went out and returned with a letter, which she handed to Mrs. Graham, who on reading the address had great difficulty in suppressing a smile.
Opening the letter, she read it through carefully; then handing it to Miss Somerville, said, “It will require serious consideration before we give an answer.”
“Oh, please, don’t say that, Mama; we want an answer at once.”
“Your Aunt has not even read it yet. After dinner my humble little children can come to me in the drawing-room, and then I hope to give them a gracious answer.”
With this they had to be content, for not a word more would Mrs. Graham say on the subject until after dinner. Lucy was carried off for an hour’s sleep; and Mama, seating herself on the sofa, drew Lena to her side, while Milly installed herself on the other side; then Mrs. Graham said—
“You are longing for an answer to your petition, I know, dears. First I must tell you that Auntie and I graciously assent to it.”
“That means we are to go, Mama?” asked Milly.
“Thank you, thank you,” exclaimed Lena; “I told you, Milly, if we coaxed them.”
“No, Lena dear,” interrupted her mother, “that was the very thing that nearly lost it to you. I could not promise when you asked me before, because I never like to break a promise, and I was not sure whether it would be safe for you three children to go alone.”
“I could have told you it would,” said Lena, reproachfully.
“But I preferred Aunt Mary’s opinion,” was her mother’s answer, given with a smile.
“She thinks it safe, doesn’t she, Mama?”
“Yes, but what I want to say to you now, is particularly to you, Lena. I saw my little girl thought I was very unkind in not consenting to her wishes at once, and now you think I have given leave because you begged and coaxed.”
Lena blushed furiously at this, but nodded her head, as much as to say, “Yes, that is true.”
“What I want you both, my children, to do, is to trust me. I think it gives me more pain to refuse you a pleasure, than you to be refused; and when I say No, try, darlings, and believe that Mama has some good reason for it.”
“Yes, we will,” they both exclaimed at once. Then Lena went on to say, “But, Mama, why didn’t you tell us that you were not sure, and the reason, and then I could have told you it was quite safe to go alone?”
“In fact, dear, why did I not ask your advice, you mean?”
“No, I didn’t mean that; only if you had said”——
“And what about obedience, Lena?”
Not receiving any answer, Mrs. Graham continued. “Perfect obedience, dear, is what Papa and I both expect from all our children; and by and by, when you know us better, you will find out that it is not only your duty but your happiness to give it. I think Milly knows that already.”
“Yes, Mama, and I know how good you are, and always try to do what we like.”
“And I hope Lena will soon think so too.”
“You talk as if Milly loved you better than I do,” said Lena jealously, “and I am sure she does not.”
“No, darling, I did not mean that, for I am sure you both love me dearly. What I meant was that Milly knows me best, and understands my ways.”
“And Lena will soon,” said Milly, stooping across her mother to smile at her sister, “for we are going to be the greatest friends, aren’t we, Lena? We have settled that a long time.”
Then, after a loving kiss from Mama, the two girls went off together to get ready for their walk; and by the time buckets and spades had been hunted out, and they were both ready, Lucy had had her sleep, and was waiting for them in the hall.
“Be sure and come in by half-past five or six at latest. Auntie won’t mind putting off Lucy’s tea till then, I am sure.”
No. Auntie was quite ready to do anything she was asked; and after many promises of being very good and careful, they started, Lena calling back, as they shut the gate, “You can trust them to me; I will look after them.”