A Pair of Clogs by Amy Walton (korean novels in english .txt) 📖

strangest thing in the world at first, and quite difficult to believe, that as long as she appeared at meal-times, no one would ask, "Where is Iris?" No one would say, "Fetch this," or "Go there," or "Do this." Her time was her own at Paradise Court, and she was left to fill it up just as she pleased. And she spent most of it in the garden and fields, for fortunately the fine weather continued, and it was hardly necessary to be indoors at all.

How beautiful it all was! Every morning something new had budded or blossomed, and was ready to greet her with its fresh bright face; for the spring had till lately been so cold and wet that the flowers could not bloom at the right time, and now, called out by the mild soft air, they all came crowding eagerly together, looking over each other's shoulders, as it were, and almost tripping each other up in their haste. So Iris found kingcups, primroses, and cowslips all in blossom together in different parts of the fields, and the garden was suddenly bright with all sorts of flowers which had seldom seen the sunshine in each other's company before. And there were other interesting things too, for the birds were all busy just now about their domestic concerns, and she discovered more than one nest built so confidingly, that they were low enough for her to peep into them and meet the bright glance of the mother bird. "If I could only show them to Max and Clement," she said to herself as she stole away on tiptoe, holding her breath. Then there were the bees, Moore's deadly enemies, which lived in a long row of hives under the kitchen-garden wall; they were quite friendly to Iris, and allowed her to watch their comings and goings without any show of anger. She had friends, too, in the pigeons, which soon learnt to come fluttering round her to be fed, and in the three sleek brown and white cows which she saw milked every evening.

In the midst of so much that was pleasant and delightful Iris sometimes felt almost beside herself with enjoyment. She was driven to jump and sing, and even to whistle in order to relieve her feelings, for there was no one to whom she could express them. There were, indeed, moments when she hardly restrained herself from rushing indoors to share some new-found delight with her godmother and Miss Munnion. It was almost impossible to keep it all to herself. One of these occasions was when, for the first time, she gathered her lap full of soft, faintly smelling cowslips. She sat and looked at them in lonely rapture.

Oh for Susie and Dottie to help her to make them up into balls! Then she remembered that she really had been very tired of Susie and Dottie; it was odd she should want them directly she got away from them.

Day followed day, each hour of them full of sunshine, and beauty, and leisure; but there was just one little drawback at Paradise Court, which Iris began to feel more and more strongly--there was no one to talk to. A hundred times a day she wanted someone to share her pleasure or amusement--to laugh with her, or wonder with her, or to search with her for fresh treasures. It seemed to take the edge off everything if she must enjoy it alone; and this desire for sympathy at last grew so strong that it caused her to be guilty of the grave indiscretion I shall now relate. A friend had once given Mrs Fotheringham a couple of half-wild white ducks of a peculiar kind, and these had so multiplied and increased in the quiet retreat of Paradise Court that they now threatened to become too numerous. Orders had accordingly been given that their eggs were to be taken wherever they were found, and as they were of a delicate flavour Mrs Fotheringham had them cooked for her private use. The poor ducks, therefore, were perpetually thwarted in their endeavours to bring up a family; but one of them continued its efforts in such an undaunted manner that Iris watched the struggle going on between it and Moore with the keenest interest. Nest after nest this duck made, laid its eggs, and settled itself comfortably, only to be disturbed with shouts and cries, and ruthlessly hustled off. Overcome for the moment, but "constant still in mind," it waddled composedly away, sought a more retired position, and made further arrangements. The same thing happened all over again! Poor duck! Iris felt very sorry for it, and would willingly have helped it to hide itself from Moore if she could; but it was impossible to convey this sympathy to its mind, and in the end it conducted its own affairs with great sagacity, and completely baffled the enemy. For one morning as she passed the bee-hives, her attention was caught by some soft white object under one of them, almost concealed by the straw hackle which came low down on each side of it. She stopped; could it be her friend the duck? It really was; it sat there on its nest in a heavenly calm of perfect security, safe at last, and its round dark eye gazed serenely forth upon all the world, including Moore. It had nothing further to fear from him.

The duck had won, and Iris felt so glad that she longed to shake hands with it, and make it understand how clever she thought it. She was, indeed, so pleased that it was absolutely necessary to tell someone about it, and after she had smiled and nodded at the duck a great many times, to which it made no sort of response, she turned and ran quickly indoors. Now she lived so much alone at Paradise Court that she was ignorant that this very hour was sacred to Mrs Fotheringham's nap; it was most important that she should not be disturbed, and no one would lightly have done so who knew how much depended on it. If she did not get her nap she did not relish her dinner; and if she did not relish her dinner she was cross; and if she was cross the whole household was uncomfortable, for she could by no means suffer other people to be at rest if she were uneasy. On this particular afternoon she was well on the way to get a very comfortable doze. The day was warm; the room was carefully darkened Miss Munnion sat holding her book close to a crack in the Venetian blind, reaching aloud in a subdued and murmurous voice. Whether Mrs Fotheringham slept or not she had to go on for an hour. The old lady, drowsy with the unusual heat, was just on the edge of slumber, but still partly conscious; sometimes she lost a whole page of the book at a time, then she heard a little of it, and then Miss Munnion turned into a bee and buzzed in the window. Just at this critical moment Iris banged open the door and burst into the silent room.

"Oh!" she cried in her shrill childish voice, "what _do_ you think the duck has done?"

It was so dark after the bright sunlight out of doors that at first she did not see her godmother at all, but only Miss Munnion, who dropped her book in her lap and stared at her with a helpless and frightened face.

Mrs Fotheringham started nervously; she grasped the arms of her chair and exclaimed half awake in an agitated voice:

"What's the matter? Who's there? Who's done what?"

"It's the duck," stammered Iris in a more subdued manner.

"Is the chimney on fire?" continued Mrs Fotheringham. "I insist on knowing what's the matter. Miss Munnion, where are you? Why don't you find out what's the matter?"

"It's something about a duck," said Miss Munnion slowly, "but I really-- don't--quite--"

By this time Mrs Fotheringham was fully awake, and had recovered from her confusion.

"You never _do, quite_," she said sharply. Then to Iris:

"Child, come here and explain why you rush into the room in this abominable manner."

Poor Iris advanced. She wished she could say that something was on fire, or that something more important had happened than the duck sitting under the bee-hive. It seemed nothing at all now, not the least amusing, and certainly not a sufficient reason for disturbing her godmother's nap.

"I didn't know you were asleep," she began.

"Keep to the point," said Mrs Fotheringham; "what did you do it for?"

Iris told her story very lamely, and conscious of an unsympathetic audience. The very parrot ruffled up his feathers and turned his glistening eye upon his mistress when it was over, as though he shrugged his shoulders and said:

"Here's a poor affair!"

"Do you mean to tell me, you stupid and vexing child," said Mrs Fotheringham, "that you woke me up merely to relate this nonsense?"

Iris had nothing to say, but she thought it unkind of Miss Munnion to murmur in the background:

"Most thoughtless!"

"If anything of this nature occurs again," said Mrs Fotheringham severely, "I shall send you home at once. Other failings I can excuse, but selfish thoughtlessness is a thing I abhor. There, go away. No, Miss Munnion, you needn't read any more, I shall not be able to sleep now. My nerves are quite shaken."

Iris wandered disconsolately out into the garden. Everything looked as bright and gay as ever, but she felt sad. It was hard to be disgraced and scolded as though she had done something wrong, when she had only made a mistake. "I really _did_ think they would like to hear about the duck," she said to herself; "and how _could_ I know she was asleep?" How they would have liked it at home! How often mother was waked up suddenly by the noise of the children, or the boys rushing in to ask her something! Her patient face came before Iris now, full of the gentleness and love which were always there as a matter of course, because she was "mother." There was something wanting at Paradise Court--something that not all its radiant flowers, and pleasant luxurious rooms, and daintily prepared meals could supply.

"After all," said Iris, "it doesn't seem to make people kinder to have so many nice things as my godmother."

She came to this conclusion with a sigh, and then, hearing the stable clock strike five, remembered that it was post time. Perhaps there would be a letter from home. At any rate she would run down to the lodge and meet the postman. It was such a cheering thought that she felt almost happy again, and ran along whistling and swinging her straw-hat in her hand. The drive was long and very winding, so that she did not at first perceive that there was someone in front of her who seemed to be bound on the same errand; when she did so, however, she had no difficulty in recognising the figure, which had a lop-sided movement like a bird with one wing. It was Miss Munnion. She was evidently in great haste, and walking, or rather running faster than Iris had ever seen her--so fast, indeed, that she was soon hidden in a sudden turn of the road, and