Susan, Amy Walton [most read books in the world of all time TXT] 📗

"It has something to do with the moon."

"The moon!" exclaimed Sophia Jane with utter disdain in her voice, "you're muddling things up."

"It has," repeated Susan positively, "it's in the geography book."

"I don't believe it," said Sophia Jane.

"I wonder," said Susan half to herself, with her eyes fixed on the sea, "what prevents it from running right over all the land."

Sophia Jane shrugged her shoulders.

"That is a thing _no one_ understands," she said, "so it's no use to bother about it." Then with a sudden sharp glance to the left, "There goes Monsieur La Roche."

Susan looked round and saw a tall thin figure just hurrying round a corner, but she had time to recognise it before it disappeared; it was the kind French gentleman.

"He's the French master," continued Sophia Jane; "such a silly old thing. We all laugh at him."

"Why?" asked Susan.

"Oh, we can't help it. He makes such funny bows and he smiles so, and says his words wrong. You'll laugh at him too."

Susan was silent. Somehow after this description she did not feel inclined to tell Sophia Jane of her meeting with Monsieur La Roche on the steamboat, and his kindness to her.

"I should think he did not like to be laughed at," she said at last.

"Oh, what does it matter," said Sophia Jane with much contempt, "he's only a poor eggsile."

"What does `eggsile' mean?" asked Susan.

Sophia Jane hesitated; she did not know, but she would not confess ignorance.

"It means any person who isn't English," she said.

For the rest of the walk Susan thought a good deal about the French master. He had been kind to her when she needed a friend, and she had felt grateful to him, and hoped she should see him again; she had considered him a very pleasant gentleman. But now that Sophia Jane had spoken so slightingly of him, and called him a "silly old thing," and turned him into a sort of joke, she began to feel differently. She was now rather sorry that she knew him, for she was afraid Sophia Jane would laugh at her too, and she disliked that more than anything in the world. It seemed easier now to join her in finding something ridiculous in the "eggsile" as she called him, than to remember his kindness and good-nature to herself and Maria. She hoped, therefore, that when he came to Belmont Cottage to give his lesson that he would have forgotten her, and would say nothing of the meeting on the steamboat. This first day at Ramsgate had been full of so many strange sights and new people that Susan had had no time to be home-sick, but when evening came she suddenly felt a great longing to see some one she knew--Mother or Nurse or Freddie, or even Maria. It seemed an immense while since she had parted from them all; and when she remembered that it was really only one day and one night, and how many days and nights must pass before she saw them again, she could hardly bear it without crying. They were all very kind to her here, but they were all strange. She did not care for Nanna's and Margaretta's frequent kisses and endearing names, it was impossible to be fond of them in a minute; as for Sophia Jane, though she was amusing to play with, there was no comfort at all in her. It was Aunt Hannah at length who saw her sitting dolefully in a corner, and tried to give her consolation She called her to come and sit near her, and talked so kindly that Susan forgot her troubles and became interested. Aunt Hannah told her shout Algiers, the place where Freddie was going, and how he would get there in a ship, and what he would see and do; and then, pointing to the funny little figures and china things, she said that they had been brought over the sea from countries a long way off.

When Susan ventured to ask who brought them, her aunt showed her the portrait of the gentleman with the pig-tail hanging over the mantle-piece.

"It was your great-grandfather who brought them," she said, "Captain John Enticknapp. He made many long voyages to China and Japan, and the West Indies. Once he found out some islands where no one had ever been before, and they are called after his name."

Susan thought this very wonderful and she gazed up at her aunt with such interest in her eyes that the old lady was pleased, and stroked her hair kindly.

"Some day, if you are a good child," she said, "and try to make yourself happy here, I will tell you a story about Captain Enticknapp. A very interesting one, and quite true."

"May Sophia Jane hear it too?" asked Susan.

Aunt Hannah's manner changed.

"When Sophia Jane tries to please me, and correct her faults," she said, "I shall be willing to give her pleasure, but not till then."

Susan felt more and more certain that Sophia Jane was a very naughty little girl.


CHAPTER THREE.

MONSIEUR LA ROCHE.

And this feeling grew stronger as the days went on, for Susan found that Sophia Jane was always in disgrace about something; she was so constantly having bad marks and losing farthings, that there seemed no chance at all that she would ever save enough money to buy a new head for the doll. This was partly her own fault, and partly because the whole household seemed to take for granted that she would behave badly and never do right; indeed there were days when, after she had been scolded and punished very often, a spirit of obstinacy entered her small frame, and her whole being was bent upon ill-behaviour and mischief.

Susan looked on in dismay, and counted up the farthings as one after the other they were recklessly forfeited by some fresh piece of naughtiness.

"You've lost two week's money," she whispered in Sophia Jane's ear, hoping to check her; but its only result was to urge her to wilder acts, and the next minute she was detected in making a grimace at Margaretta, whom she specially disliked. Sophia Jane was certainly not a pleasant child, and it was not surprising that no one loved her.

"Look at Susan," they said to her constantly, "how well Susan behaves! how upright Susan sits! how perfectly Susan says her lessons! how good Susan is!"--but Sophia Jane took no heed, it did not improve her a bit, but if possible made her worse to have this shining example held up for her to copy. As to Susan, she now heard her own praises so often that she began to think not only that Sophia Jane was very bad, but that she herself must be uncommonly good. At home it had always been taken as a matter of course that she would be quiet, obedient, and useful, and learn her lessons properly; it had never been considered anything remarkable. Here, however, she was continually called "clever," and "good," and "dear little thing," when she did the most common things, so that she soon began to hold her head higher and to look down upon Sophia Jane with a very condescending air.

Meanwhile there was one thing she dreaded, and that was Monsieur La Roche's French lesson in which she was to join; she had now been a week at Ramsgate, and the day was approaching. Whenever he was mentioned Margaretta had always some giggling joke to make, and Sophia Jane echoed them. They imitated the way in which he spoke English, and the way in which he bowed when he came into the room, and the way in which he smiled and rubbed his hands; everything he did appeared to be laughable, and though Susan had not found it so on the steamboat, she now began to think that they must be right. Even Maria, she remembered, had called him "a figure of fun." How she hoped that he would not say anything about that journey! Her cheeks grew quite hot when she thought of how she had told him her name, and where she lived, and all sorts of confidential things. They would all laugh at her--it would be dreadful. Now, to laugh at Monsieur might be pleasant, but to be laughed at herself was, Susan felt, a very different matter.

So when the day came, and they were all sitting round the table with their books ready for the class, she bent her head down as the French master entered the room, in the faint hope that he would not notice her. But that was of no use. Monsieur had hardly made his bow and taken his seat before Aunt Hannah looked round from her arm-chair at the fireside.

"You have a new pupil to-day, Monsieur. My little niece, Miss Susan Ingram."

His attention thus directed, Monsieur leaned forward, and a kindly smile of recognition brightened his face as he saw Susan.

"Ah! c'est vrai," he said; "it is my leetle friend, Mees Susanne. We know ourselves already; is it not so?"

The dreaded moment had come, and it was even more uncomfortable than she had expected. Everyone was looking at her, and waiting for her to answer, and she saw a mischievous glitter in Sophia Jane's eyes which were fixed on her like two blue beads.

Aunt Hannah said, "Indeed, how is that?" and Monsieur still leant towards her, stroking his short beard and wrinkling up his face with a pleased smile. But Susan said nothing. She hung down her head, her cheeks crimsoned, and she looked as guilty and ashamed as though she had done something wrong; a very different little girl to the one who had chatted with Monsieur on board the steamboat and shared his biscuit. She was shy, he thought, as the English miss very often was; and, though he did not understand the complaint, he was far too good-natured to lengthen her discomfort. "Nevare mind," he said kindly, "we shall talk together later." Turning to Aunt Hannah he explained as well as he could in English how he and Susan had met on the journey, his pupils listening open-mouthed meanwhile and giggling at his broken attempts to make his meaning clear. Then to Susan's relief the lesson began, and she was no longer the object of everyone's attention; but she was surprised to find how very little trouble they took to learn anything. Instead of this they seemed to try which could remember least and pronounce the words worst. When Nanna and Margaretta read aloud they made the same mistakes a dozen times in one page, pitched their voices in a high sing-song drawl, and stopped now and then to laugh in a smothered manner at some hidden joke. A little worried frown gathered on their patient master's brow as this went on, but he never lost his temper or failed to make his corrections with courtesy. Susan at first, from force of habit, bent her attention on the page of French dialogue which she and Sophia Jane had to learn; but too soon the bad example round her had its effect. She began to return Sophia Jane's nudges, to listen to her whispers, to look out of the window opposite, and to make no sort of effort to learn her lesson. True, when the time