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Page 18
"I wonder," thought the Reverend Mr. Stokes--"I wonder when our
legislature will contrive to establish a school for mothers. If girls
are sent to school, the chances are that the contamination over
which the teacher can have no control--the contamination of evil
girls--renders them vicious; if, on the contrary, they are kept at
home, the folly of their mothers makes them fools--a pretty choice!"
Mr. Stokes turned down a lane that ran parallel with the garden
where the children went to school; and hearing Helen's voice in loud
dispute, he paused for a moment to ascertain the cause.
"I tell you," said the little maid, "Rose may be what she likes, but
I'll be queen."
"How unfit," quoth the curate to himself--"how utterly unfit is Mrs.
Myles to manage Helen!" The good man paused again; and to the no small
confusion of the little group, who had been making holiday under the
shadow of a spreading apple-tree, suddenly entered amongst them,
and read her a lecture, gently, kindly, and judicious. Having thus
performed what he conceived his duty, he walked on; but his progress
was arrested by a little hand being thrust into his; and when he
looked down, the beaming, innocent face of Rose Dillon was up-turned
towards him.
"Do please, sir," she said, "let Helen Marsh be queen of the game;
if she is not, she won't play with a bit of heart--she won't, indeed,
sir. She will play to be sure, but not with any heart."
"I cannot unsay what I have said, little Rose," he answered; "I
cannot; it is better for her to play without heart, as you call it,
than to have that heart too highly uplifted by play."
Happy would it have been for Helen Marsh if she had always had a
judicious friend to correct her dangerous ambition. The good curate
admonished the one, and brought forward the other, of the cousins; but
what availed his occasional admonishing when counteracted by the weak
flattery of Mrs. Myles?
CHAPTER II.
Years passed; the lovely children, who tripped hand in hand down
the street of Abbeyweld, grew into ripe girlhood, and walked arm in
arm--the pride and admiration of every villager. The curate became at
last rector, and Mrs. Myles's absurdities increased with her years.
The perfect beauty of the cousins, both of face and form, rendered
them celebrated far and near. Each had a separate character as from
the first; and yet--but that Rose Dillon was a little shorter than
her cousin Helen Marsh, and that the _expression_ of her eyes was so
different that it was almost impossible to believe they were the
same shape and colour, the cousins might have been mistaken for each
other--I say _might_, because it is rather remarkable that they never
were. Helen's fine dark eyes had a lofty and forbidding aspect, while
Rose had not the power, if indeed she ever entertained the will, of
looking either the one or the other. I thought Rose the most graceful
of the two in her carriage, but there could be no doubt as to Helen's
being the most dignified; both girls were almost rustic in their
manners, but rusticity and vulgarity are very distinct in their
feelings and attributes. They _could not_ do or say aught that was
vulgar or at variance with the kindnesses of life--those tender
nothings which make up so large a something in the account of every
day's existence. Similar, withal, as the cousins were in appearance,
they grew up as dissimilar in feelings and opinions as it is possible
to conceive, and yet loving each other dearly. Still Helen never for a
moment fancied that any one in the village of Abbeyweld could compete
with her in any way. She had never questioned herself as to this
being the case, but the idea had been nourished since her earliest
infancy--had never been disputed, except perhaps when latterly a town
belle, or even a more conceited specimen, a country belle, visited in
the neighbourhood; but popular voice (and there _is_ a popular voice,
be it loud or gentle, everywhere) soon discovered that blonde, and
feathers, and flowers, had a good deal to do with this disturbing
of popular opinion; and after a few days, the good people invariably
returned to their allegiance. "Ah! ah!" old Mrs. Myles would observe
on these occasions--Ah! ah!"--I told you they'd soon find the fair
lady was shaded by her fine laces. I daresay now she's on the look-out
for a good match, poor thing! Not that Helen is handsome--don't look
in the glass, Helen, child! My grandmother always said that Old Nick
stood behind every young lady's shoulder when she looked in the glass,
with a rouge-pot all ready to make her look handsomer in her own eyes
than she really was; which shows how wicked it is to look much in a
glass. Only a little sometimes, Nell, darling--we'll forgive her for
looking _a little_; but certainly when I looked at the _new_ beauty in
church the other day, and then looked, I know where, I thought--but
no matter, Helen, no matter--I don't want to make either of my girls
_vain_."
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