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Page 1
XVII. HETTY'S FUTURE IS PLANNED
XVIII. REINE GAYTHORNE
XIX. IF SHE WAS DROWNED, HOW CAN SHE BE HETTY?
XX. HAPPY HETTY
CHAPTER I.
FOUR YEARS OLD.
In all England there is not a prettier village than Wavertree. It has no
streets; but the cottages stand about the roads in twos and threes, with
their red-tiled roofs, and their little gardens, and hedges overrun with
flowering weeds. Under a great sycamore tree at the foot of a hill
stands the forge, a cave of fire glowing in the shadows, a favourite
place for the children to linger on their way to school, watching the
smith hammering at his burning bars, and hearing him ring his cheery
chimes on the anvil. Who shall say what mystery surrounds the big smith,
as he strides about among his fires, to the wide bright eyes that peer
in at him from under baby brows, or what meanings come out of his
clinking music to four-year-old or eight-year-old ears?
Little Hetty was only four years old when she stood for five or ten
minutes of one long summer day looking in at the forge, and watching and
listening with all the energy that belonged to her. She had a little
round pink face with large brown eyes as soft as velvet, and wide open
scarlet lips. Her tiny pink calico frock was clean and neat, and her
shoes not very much broken, though covered with dust. Altogether Hetty
had the look of a child who was kindly cared for, though she had neither
father nor mother in the world.
Two or three great strong horses, gray and bay, with thick manes and
tails, came clattering up to the door of the forge, a man astride on one
of them. Hetty knew the horses, which belonged to Wavertree Hall, and
were accustomed to draw the long carts which brought the felled trees
out of the woods to the yard at the back of the Hall. Hetty once had
thought that the trees were going to be planted again in Mrs. Enderby's
drawing-room, and had asked why the pretty green leaves had all been
taken off. She was four years old now, however, and she knew that the
trees were to be chopped up for firewood. She clapped her hands in
delight as the great creatures with their flowing manes came trotting up
with their mighty hoofs close to her little toes.
"You little one, run away," cried the man in care of the horses; and
Hetty stole into the forge and stood nearer to the fire than she had
ever dared to do before.
"Hallo!" shouted Big Ben the smith; "if this mite hasn't got the courage
of ten! Be off, you little baggage, if you don't want to have those
pretty curls o' yours singed away as bare as a goose at Michaelmas! As
for sparks in your eyes, you sha'n't have 'em, for you don't want 'em.
Eyes are bright enough to light up a forge for themselves."
"Aye," said the carter, "my missus and I often say she's too pretty a
one for the likes of us to have the bringing up of on our hands. And
she's a rare one for havin' her own way, she is. Just bring her out by
the hand, will you, Ben, while I keep these horses steady till she gets
away?"
Big Ben led the little maid outside the forge, and said, "Now run away
and play with the other children"; and then he went back to set about
the shoeing of John Kane's mighty cart-horses, or rather the cart-horses
of Mr. Enderby of Wavertree Hall.
Little Hetty, thus expelled, dared not return to the forge, but she
walked backwards down the road, gazing at the horses as long as she
could see them. She loved the great handsome brutes, and if she had had
her will would have been sitting on one of their backs with her arms
around his neck. Coming to a turn of the road from which a path led on
to an open down, she blew a farewell kiss to the horses and skipped away
across the grass among the gold-hearted, moonfaced daisies, and the
black-eyed poppies in their scarlet hoods.
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