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Page 20
"Doctor!" said Tiny, as they stood by the garden-gate, "how long do you
think gentlemen's pocket-handkerchiefs take to wear out?"
"That, my dear Madam," said the Doctor, "must depend, like other
terrestrial matters, upon circumstances; whether the gentleman bought
fine cambric, or coarse cotton with pink portraits of the reigning
Sovereign, to commence with; whether he catches many colds, has his
pockets picked, takes snuff, or allows his washerwoman to use washing
powders. But why do you want to know?"
"I sha'n't tell you that," said Tiny, who was spoilt by the Doctor, and
consequently tyrannized in proportion; "but I will tell you what I mean
to do. I mean to tell Mother that when Father wants any more
pocket-handkerchiefs hemmed, she had better put them by the bath in the
nursery, and perhaps some Brownie will come and do them."
"Kiss my fluffy face!" said the Doctor in sepulchral tones.
"The owl is too high up," said Tiny, tossing her head.
The Doctor lifted her four feet or so, obtained his kiss, and set her
down again.
"You're not fluffy at all," said she in a tone of the utmost contempt;
"you're tickly and bristly. Puss is more fluffy, and Father is scrubby
and scratchy, because he shaves."
"And which of the three styles do you prefer?" said the Doctor.
"Not tickly and bristly," said Tiny with firmness; and she strutted up
the walk for a space or two, and then turned round to laugh over her
shoulder.
"Good-night!" shouted her victim, shaking his fist after her.
The other children took a noisy farewell, and they all raced into the
house to give joint versions of the fairy tale, first to the parents in
the drawing-room, and then to Nurse in the nursery.
The Doctor went home also, with his poodle at his heels, but not by the
way he came. He went out of his way, which was odd; but then the Doctor
was "a little odd," and moreover this was always the end of his evening
walk. Through the church-yard, where spreading cedars and stiff yews
rose from the velvet grass, and where among tombstones and crosses of
various devices lay one of older and uglier date, by which he stayed.
It was framed by a border of the most brilliant flowers, and it would
seem as if the Doctor must have been the gardener, for he picked off
some dead ones, and put them absently in his pocket. Then he looked
round as if to see that he was alone. Not a soul was to be seen, and
the moonlight and shadow lay quietly side by side, as the dead do in
their graves. The Doctor stooped down and took off his hat.
"Good-night, Marcia," he said in a low quiet voice. "Good-night, my
darling!" The dog licked his hand, but there was no voice to answer,
nor any that regarded.
Poor foolish Doctor! Most foolish to speak to the departed with his
face earthwards. But we are weak mortals, the best of us; and this man
(one of the very best) raised his head at last, and went home like a
lonely owl with his face to the moon and the sky.
A BORROWED BROWNIE.
"I can't imagine," said the Rector, walking into the drawing-room the
following afternoon; "I can't imagine where Tiny is. I want her to
drive to the other end of the parish with me."
"There she comes," said his wife, looking out of the window, "by the
garden-gate, with a great basket; what has she been after?"
The Rector went out to discover, and met his daughter looking decidedly
earthy, and seemingly much exhausted by the weight of a basketful of
groundsel plants.
"Where have you been?" said he.
"In the Doctor's garden," said Tiny triumphantly; "and look what I have
done! I've weeded his sweet-peas, and brought away the groundsel; so
when he gets home to-night he'll think a Brownie has been in the
garden, for Mrs. Pickles has promised not to tell him."
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