Chapter II: The Journey to the Hall

At length the day arrived for the journey of the children to Jubilee Hall. It had seemed as if it would never come, so ardently did they look forward to the visit; and now it was a picked day, so gloriously sunshiny and fine, and with just enough breeze to prevent the heat from being too oppressive.

The carriage, or rather the pony phaeton, stood already at the door, and the children, impatient of delay, listened to the last words and injunctions of their mother with somewhat less attention than was their wont; for though they were often disobedient and wild, and extraordinarily foolish, still they loved their mother with all their heart; and when she pointed out their faults to them, they made ardent resolutions of amendment, and determined to make their future conduct so good and faultless, that all past errors or mischief should be forgotten. But this morning their thoughts were busy with the pleasures of Jubilee Hall and its thousand and one enjoyments, so that their mother's words fell like hailstones on a glass roof, which touch the surface for a moment only to rebound and fall at a greater distance.

"Harry, love, you will be sure not to play any practical jokes while you are away."

"Oh, mother!"

"Well, you know what I mean; not jokes which are either unkind or mischievous: some jokes are quite innocent, while others do untold harm."

"Oh, of course, mother; but the carriage has been at the door such ages, and the horse is awfully fidgety."

"The horse is not half so fidgety as I am," replied their mother smiling, "sending such a set of wild creatures into a strange house full of company. But, Fred darling, you are the eldest of all, and therefore I am sure you will try to behave well;--and don't burst through any of Aunt Marian's rules so as to follow up your own fancy; promise me that."

"I'll burst through nothing, I promise you, mother, unless it's my clothes, and that I can't answer for, as Tracy has made all my garments an inch smaller than usual."

"And above all, Fred," said Mrs. Malcomson, lowering her voice so as only to be heard by her eldest son, "above all, Fred, you'll not touch anything or go any place where you are forbidden, nor take anything which is not strictly your own."

"Oh, mother, I never do so now."

"I know you have been much better lately, Fred, but still we have had trouble more than once on that point; and though in this house things may readily be forgiven and forgotten, in a strange house you might lose your character and all your promised pleasure by one act of this kind. Aunt Marian is ever so good-natured and generous, but she is very particular about truth and honesty and uprightness; so you'll remember all I have said, will you not, Fred?"

"I'll remember every word as right as a trivet, see if I won't. Good-bye, old mother;" and with these words human endurance came to an end, and Fred, throwing his arms around his mother's neck, rushed out into the hall, and from thence with one bound was seated in the phaeton outside.

Mrs. Malcomson hurried after her children to see that they were safely stowed away, and that the coachman had the reins; for Fred was not a particularly good whip, and Harry was too good a whip, for he generally whipped the horse up into a furious gallop: and as Mrs. Malcomson lifted Kathleen up into the hind seat of the phaeton beside Harry, she whispered, "You'll remember, darling, all I said, and remind the boys each night about their prayers."

"I will," nodded Kathleen, with rather tearful eyes; for now that the moment for parting had come, she did not like leaving her mother's side, to whom, when at home, she always clung like a shadow.

"You'll take great care of your sister, boys," cried she as the pony, raising himself high in the air on his hind legs, made a plunge forward, "and you'll not let her do anything foolish."

"Oh yes; we'll wallop her well if she does anything wrong, I'll promise you. Good-bye once again, and write us awful long budgets of home news," cried Fred.

"And tell old Mother Duffy to send us a stave to say particularly how she liked her last cup of tea," shouted Harry as the phaeton turned round the curve of the avenue and disappeared from sight.

Mrs. Malcomson also turned away with the good-bye smile still lingering about her lips, and re-entered the porch. But ere she had crossed the hall the smile had quite faded away from her face; for dim misgivings began already to fill her heart, lest, after all, instead of the pleasures so much anticipated by the boys, some trouble might arise, either from their thoughtlessness or impatience of restraint, which would make the visit end in disappointment and distress; and, above all, her heart misgave her about Fred, whose conscience was the most pliable of the three, and who sometimes, to gain a desired end, would turn aside from the obstacle of truth, and gain by crooked ways what he could never attain by straight.

But no misgivings of coming evil dimmed the brightness of the boys' pleasure. On the contrary, their spirits rose at every fresh turn of the road, which brought them nearer to their destination; and Brien, the coachman, had by no means an easy time of it trying to keep their hilarity within bounds.

Harry amused himself for some time in making the most appalling grimaces at the passers-by, until a very irate old gentleman on horseback rode up to the side of the phaeton and threatened to horsewhip him if he went on with such tricks. Kathleen was so frightened she burst out crying, which seemed to appease the old gentleman's wrath, for he rode on without making any further remark; and for some time Harry only confined his attentions to Brien, pushing his hat suddenly down on his eyes, or snatching it off and rattling his stick inside of it, which set the pony off at a furious pace, and terrified all the passers-by.

"I shall have a nice story to tell your mamma when I get home," said Brien grimly, as he re-adjusted his hat, and gave it one solemn sideways shake. "It's likely she'll be sending me back again to fetch you to-morrow when she hears the tricks you are up to."

"Pooh," replied Harry, "I'd like to see you tell her anything about it. Had you never a bit of a spree when you were young yourself, eh? But you're such an old land-crab, I don't suppose you ever were young: at the same time, I'm awfully fond of you, in fact I love you like my own child;" and Harry, stretching forward, threw his arms round the old man's neck and leaned his head in an attitude of mock affection on his shoulder.

"Now, Master Harry, keep off with you, and let me drive straight. You nearly made me run the pony against that wall; do be easy, that's a good lad."

"Then you won't tell mother about that old cross-cat on horseback?"

"Not a word of it, if you'll leave me in peace."

So with this and other equally judicious management, Brien managed to convoy his noisy troop along the road until they reached the little village of Drummond, where they were to rest the pony, and get some refreshment at the inn.

Here Fred and Harry were in their element; for, having no one to overlook them (Brien being busy with the pony), they both adjourned to the farmyard followed by Kathleen, who did not like remaining in the inn by herself, and who vainly tried to induce them to remain indoors; but the loud and furious gobble of a turkey-cock had caught the boys' ears, and they rushed in, eager for the fray, waving their canes, and gobbling aloud in imitation of the angry bird.

Kathleen, who, unfortunately, had on a little scarlet cloak, no sooner became aware of the turkey's presence than she dashed into a cowshed and cried loudly for help; but the boys were too excited to think of her, and they prodded the bird with their canes, and worried him so successfully, that at last they actually drove him straight into the shed where their sister had rushed for shelter. The turkey-cock, with every feather on end and his crimson neck inflated to the full, charged in his anger and fright at the red cloak and its owner. Poor Kathleen shrieked with terror, and having nothing but her parasol to defend herself with, beat with all her force at the bird, much oftener missing it and striking the hard paving-stones of the cowshed, until at last the stick of her new parasol snapped suddenly in two, and the pretty silk cover, with its glossy fringe, flew aside into a pool of dirty water on the ground. This was a real misfortune, and the boys, somewhat appalled by the consequences of their "lark," hunted the animal back into the yard, and tried to console Kathleen for the sad fate which had happened to her new and most precious belonging. But Kathleen's tears flowed fast; for not only was her mother's parting gift destroyed, but the front of her pretty new print dress was all spotted and streaked with the mud which, in lifting her parasol out of the dirt, had fallen upon it; and the anguish of having to make her appearance in such a plight was almost more than she, with all her sweet temper, could endure.

The landlady at the hotel was, however, exceedingly kind and forgiving; and although she scolded the boys heartily, and threatened to write to their father, still she brought Kathleen into the kitchen, and sponged her dress and took out the stains, and then she devoted herself to the unhappy parasol, which she cleaned wonderfully, and got her husband to splice and mend, so that Kathleen's tears were soon dried up, and by the time luncheon was over, she was as cheerful and pleasant as ever, and had quite forgiven the boys for their share in her trouble.

When they remounted and were all settled in the carriage, Fred made a desperate attempt to get possession of the reins; but Brien knew that he would be held responsible for the safe conduct of his charge and the safety of the phaeton, and he refused positively to give them out of his own hands. And though Fred first sulked and afterwards abused him roundly, it was all no use; and Brien, as well as Kathleen, who was growing almost sick with nervousness and apprehension, felt no small relief when they entered by a handsome turreted gate the long avenue of Jubilee Hall, and, a few minutes later, found themselves opposite the large iron-clamped door which guarded the entrance of the Hall.