Pauline did leave the room. She passed her sisters, who stared at her in horrified¹ amazement². She knew that their eyes were fixed³ upon her, but she was doubtful if they pitied her or not. Just at that moment, however, she did not care what their feelings were. She had a momentary⁴ sense of pleasure on getting into the soft air. A gentle breeze fanned her hot cheeks. She took her old sailor hat from a peg⁵ and ran fast into a distant shrubbery. Miss Tredgold had said that she might take exercise in the north walk. If there was a dreary⁶, ugly part of the grounds, it might be summed up in the north walk. The old garden wall was on one side of it, and a tattered⁷, ugly box-hedge on the other. Nothing was to be seen as you walked between the hedge and the wall but the ground beneath your feet and the sky above your head. There was no distant view of any sort. In addition to this disadvantage, it was in winter an intensely cold place, and in summer, notwithstanding its name, an intensely hot place. No, Pauline would not go there. She would disobey. She would walk where she liked; she would also talk to whom she liked.58  
She stood for a time leaning against a tree, her face scarlet⁹ with emotion, her sailor hat flung on the ground. Presently she saw Penelope coming towards her. She felt quite glad of this, for Penelope might always be bribed¹⁰. Pauline made up her mind to disobey thoroughly¹¹; she would walk where she pleased; she would do what she liked; she would talk to any one to whom she wished to talk. What was Penelope doing? She was bending down and peering on the ground. Beyond doubt she was looking for something.
 
“What is it, Pen?” called out her sister.
 
Penelope had not seen Pauline until now. She stood upright with a start, gazed tranquilly¹² at the girl in disgrace, and then, without uttering a word, resumed her occupation of searching diligently¹³ on the ground. Pauline’s face put on its darkest scowl¹⁴. Her heart gave a thump¹⁵ of wild indignation. She went up to Penelope and shook her by the arm. Penelope, still without speaking, managed to extricate¹⁶ herself. She moved a few feet away. She then again looked full at Pauline, and, to the amazement of the elder girl, her bold black eyes filled with tears. She took one dirty, chubby¹⁷ hand and blew a kiss to Pauline.
 
Pauline felt suddenly deeply touched. She very nearly wept herself.
 
“Oh, dear Penny,” she said, “how good you are! I didn’t know you’d feel for me. I can bear things better if I know you feel for me. You needn’t obey her, need you? See, I’ve got three-ha’pence in my pocket. I’ll give you the money and you can buy lollypops. I will really if only you will say a few words to me now.”
 
“I daren’t,” burst from Penelope’s lips. “You have no right to tempt¹⁸ me. I can’t; I daren’t. I am looking now for Aunt Sophy’s thimble. She was working here yesterday and she dropped it, she doesn’t know where. She’s awful fond of it. She’ll give me a penny if I find it. Don’t ask me any more. I’ve done very wrong to speak to you.”
 
“So you have,” said Pauline, who felt as angry as ever. “You have broken Aunt Sophia’s word—not your own, for you never said you wouldn’t speak to me. But go, if you are so honorable. Only please understand that I hate every one of you, and I’m never going to obey Aunt Sophia.”
 
Penelope only shook her little person, and presently wandered away into a more distant part of the shrubbery. She went on searching and searching. Pauline could see her bobbing her little fat person up and down.
 
“Even Penny,” she thought, “is incorruptible. Well, I don’t care. I won’t put up with this unjust punishment.”
 
The dinner-gong sounded, and Pauline, notwithstanding her state of disgrace, discovered that she was hungry.
 
“Why should I eat?” she said to herself. “I won’t eat. Then perhaps I’ll die, and she’ll be sorry. She’ll be had up 59for manslaughter; she’ll have starved a girl to death. No, I won’t eat a single thing. And even if I don’t die I shall be awfully¹⁹ ill, and she’ll be in misery²⁰. Oh dear! why did mother die and leave us? And why did dreadful Aunt Sophy come? Mother was never cross; she was never hard. Oh mother! Oh mother!”
 
Pauline was now so miserable²¹ that she flung herself on the ground and burst into passionate²² weeping. Her tears relieved the tension of her heart, and she felt slightly better. Presently she raised her head, and taking out her handkerchief, prepared to mop her eyes. As she did so she was attracted by something that glittered not far off. She stretched out her hand and drew Miss Tredgold’s thimble from where it had rolled under a tuft of dock-leaves. A sudden burst of pleasure escaped her lips as she glanced at the thimble. She had not seen it before. It certainly was the most beautiful thimble she had ever looked at. She put it on the tip of her second finger and turned it round and round. The thimble itself was made of solid gold; its base was formed of one beautifully cut sapphire²³, and round the margin²⁴ of the top of the thimble was a row of turquoises²⁵. The gold was curiously²⁶ and wonderfully chased, and the sapphire, which formed the entire base of the thimble, shone in a way that dazzled Pauline. She was much interested; she forgot that she was hungry, and that she had entered into Punishment Land. It seemed to her that in her possession of the thimble she had found the means of punishing Aunt Sophia. This knowledge soothed²⁷ her inexpressibly. She slipped the lovely thimble into her pocket, and again a keen pang²⁸ of downright healthy hunger seized her. She knew that food would be awaiting her in the schoolroom. Should she eat it, or should she go through the wicket-gate and lose herself in the surrounding Forest?
 
Just at this moment a girl, who whistled as she walked, approached the wicket-gate, opened it, and came in. She was dressed in smart summer clothes; her hat was of a fashionable make, and a heavy fringe lay low on her forehead. Pauline looked at her, and her heart gave a thump of pleasure. Now, indeed, she could bear her punishment, and her revenge on Miss Tredgold lay even at the door. For Nancy King, the girl whom she was not allowed to speak to, had entered the grounds.
 
“Hullo, Paulie!” called out that young lady. “There you are! Well, I must say you do look doleful. What’s the matter now? Is the dear aristocrat²⁹ more aristocratic than ever?”
 
“Oh, don’t, Nancy! I ought not to speak to you at all.”
 
“So I’ve been told by the sweet soul herself,” responded Nancy. “She wrote me a letter which would have put another girl in such a rage that she would never have touched any one of you again with a pair of tongs³⁰. But that’s not 60Nancy King. For when Nancy loves a person, she loves that person through thick and thin, through weal and woe³¹. I came to-day to try to find one of you dear girls. I have found you. What is the matter with you, Paulie? You do look bad.”
 
“I’m very unhappy,” said Pauline. “Oh Nancy! we sort of promised that we wouldn’t have anything more to do with you.”
 
“But you can’t keep your promise, can you, darling? So don’t say any more about it. Anyhow, promise or not, I’m going to kiss you now.”
 
Nancy flung her arms tightly round Pauline’s neck and printed several loud, resounding³² kisses on each cheek; then she seated herself under an oak tree, and motioned to Pauline to do likewise.
 
Pauline hesitated just for a moment; then scruples³³ were forgotten, and she sat on the ground close to Nancy’s side.
 
“Tell me all about it,” said Nancy. “Wipe your eyes and talk. Don’t be frightened; it’s only poor old Nancy, the girl you have known since you were that high. And I’m rich, Paulie pet, and although we’re only farmer-folk, we live in a much finer house than The Dales. And I’m going to have a pony³⁴ soon—a pony of my very own—and my habit is being made for me at Southampton. I intend to follow the hounds next winter. Think of that, little Paulie. You’ll see me as I ride past. I’m supposed to have a very good figure, and I shall look ripping in my habit. Well, but that’s not to the point, is it? You are in trouble, you poor little dear, and your old Nancy must try and make matters better for you. I love you, little Paulie. I’m fond of you all, but you are my special favorite. You were always considered something like me—dark and dour³⁵ when you liked, but sunshiny when you liked also. Now, what is it, Paulie? Tell your own Nancy.”
 
“I’m very fond of you, Nancy,” replied Pauline. “And I think,” she continued, “that it is perfectly³⁶ horrid³⁷ of Aunt Sophia to say that we are not to know you.”
 
“It’s snobbish³⁸ and mean and unlady-like,” retorted Nancy; “but her saying it doesn’t make it a fact, for you do know me, and you will always have to know me. And if she thinks, old spiteful! that I’m going to put up with her nasty, low, mean, proud ways, she’s fine and mistaken. I’m not, and that’s flat. So there, old spitfire! I shouldn’t mind telling her so to her face.”
 
“But, on the whole, she has been kind to us,” said Pauline, who had some sense of justice in her composition, angry as she felt at the moment.
 
“Has she?” said Nancy. “Then let me tell you she has not a very nice way of showing it. Now, Paulie, no more beating about the bush. What’s up? Your eyes are red; 61you have a great smear³⁹ of ink on your forehead; and your hands—my word! for so grand a young lady your hands aren’t up to much, my dear.”
 
“I have got into trouble,” said Pauline. “I didn’t do my lessons properly yesterday; I couldn’t—I had a headache, and everything went wrong. So this morning I could not say any of them when Aunt Sophia called me up, and she put me into Punishment Land. You know, don’t you, that I am soon to have a birthday?”
 
“Oh, don’t I?” interrupted Nancy. “Didn’t a little bird whisper it ............