When the Heart is Young

Front matter

M BY THE SAME AUTHOR. THE ROMANCE OF A MADHOUSE. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. The Daily Telegraph :— Considerable constructive ingenuity and power of sustain ing interest are displayed by Miss Meadows in her bright " Romance of a Madhouse." In the course of plucking out the heart of Miss Meadows' mystery for themselves, the readers of this cleverly told tale are likely to experience more than one pleasurable spasm of astonishment. " The Romance of a Madhouse " is well worthy of perusal, and whilst it exposes the fallibility of human justice and scientific specialism, does so without acrimony or even exaggeration. The Academy: — Miss Meadows has constructed a very taking story in " The Romance of a Madhouse." The story is full of go, and the interest is kept up from the beginning to the close. Daily Chronicle :— The book may be recommended to those who like fiction in which sensational element forms one of the principal ingredients.

The Globe :— Miss A. M. Meadows, who has just published a little story, " The Romance of a Madhouse," is a grand-niece of Drinkwater Meadows, the well known actor (who was a member of the late Chas. Kean's famous company). < Her " Romance " is full of exciting interest, and will delight all lovers of the sensational. Lloyd's News'. — "The Romance of a Madhouse" is the most_ telling volume of Arrowsmith's Bristol library that has been published for some considerable time. The authoress, Miss Alice Maud Meadows^ has written some charming novels and tales, and makes a decided step in advance in this work. Her characters are drawn with marked firmness, and play their parts in an exceedingly attractive manner. The Literary World: — The interest is well kept up till the mystery is finally solved by the aid of a phonograph.

London Figaro : — If " Called Back " bad not been published, " The Romance of a Madhouse," by Alice Maud Meadows, might have created a big sensation. It does not run on the same lines as Hugh Con way's first success, but the runaway girl from the asylum, the handsome widow, and the man who is supposed to tell the narrative, are characters which remind the reader of some of Fargus's creations. There is much in the " Romance " which might be made effective on the stage. The writer has planned a rattling good story, and carried out her design with credit. The Referee :— The story is well told, and the mystery is well kept up. Western Daily Press : — The story is one of absorbing interest, and, once com menced, the book is not likely to be left until finished. The authoress has worked out a cleverly constructed plot upon the foundation of a mysterious murder.

Chapter II

"It's ten thousand pities you quarrelled," Sarah says wisely, when over our breakfast I tell them of my adventure; "he might have felt inclined to make you Mrs. Boaz if you had behaved meekly and humbly." " It's not too late," Jo breaks in, blowing his coffee to cool it. " Watch him well, and lay down at his feet if you get the chance." " Or send your mother-in-law to propose for you," Sam suggests. "My mother-in-law?" I ask, laughing. "Where is she to come from ? " Sam looks foolish. " The other girl had one," he says, " and an uncommonly good sort she seemed. I wish they grew them like that now. Shall you really send the loaves, Ruth ? " " Really." " It will cost you something ; but, of course, it will be a grand lark. What fun it would be to take them ourselves." "Silly fun," Sarah says, disapprovingly.

"Ruth was only saying this morning that she wanted to get married, and here is a possible husband. I call it next door to a sin to offend him." " I would not marry him," I say, hotly ; " I'd sooner wed a — a pig," looking round mentally for something very objectionable. " It was bad enough to turn me out of the corn, but fancy taking my flowers." As I speak, the door opens, and Ann, our housemaid, enters with a large bunch of yellow and red roses. " For you, Miss Ruth," she says, smiling knowingly. I take them in my hands and look at their rich beauty ; how sweet they smell ; the dew is still wet upon them. I know my sisters and brothers are looking at me ; I feel myself colour hotly. A tiny note is tied to the stems, I open it and read : "With Boaz's compliments to Ruth, as a slight return for her kind gift."

" Who brought it, Ann ? " I ask. " A servant from the Hall, miss," she answers. " Thank you." Taking my "thank you" as a sign of dismissal, she leaves the room laggingly. When the door is safely closed, I hand the letter to Sam. " Did ever you know such impudence," I say. " Back they go this morning with the loaves." " Fancy him calling himself Boaz ! " Sam returns ; " he must have some sense of fun. But how could he know that your name was Ruth 1" "I told him," I answer; "and I said, 'Good-bye, Boaz,' when I left him. It was not his idea at all." " Well, he is not so stingy as you thought," Sarah says, burying her nose in the roses and sniffing in the sweet scent. " If I were you I would keep the flowers." " If you were me," I say, sharply, " you would do as I shall do, and that will be to send them back.

I wonder," looking at them lovingly, " if he would notice if I kept one bud." " You must keep all or none," Jo says, abstracting one surreptitiously. " Then it must be none," I say, repossessing myself of them. " Oh dear, how lovely they are ! " I gaze upon them fondly, not with any thought of the giver, but simply for the pleasure of looking at their loveli ness. I am so fond of flowers, it will be hard to part with them. As I sit with them in my hand, we hear a step which makes us all settle ourselves straight in our chairs and sit very upright. I look wildly round for a hiding-place for my flowers, but, alas ! father is in the room before I have time to conceal them. " Good-morning, father," we say in small, unnaturally small, voices, and I drop my hand at my side, hoping that my bouquet may escape notice.

" Good-morning," he returns, looking at us sharply one by one. " I have come to tell you a delightful piece of news." "We know it," Sam says with incautious boldness; "we heard it yelling at five this morning." A flush of anger sweeps father's face. "And what business had you to hear anything at five this morning ? " he asks. " How dare you be awake ; and I'll trouble you, Samuel, not to speak of my son as it, or to use the word yelling. You will learn the first chapter of Isaiah, and bring it me perfect by luncheon time." He leaves the door, where he has been standing, tall and straight, and walks round the room; in a moment or two he will see. I wonder if I could pass the flowers to my other hand. I keep my eyes fixed upon him and try. He comes nearer, nearer; I — " What are you doing, Ruth?" he asks, having apparently seen my movements with his nose or ears, for his eyes cer tainly were not turned my way.

" What have you there ? " He makes a quick step to my side, and the next moment my posy is in his hand " And where did these come from ? " he asks. I am dumb. I dare not tell the truth, and I have not the pluck to tell a lie ; besides, it would be no good, I never perpetrated one successfully yet. Joe, the ready Ananias of our family, comes to my assistance. " We bought them for dear mamma," he says. Quite a pleasant smile crosses father's face. " That was kind of you," he says ; " she will be pleased. They must have cost you a great deal ; all your little savings." " Yes," Jo answers, with a saintly look on his face, " but we would rather spend our money on flowers for mamma, than waste it on sweets." " Quite right, my boy, and I'm sure, I'm — I'm extremely grateful myself. You shall see your little brother this after noon, and Samuel, I'll excuse you that lesson."

" God bless Boaz," Jo says, piously, as father closes the door, having taken my flowers — my first bouquet — with him. " Well, Ruth, you won't be able to send the posy back now." " No; but I shall let him know that I did not keep it. I shall send a note with the bread." I rise from the table, and get a pen and paper, my brothers and sister following my movements with interest. Sarah disapproves, I can see ; but, having been snubbed once, says nothing. " What shall I say ? " I ask, looking up. " Silence is golden," Sarah says softly. " Practice what you preach," I return in another aside. " Let me see," looking up at the cracked ceiling for inspira tion, " how would this do ? 'I meant to return your flowers, to which I have no right, having made you no gift what ever ; but circumstances, over which I had no control, put that out of my power.

I may inform you, though, that they are not in my possession.' " I look up. " Will that do ? " "'Excellently well,'" as the doctor said, Sam answers, " there is an air of mystery about it which will be very tantalising. Have we time to get out and do the rest of the business before Brown comes ? " " Plenty," I answer. " Are you coming, Jo 1 " " Of course." "And you, Sarah?" " No, thanks. I take no part in this foolishness. Who knows, perhaps, your unkindness may send him to me for comfort." " Don't be so absurd ; you're only fourteen, and you look about ten. So you won't come ? " " No ; I don't half know my lessons, and Brown has not made himself particularly agreeable since I put cobbler's wax on his chair." Brown is our tutor. We went through a course of governesses in our younger days, but they found it impossible to manage us.

Now we have a tutor who comes daily to in struct us and lead us in the way we should go. I am his favourite, perhaps, because learning is so easy to me. My lessons are always well known, and yet sometimes, when some special attraction has kept me from them altogether, and I have come to him with the candid confession that I have not even looked at them, he has only smiled a little reprovingly, and passed his large white hand over my hair, as though he loved it. Sarah is not a favourite. She is full of tricks and mis chief. Her tasks are always badly done ; her lessons un learnt. It is next to impossible to keep her in her chair for more than ten minutes at a time. When she gets to her sums her slate is covered with drawings in a moment. She can no more be good than she can fly. I know quite well that Brown would rather teach a dozen Ruths, Samuels, and Josephs than one Sarah.

I put on my hat and gloves, then, with my letter clasped in my hand, set off with the boys to buy the bread. I am a little sorry now that I promised to send it, for it will take almost all the money I possess ; but having put my hand to the plough, I cannot turn back. Amid much laughter we give the note and the order at the baker's. I pay a little sorrowfully, and we turn homeward again. " The worst of a joke of this sort is that you can't see the climax," Jo says very regretfully. " I'd give something to be there when it arrives." " Expect he'll be in a deuce of a wax," Samuel continues, using language which ought to shock my ears, but which does not. " You would not," I say, " if you had seen him. In spite of his sending the flowers, he is evidently mean in the ex treme ; he will only be too glad to get the bread, and no doubt will rub his hands with glee when he thinks what a capital bargain he has made."

Whether I believe what I say is doubtful. He was right, of course, aud I was wrong; but those who have pushed through a cornfield (I don't mean those who have walked along the prescribed pathways) will understand the pleasure 1 felt, and perhaps forgive me. When we reach the schoolroom, Mr. Brown, or Brown, as we always call him, excepting to his face, is already there. Sarah is standing by his side on one leg, with the other curled gracefully round it, wrestling with the study she most hates — arithmetic. " Good-morning," we say as we enter, the boys pulling off their hats to their master, I taking mine off also and flinging it to the other end of the room, where, missing the side board, it falls to the floor. " Good-morning," Brown returns, and rising from his chair, picks up my hat and puts it gently out of harm's way, shaking his head reprovingly at me the while.

" I don't think that is quite the way to treat your clothes, Ruth," he says. " Hats are not clothes," says Sarah, turning her slate and showing us a very good caricature of our master. "Are they not ? " he answers, detecting the by-play, con fiscating the slate, and rubbing out the drawing ; " any way, Sarah, they clothe the head." " Do they ? " she returns inquiringly, as though not quite sure; "now I had an idea that they only partially covered it. I suppose I have been mistaken. Jo, I wish you would fetch Mr. Brown's hat that we might see him clothe his head." We all smile ; how can we help it, looking at the pert little face and the small slight figure standing by our master's side ? " Sarah, I shall really have to punish you," he says a little sharply, over-vexed at her naughtiness. " If you must, you must," she returns unconcernedly ; " but really, if you ask my opinion, I think it will be waste of time.

I shall never be good, never ! — punish you never so wisely, to paraphrase a biblical sentence." We have settled down to our ordinary work, but still we cannot help hearing the clear, somewhat shrill young voice. " Take your slate and work out this sum," Mr. Brown says, giving it into her hands ; " are you ready ? " I know that the little head is nodded because a shadow crosses the paper upon which I am writing. "I bought eight dozen pairs of silk stockings," our master's voice continues, " for which — " " Why ever did you buy so many," interrupts the small shrill voice, "and what could you want with stockings? You—" " For which I paid six shillings and ninepence three farthings a pair." "Very dear indeed! " chimes in the soprano. "What did I pay in all?" " Don't you know ? " "Sarah, do you wish me to speak to your father?

" " Of course ! You must congratulate him ; he's got a new baby, a boy, the doctor brought it in his hat ; we — " " Sarah, are you going to work that sum!" She looks at him with her pretty brows puckered. "Sum ! What sum ?— oh," as though a sudden thought strikes her, " was that a sum ? Now, really, I thought it was a piece of news you were telling me. Let me see — eight dozen pairs of stockings — ought it not to be socks ? — at six and ninepence three farthings a pair. Exorbitant price ; always the way when you send a man shopping ; gets cheated as a matter of course. How much for the lot ? " With a little laugh she works it out. "Thirty-two pounds fourteen shillings," she answers. " Quite right ; now sit down and look over your lessons. Mind, if they are imperfect to-day, I shall punish you severely."

" Think not to make me fear, I do not know the Devil," Sarah says, walking slowly to her seat, pulling my hair as she passes, and skilfully turning Mr. Brown's pen in his ink bottle, so that next time he uses it there will be more trouble. I really wish sometimes that her spirits were not quite so good. B " So there is a new little brother ? " Mr. Brown says, com ing to my side aud standing with his hand on the back of my chair. " Yes," I answer. " And you are glad ? " " Glad ! no, I don't care one way or the other, as long as he does not cry ; there were quite enough of us before, and this is not really a brother." " Have you seen him ? " "No, that is a pleasure yet to come; but we are not anxious — babies are not much to look at. I suppose you know very little about them ? " " Very little, but I love the tiny creatures."

" Do you ? " looking up into his face, which is a handsome one, although forty years have set their stamp upon it, and the snow has early mingled with his dark hair. " That seems funny ; as a rule, men hate them. Father loathed all of us. I think he does not love us overmuch even now ; but really, I believe he is pleased about this new baby. Sam says it is because it is the child of his old age, and the boy ought to be called Isaac ; but I think our own mother was his Leah — our step-mother is his Rachel, and that is why he loves her more, and her little son more." Sarah looks up as I finish speaking. " What is sauce for the goose, Mr. Brown," she says, " should be sauce for the gander ; it's not fair to let Ruth chatter while we work." He moves away from my side, and, for the rest of the morning, I work hard, now and then lifting my head to look longingly towards the fields where the reaping-machines are hard at work mowing down the golden harvest.

I wonder dreamily how it is that so many things with life can fall before the cruel steel without a sound ; surely they must give a little cry if it be ever so small. Poppies and corn flowers, aud those wee flowers I spoke of — all are falling, falling, turning over and lying with their heads a little raised, lying silent in their pain, for surely they bleed and suffer. Once or twice my thoughts go after my loaves to the owner of the broad cornfields. Will he be vexed, or will he laugh ? I try not to think of him, I dislike him so much. Lessons are at length over. Sarah has disgraced herself as usual, and is to lose her half-holiday. Her eyes look as though the tears are near them, though her tightly shut mouth is rebellious still. " Old beast," she says, almost before our tutor is out of the room, " I wanted particularly to go out this after noon."

"You should behave better," Sam says unfeelingly. "I wonder sometimes that Brown does not box your ears." Sarah's glistening eyes flash, and she clenches her little hands. " He wouldn't do it twice," she says, " I'd kill him." Then suddenly changing her tone, " But I did want to go out to-day awfully, Ruth," coming to my side and putting her arms round my neck, " he will do anything for you, run after him and ask him to let me off." " Oh, I can't," I answer, " you really were naughty, Sarah." " I always am," she returns ; " but I simply wont stop in doors to-day; if you won't get leave for me I will go without." So I rise and go after our master, catching him just as he reaches the great gates. He hears my flying footsteps, turns, then a flush of gladness sweeps his face. "Mr. Brown," I say breathlessly, "I want you to let Sarah off; she was naughty I know, but it is such a lovely *V" - „..._,.., " And is a lovely day conducive to naughtiness," he asked, smiling.

" Of course not," I return; "I mean the day is too lovely to be spent between four walls. You will let her off, will you not ? " A little trouble crosses his face. "I ought not to," he says, "but—" " But you cannot refuse me," I interrupt, laughing ; " they all say I am your favourite— see," stooping down and pick* ing a handful of purple pansies, "I will give you these. Hearts-ease, we call them, as a bribe." A curious expression crosses his face. He takes the flowers and my hand with them. " Mind," he says, holding my fingers firmly, " it is only because you bribe me and because, you ask me, that I let Sarah off. It is only because I cannot refuse you anything, my little pupil."

Chapter III

Sunday. I am sinful enough to dislike it, it is such a long dreary day. Church in the morning, church in the after noon, church in the evening, hymns and prayers and psalms from morning to night ; surely it would be better to spread our religion in a thin layer over all the week instead of taking it in a great lump on the seventh, or first, day — I speak for both Jew and Gentile ; surely it would do us more good. Religion is spiritual medicine, agreeable or other wise, according to the palate of the receiver : to some a tonic, a pick-me-up ; to others a cooling, a lowering, drink. What sick person, ill and weak in body, would think of doctoring themselves but once a week ? The physic would stand close at hand, and the patient would take it twice, perhaps three times, a day ; so it should be with religion — at least, so I think, but then I am nobody — a girl of fifteen not yet out of the schoolroom.

We have seen the baby. Sam says he is like a tadpole — all head ; but, indeed, I think it is not so bad as babies go. I have never been much impressed by the young of the human species. Mamma looks very proud and happy. I hardly see why. It is nothing out of the common to possess a baby. To-day we four children are to go to church unaccom panied by either father or mother. It is too delightful; this afternoon we will wander away and hear Mr. Green fields preach, and the choir of birds sing to the accompany ing of the rustling branches ; but this morning we must not play truant. I dress slowly, not in a vanity-stricken sort of way, leaning over my glass, and putting the little rings of hair upon my forehead straight, gazing with conceited pleasure at my face; but loitering in a pleasant sort of manner.

Sarah reads until the last moment, then throws her hat on any how, aud thrusts her hands into her gloves. " Come on," she says, not bothering to look at herself ; "it is quite time we were off; the quarter bell has been ringing for about half-an-hour." I do not contradict the statement, though I know it is impossible that it can be strictly true. I catch up my parasol, and follow Sarah downstairs. " Ready, girls ? " says Sam, who is putting a polish upon his high hat with his coat-sleeve. " Quite," I answer. " Where is Jo ? " " Here, sweet sister," he answers for himself, coming out of the dining-room. " The night is long spent, the — I mean it is time we started. Follow me." With great politeness he relieves me of my books and umbrella. Thank heaven, our brothers do think it worth while to be polite to their sisters, and to treat them just as they would any other ladies.

So we start, walking all together, and chattering like young magpies. Sarah is in the highest spirits, and I tremble when I think of what her behaviour will probably be in church, unrestrained by either the paternal or maternal eye. Now she runs hither and thither, scandalising demure and sedate people, who are walking to church in a proper and becoming manner, with their eyes modestly fixed upon the ground, and their books clasped to their hearts. "Do take Sarah's hand, Sam," I say, "and make her walk properly ; she really ought to behave on Sunday." Sam makes a dive through a hole in a hedge through which Sarah has disappeared. Sarah comes from another. Sam follows until, finding it impossible to catch her, he returns to us. " I almost have it in my heart to wish that father was here," he says.

" Really, sometimes I think that our sister is possessed of devils." We watch for her reappearance, and at length see her far ahead, clambering over a stile. Our clergyman — the Very Reverend Charles Heathwait— is passing, and pauses to speak to her. She engages him in conversation for a moment, slides down to the ground, takes his hand, and with a backward glance of amusement to us, walks off with him. "Well, she has got cheek," says Jo. "I would give something to hear what she is saying. Let us catch them up." So we hurry forward ; but Sarah, perhaps divining our intention, bids her companion a swift adieu, and comes back to us. " I hope you are ashamed of yourself? " I say severely. " I am — not," she answers ; " why should I be ? " Then, seeing I am about to lecture, " Don't preach, Ruth ; the pulpit does not become you."

So I remain silent, and we file into church one after the other. Sarah's perverseness takes a curious turn to-day. In stead of disregarding the service altogether, she takes a most prominent part in it ; every prayer, whether meant for the clergyman only, or the congregation as a whole, she re cites loudly in her shrill young voice, her eyes cast upward, her hands folded together ; in all the singing she takes the lead, and frowns down two or three people who dare to cough. In vain we try not to laugh. Her little pert face, wearing such an expression of mock solemnity, is too much for us. Once or twice the pious eyes indulge in an anything but saintly wink, and we do our utmost not to smile in vain ! Slowly the service goes on ; the banns of marriage are given out in the usual indistinct manner ; several notices for the week ; then, while my face blushes rosy red, I hear those words : "A new charity has been bestowed upon our church.

From this day, and for all time, one loaf is to be given every Sunday to nine of our poorest parishioners. A sum of money, sufficient to provide this, has been lodged in my hands to be passed on to all future clergy of this church. The donation is anonymous, but the giver expresses a wish in his letter that it shall be called Ruth's gift." I feel my whole body blush. I know that my face is crimson. I can feel the blood tingling in my toes and finger-tips ; with a great leap, my heart has sent the flood all over me, and now stands still. The boys are laughing quietly, and affectionately digging their elbows in my ribs. Sarah's impudent little face is looking round at me, a broad grin expanding her mouth from ear to ear. How angry I feel. Twice he has beaten me ; first with the roses, and now with this perpetual memory of my foolish joke.

I look round towards the end of the church where other loaves which are distributed Sunday after Sun day are generally placed. Yes, their number is increased. I turn my eyes back once more, but before I let them fall upon my book they flash an angry glance at someone who is watching me with an amused triumphant look upon his fair face — Mr. Frank Strange has just come into church, disgracefully late, and taken his seat in the Hall pew. "He has the best of it, after all," Sam whispers. "You are fairly beaten, Ruth ; you can do nothing, unless you send a similar offering from Boaz." " Hush ! " I return ; " I'll be even with him one of these days. See if I am not." " How ? " Sam whispers. " Never you mind," I answer, and, indeed, it would be difficult to say, for I do not know myself. " A girl has only one way of revenging herself upon a man," Sam continues, covering his face with his hands, and feigning to be deeply engaged in prayer.