Rie's Diary

Chapter I

I am going to keep a diary.' After writing down this important statement, I am fain to gaze in admiration at my handi work. I once read, somewhere, that the proper place for all young ladies' diaries was the fire ; but my diary is not going to deserve putting there — it is going to be a record of facts. I am going to keep within the strict lines of rigid accuracy, as we say in the classics — I mean, as the proverb says — no, that isn't it either, but never mind, it does not matter so much. That sounds a little bit conceited, I am afraid. I would cross it out, only it will spoil the first page of my precious diary, and I must keep that tidy, whatever happens to the rest. Now, I think the best way to do will be to pretend that I am talking to somebody, and then the whole thing will seem to flow smoothly.

I should not like my diary to read in jerks, or like water coming out of a narrow-necked bottle. When we used to write composition at B school, Miss Barker used to say that reading mine was like receiving a series of galvanic shocks ; but then, she was always trying to be funny— not that she ever succeeded very well, if the ghastly smiles that we with difficulty conjured up were anything to go by. I once drew one of the girls in the act of smiling, and called it ' At the Dentist's.' It was considered splendid by all the girls, and I should perhaps have had it framed if Miss Barker had not got hold of it. She didn't seem to consider it a work of art, but, of course, that was because she had not drawn it herself. We all said that she tore it up because she was jealous. However, this is not keeping to the point, not that there is any particular point to keep to, as nothing exciting ever happens to us, and I daresay after the first few pages have been spun out, 1 shall dwindle down into such feeble state ments as — I went out for a walk yesterday.

Ronnie read two books last week. The cat upset the milk this morning and made Aunt Helen cross, etc., etc., until I finally cease altogether, while the diary will act as a mortification of the spirit every time I look at it. Now, before I go any further, let me introduce myself to you. I rejoice in the aristocratic name of Maria — Maria Dalton. Fortunately, this awful name has been modified to Rie, which, in comparison with the original, is quite beautiful. Evidently my parents were satisfied with having one hideous name in the family, for, when they had to choose a name for my younger sister, they decided to call her Veronica, which was quickly shortened to Ronnie. Ronnie is just turned eighteen, and I am nearly twenty. When the awful day arrives on which I shall emerge from my teens, I shall begin looking out for grey hairs.

Twenty seems such a lot older than nineteen. Ronnie and I are alike in being a little over the average height, but the resemblance goes no further. I am dark, with brown eyes that are un decided whether to be green or not, and a nose celestially inclined, or, as Aunt Helen says, a thankful nose. My mouth is rather large, caused by constant laughter, or else it is that I laugh often because it is easier to laugh with a large mouth than with a small one. When I begin describing myself to Ronnie, 3 B2 she puts her hand over my mouth and will not let me go on. If I gave you her description of me, you might labour under the delusion that I was nice-looking, which would be a pity, wouldn't it ? Ronnie is beautiful. Mere words will con vey to you no idea as to how beautiful my darling is. There is nobody in all the world so lovely and lovable as Ronnie.

She is not the least little tiny bit like me. Her hair is fair, and curls, oh, so beautifully, whilst mine would not stop curled more than a few hours if I kept it in curl-papers for a month. Her eyes are deep grey, such lovely eyes, and she has the dearest little mouth that you could imagine, and teeth like pearls, whilst her skin is as soft and clear as a little child's. Added to all this, she is blessed with a sweet temper, which I am not. When we were children I used to think that God could not help loving Ronnie better than me, because she would make such a lovely angel. I remember the vicar saying in his sermon, once, that, at the end, we should all be sun flushed with resurrection glory. It seemed to comfort me. Our parents died when we were both very young, and we were left to the care of father's sisters.

We have always lived with Aunt Helen, though we sometimes go to visit Aunt Hester, who is married and lives in Cornwall. They both love Ronnie better than me, especially Aunt Helen, the one that we live with. Everybody in the village loves her, from the old men and women down to the pigs and hens. There are two people, however, who love me better than Ronnie, and those two are Dr. Montrose and his wife. I think the reason for this is, that I was their daughter's friend and I remind them of her ; indeed, they both say that I am like her, but that can hardly be, because Mary was considered very pretty. She died about four years ago, and what made the loss harder for them to bear, she was their only child. They would have me go in and see them every day if Ronnie could spare me. Ronnie goes much oftener than I do to visit Aunt Hester in Cornwall, and when she is away Aunt Helen seems as cross as two sticks and as cranky as a one-hinged gate, and whatever I do is wrong, and I get scolded like a child, until I give over trying to please her, which, naturally, makes matters worse.

When I cannot stand it any longer, I go to the doctor's, and they seem to guess what is the matter, because, of course, we do not talk about it. Not even to them would I discuss our squabbles and disagreements. They pet me and make much of me, whilst I seem to bask in the sunshine of their loving care. It is such a rest, after one of Aunt Helen's trying days, to go somewhere and know that all I do is right, instead of being badgered to death about trifles. When I have been there for a little while, I come back strengthened and refreshed, and prepared to be gentle and patient until our guardian angel, Ronnie, comes back. She does not guess what I have to suffer when she is away, or she would never leave me, which is precisely the reason why I do not tell her, for Ronnie is not as strong as I am, and going to Cornwall always seems to do her such a lot of good.

Aunt Helen says that trouble would kill Ronnie, and I have vowed a solemn vow that she shall have no trouble that I can prevent. We do not live in a large house. Ronnie and I share the same bedroom, and we possess a dining-room, drawing-room, kitchen, and one or two cellars, which I do not think I need go into detail about. We have one servant, a female of uncertain age and temper, who has known Aunt Helen since she was a girl, however many centuries ago that may be. Whenever Ann is in a good temper, com paratively speaking, or better still when she is out, which, by the way, is seldom, Ronnie and I venture into the kitchen and proceed to con coct most original dishes, which, I have no doubt, would be powerful aids to the indigestion fiend in his triumphal march, if we could only prevail on anyone to eat them.

Only once was Aunt Helen prevailed upon to taste our con coctions, but she has never repeated the indiscretion, and it would be as much as our place is worth to even venture to offer them to Ann. When we could not get other people to eat them, we were obliged to eat them ourselves, with the result that our expeditions into the kitchen are now few and far between. You must not think, however, that we have nothing to do, as that would be a grievous mistake on your part. Ronnie paints, and does all kinds of lovely embroidery, not simply for her own amusement and pleasure, but for the grosser object of earn ing a little pocket-money. I cannot do anything of that kind. The only thing I excel in is music. I am the organist at our little village church, and I teach the vicar's little daughter Alice to play the piano.

Ronnie and I very often go to spend the evening at the vicarage. We always enjoy it, especially if the vicar has any of his numerous nieces and nephews staying with him. There is only one grown-up nephew, and he has not been to the vicarage, though Alice told me in confidence that he was coming some time during the summer. I get on with strangers much better than Ronnie does. She is very reserved and quiet until she knows people well, and sometimes strangers think that she has not much in her, which is a very big mistake. I notice one thing, however, and that is, that people who have taken to me, very often go over into the ranks of Ronnie's admirers after a little while. It hurts me sometimes, but I love her far too well ever to feel jealous at her unconscious way of stealing people's love from me.

They simply cannot help loving her. Sometimes, when I have nothing particular to do, and I feel in a daring humour, I go into the kitchen and tease Ann. I always keep the way of escape open, for she has an inconvenient habit of making for me when I have been particularly aggravating. This morning I bearded the lion, or rather the lioness, in her den, but I could not get her to talk to me ; she seemed in a very bad temper. I was in a questioning mood, a form of teasing which she cannot endure, and at last I asked her if she had ever been in love. She gave a wrathful snort, but did not say anything, and I, nothing daunted, asked her what it felt like. She muttered something that sounded like ' terrible bad,' and then she flounced round, banging things into their places and saying in an audible aside that she wished folks as thought they were ladies would mind their own business. ' But, Ann,' I persisted, ' I want to know what it is like really.

Is it as bad as tooth ache ? ' ' A hundred and fifty times worse,' she snapped out, and having got food for reflection I left her. Toothache multiplied by a hundred and fifty. Horrors ! whatever must it be like ? I always thought that love was rather a pleasant sensation than otherwise, but it seems I was mistaken. In describing the house, I forgot to say that Ronnie and I had a small room at the back of the house, into which nobody was allowed to enter without special permission. It is a harbour of refuge to me when Ronnie is away. It is such a pretty room, very different from the drawing-room that Aunt Helen is so proud of. Nearly everything in our little sanctum has been bought by ourselves. We clean it ourselves, as we could not trust Ann to do it. We know only too well that, if we left her to do her own sweet will there, she would sweep half our cherished possessions into the dust-bin.

Chapter II

It is a week since I wrote anything in my diary, but it seems more like a year. All who have one grain of pity that they are not using, can bestow it on me ; the smallest contribution will be thankfully received. Ronnie has gone to Cornwall, and I am alone again. The spring weather always tries her strength, and I think it has been worse for her this spring than it generally is. Aunt Helen got alarmed about her, and wrote to Aunt Hester asking if she could do with her for a little while. I hoped against hope that she would invite me too, but she didn't. Nobody ever seems to think that I want a change. In desperation, I asked Aunt Helen if she would ask if I could go too, but I only received a stony stare, and I dare not say anything else for fear Ronnie should hear of it and refuse to leave me.

Now that I have calmed down into a state of hopeless waiting for better days, I wonder how I ever dared to hint at such a thing to Aunt Helen. Even Ann put in a word for me. I overheard her telling Aunt Helen that she thought I needed a change, and she thought it was cruel to separate me from Ronnie. For a moment wild hope took possession of me, but I need not have hoped. She just asked coldly how she was to do without both of us, and hope died within me when I heard her. Ronnie went on Wednesday, and when she had gone, I went to our sitting-room, where every little thing reminded me of her, and for a while black despair seemed to take possession of my soul. I wonder why I feel it so much more than I have done other times. I feel as if nothing but evil will come of her absence. But I will not think such things or I shall get morbid, and I think morbid people are detestable.

On Sunday I made about half-a-dozen mis takes, and nearly succeeded in putting the choir out altogether. There was a gentleman sitting in the vicarage pew, the long-expected nephew I suppose, and every time I went wrong he looked at me. I got so aggravated at him at last that I glared ferociously at him every time I caught his eye. Alice was sitting next to him, and I believe she thought I was scowling at her, for she began looking dreadfully uncomfortable the second time I did it, so that I was obliged to smile to reassure her. After service, Mr. Ford, the vicar, introduced me to his nephew. Alice addressed him as cousin Arthur, and of course, his surname was the same as theirs. Arthur Ford ! I like the name, but he ought to have a nice name, because he is good looking. As we walked down the churchyard he asked, in the tone of one thirsting for informa tion, if I always made faces at strangers. ' I wasn't making faces at you,' I replied indignantly, feeling my colour rise as it occurred to me that I had been behaving badly ; ' I only glared at you, because you looked at me every time I went wrong.' 'Don't equivocate, Miss Dalton,' he said rather teasingly.

But I was in no humour to stand teasing by any young man, even if he had a pair of lovely dark eyes and a peculiarly winning smile, so I just replied coldly, and rudely too, I am afraid, ' You had better not use such long words when you are speaking to me. I am a person of limited intelligence,' and then, the vicarage gate being reached, I marched off without waiting to shake hands with anybody. When I reached home, Aunt Helen had a scolding waiting, just ready to be dished up, about playing so badly and scowling at people. It seems she had been watching me. She always has been watching me, if I have been doing anything I should not do. I ate my dinner without speaking a word, while she talked on about my wretched play ing. Then she finished up by saying scathingly, that the vicar's nephew would think I was a Hottentot. ' I don't care what he thinks.

He can think I am a camel if he likes,' I burst out, and then I rose and left the table, much to Aunt Helen's astonishment. When I got to the safety of my own room, I sat down and mused sadly over my dreadful temper. always seem to do this way when Ronnie is not here. Everything seems to go wrong, and I know all the time that the fault is in me, which only seems to make me more out of joint with things than ever. When I had had enough of my own thoughts I went to the doctor's, and was soon restored to myself again by Mrs. Montrose's kindness. I told them about scowling in church, but the doctor did nothing but laugh. I was just a little bit offended at first, but he said kindly, ' Poor little Rie, I think you are making mountains out of molehills, but Ronnie's going away has upset you a bit, hasn't it ? ' The kind words touched my heart, and I wept bitterly, but I felt better after, as if I had washed away a mountain of naughty feelings.

I apologised to Aunt Helen when I went back, and she said she was glad I had come to my senses again, and she hoped I should not show any more childish temper as I had done at dinner-time, which, of course, made me feel delighted that I had apologised. On Monday afternoon I went up to the vicarage to give Alice her weekly lesson. Truth to tell, I dreaded the thought of meeting the nephew again. did not ring the bell, as I had instructions to go straight to the schoolroom, where v p always had our lesson. The sun was very powerful that afternoon, and when I entered the schoolroom it was comparatively dark, as the blinds had been drawn half-way down. I was rather tired, and I just sank into a chair, and thinking I was alone, I said hope fully, ' Perhaps he will be out.' ' I am very much afraid he is in,' said a voice of suppressed laughter at the other end of the room.

I started violently, and then the speaker emerged from the semi-darkness and confronted me. ' Good afternoon, Miss Dalton,' he said, holding out his hand. ' You look hot.' Hot ! I should think I did look hot. I felt at fever-heat. ' Won't you shake hands with me ? ' he asked, with that winning smile, which, already, I knew so well. ' I haven't offended you, have I ? ' he went on. ' I think I have offended you. I don't know what you must have thought of me yesterday. I don't think I ever behaved so badly before, and I most certainly never played so badly before,' I said penitently. ' Had something upset you ? ' he inquired sympathetically. ' Yes,' I replied dolefully, ' Ronnie has gone away.' ' Who is Ronnie ? ' he asked in a mystified tone, and then, quite naturally, I told him about Ronnie, and how I loved her, and that it always made me feel bad when she went away.

He listened in silence, but it was a silence of pure sympathy. He might have been my brother, by the interest he showed. Then Alice came in, and he went into the garden whilst I gave her her lesson. ' Don't be very hard on her,' he said laughingly, as he went out of the room. ' She has not done much practising since I came. We are famous chums, aren't we, Alice ? ' and then he disappeared. Poor little Alice did not know her lesson at all, but I was very lenient with her ; I believe she was a little bit surprised at my leniency, as it was not my usual way with her, though there was a very warm affection between us. We were both glad when the lesson was over, for we were pining to be out in the fresh air. I wonder how it is that the birds always sing louder when one is a prisoner indoors. 17 c ' Will you come out and play at skipping, dear Miss Rie?' asked Alice, throwing her arms affectionately round my neck and nearly strangling me. ' With pleasure,' I returned with alacrity, swinging round on the music-stool whilst she hunted diligently for her skipping-rope.

She found it at last, and then we slowly made our way to the kitchen-garden. Mr. Ford would not allow her to skip on the lawn — he said it injured the grass ; and as there was a good-sized space at the bottom of the kitchen-garden that was not used for anything, we generally used to wend our way thither when we wanted to play. I think I loved games almost as well as Alice did ; indeed, I had never outgrown my child hood properly. We tied one end of the rope to an old apple-tree, and then we took it in turn to skip ; but, somehow, the rope would not behave itself as it generally did. I think I had not tied it tightly enough when I fastened it to the tree, and it would persist in slipping down to the ground whatever we did to try to stop it, whilst Alice's little fox-terrier, Flop, did nothing but bark at us.

Then he began snapping at our heels, so Alice carried him into the house and shut him up. Despairing of having any enjoyment out of the skipping-rope that afternoon, we unfastened it from the tree, and then, with a gleeful shout, Alice precipitated herself upon her cousin, who had just come round the corner of the house. ' Come and play with us, cousin Arthur,' she exclaimed, dragging him towards where I was standing. O ' He will do better than the apple-tree, won't he, Miss Rie ? ' she asked. ' He may. But we will wait and see,' I returned cautiously. ' Is that to put me on my mettle ? ' he asked, squaring his shoulders and taking hold of the end that Alice generously offered him. I smiled, and then Alice began skipping. ' Doesn't it make your arm ache ? ' he asked presently, beginning to show signs of fatigue. ' No,' I replied, ' but I should imagine that yours is aching pretty badly.' 'Why should mine ache and not yours?' he asked. ' I only use my hand and wrist, while you describe a great arc in the air every time the rope goes over,' I replied laughingly, and then he began to improve a little. 19 C2 ' It's easy enough when you get the knack of it,' he observed presently. ' Everything is easy when you can do it,' I responded drily. ' You try now, cousin Arthur,' said Alice, after I had had my turn. 'Well, I shouldn't mind,' he said. 'It is rather tiring work turning this rope round.' When he began skipping, Alice and I simply shook with laughter.

He seemed to have an idea that he had to jump over the rope as it made a bow in the air, and the surprising jumps he gave would have done credit to a frog. ' Have a pepper, Arthur ? ' suggested Alice when he stopped to rest. ' What in the name of wonder is a pepper ? ' he asked in a bewildered tone. ' Oh, you skip three times and we say " Pitch, patch, pepper," and then we turn as fast as we can, and you have to skip fast. Do you understand ? ' 'H'm! yes, I think so. But why do you call it a pepper ? ' he asked. ' Wait, and you will soon see,' I responded oracularly. Then as we said the magic words, he gave three terrific leaps, until I almost expected him to soar out of sight. When we got to the word ' pepper,' he was not ready, for, as we began to turn the rope fast and furiously, he caught his foot in it, and sat down on the ground with a crash, whilst Alice and I laughed until the tears came. ' Pepper indeed ! ' he gasped, wiping the perspiration off his brow. ' You are heartless wretches, both of you, trying to lure an inoffend ing fellow-creature on to destruction like that.

Why didn't you tell me what you were going to do?' 'We did tell you,' said Alice indignantly. ' I thought you would come to grief,' I said, as well as I could for laughing. 'You might have warned me,' he said reproachfully. ' Experience is the best teacher,' I returned teasingly. ' I don't know what you are going to do,' he said, ' but I am going to have no more of the wretched thing. Let us go for a walk.' ' I must go home,' I said quickly. ' Aunt Helen will be wanting me.' 'Well, we might as well go with you. It will be a walk. Unless, of course, you prefer solitude,' he said. ' Oh, you may come if you like,' I replied, only too glad to accept the offer of such pleasant company. They went nearly all the way home with me, and then he said they would not go any further, as he thought I could be trusted to walk the remaining short distance.

I think he guessed that I did not want to ask them into the house, and he did not want to make me feel obliged to do so. ' When shall we see you again ? ' he asked, as I shook hands with him. ' Let us go into the woods to-morrow after noon and gather primroses,' said Alice eagerly. ' Will you go ? ' said her cousin, almost as eagerly. ' If I can,' I replied. 'If I am not at the vicarage at half-past two, go without me, because I shall not be coming,' and then, with a merry good afternoon, they turned and went back home. I do hope I shall be able to go. I must not mention it to Aunt Helen though, or she will be sure to find something for me to do that will keep me in all the afternoon. I shall not look forward to it or I shall be sure to be disappointed. After tea I sat down and wrote a long letter to Ronnie.

I had spent such a happy afternoon that I was able to write cheerfully without any effort. We write twice a week to each other when she is away, and sometimes it is such hard work writing a cheerful letter. I told her that already our sanctum was in a state of chaos indescribable, which was quite true. It always does get like that when Ronnie is away, and then the day after she comes back we set to work to restore it to its pristine splendour. I told her about the vicar's nephew, as I knew she would be interested to hear about him, and I told her that she was to be quick and get strong again. Then I had to give messages from half the people in the village, so that I felt quite tired when I had finished. Oh, I do hope I shall be able to go to-morrow !

Chapter III

I had a narrow escape of having to stay at home after all. After dinner, just as I was thinking I would get ready to go out, Aunt Helen told me that she thought of going out herself, and if she went she would want me to stay at home. I did not say anything, as I knew it would be of no use. I just sat down again and tried to persuade myself that, as I had not allowed myself to look forward to it, I was not very much disappointed, but I did not succeed very well. Judging by the depth of my disappointment, I must have been looking forward to it a good deal, though I had been unconscious of it. Fortune, however, smiled on me. It was but a fickle deceitful smile, but still it was a smile. Aunt Helen went to sleep !!!!!!! The exclamation marks are to show the extent of my thankfulness. As soon as I was quite sure that she was asleep, I bolted, if I may be allowed to use such an expression.

In less than two minutes I was outside the house, and I breathed again. It was nearly half-past two when I escaped, and I ran nearly all the way to the vicarage, I was so afraid they would have gone and left me. But they had not gone. A few yards from the vicarage-gate I met them coming in search of me. ' I was afraid you would have gone,' I gasped, taking off my light straw hat and fanning my self vigorously with it. ' We were just coming for you,' said Alice. ' Arthur would not go without you.' ' I thought perhaps your aunt had chained you up in the coal-cellar,' he said solemnly, as I gave him a grateful look. ' I see : and so you were coming to storm the castle and rescue the imprisoned maiden,' I said. ' Exactly. You have grasped my idea pre cisely,' he replied. We walked slowly towards the woods, laughing and talking merrily all the way.