Mrs. Molesworth - Hoodie

His surprise was so comical that it set "Liz" off laughing again.

"Bless me if I can tell you, David," she said. "She's the most old-fashioned little piece of goods I ever came across. But such a nice little lady too, and that taken with our baby! She won't tell me her name nor nothing," and then she went on to describe to David, Hoodie's arrival and all she had said.

David scratched his head, as, half hidden in the doorway, where Hoodie had not yet caught sight of him, he glanced at the child, still deeply interested in her "tea."

"It's my opinion," he said solemnly, as if what he was about to say was something that could not possibly have struck any one else; "it's my opinion as her nurse or some one has been cross to her and she's runned away."

"But what shall we do?" said Mrs. Liz, a little anxiously. "How shall we find out where she belongs to?"

"Oh, easy enough," said David. "She's but a baby. And even if she wouldn't tell, you may be sure they'll soon be sending after her. I could take her home on my way to Greenoaks if I knew where it was. Can't be far off – maybe it's one of the clergyman's children down by Springley."

"They've none so little," said Mrs. David. "But there's Squire Caryll's – I heard say there's a sight o' little ones there. 'Twill be there."

"Likely enough," said David. "But I'd like a cup o' tea, Liz, if the young lady'll excuse my being rather rough like."

Lizzie laughed.

"She's but a baby," she said; and so David came forward and sat down at the table.

Hoodie looked up from her tea and stopped half way through a "bicsit" to take a good stare at the new comer.

"Who is zou, please?" she said at last.

David looked rather awkward. It was somewhat embarrassing to be calmly challenged in this way at his own table, poor man, by a mite of a creature like this! He relieved his feelings by a glance at his wife and a faint whistle.

"Well, to be sure!" he exclaimed.

Lizzie understood the small questioner better.

"Why, Missy," she said, "'Tis David. He's baby's father, and this is his house, and he's very pleased to see you here."

Hoodie looked again at David; this time he seemed to find more favour in her eyes.

"At the grandmother's cottage there wouldn't have been no Davids," she remarked. "His hands is rather dirty, isn't they, little baby's mother?"

This was too much for David – he went off into a roar. Hoodie looked up doubtfully – was he laughing at her ? – in her opinion, an unpardonable crime – but David's funny, good-natured face gained the day, and after a moment's hesitation Hoodie joined in the fun and laughed too, though at what she certainly didn't know.

Friendly feeling thus established, David thought it time to begin his inquiries.

"Hope you've enjoyed your tea, Miss," he said. "You must a been hungry after such a long walk. Round by Springley way was it?"

" What did you say?" said Hoodie, opening her eyes. David's tone and accent were puzzling to her.

"He says, was it round by Springley way you came, Missy – the way the church is?"

"Oh no, not the church way. I comed srough the wood and past Farmer Bright's. Home is not the church way," said Hoodie unsuspiciously.

David and his wife nodded at each other. "Squire Caryll's," whispered Lizzie.

"I'll be passing that way in the cart," said David. "Would you like a ride, Miss?"

Hoodie shook her head.

"No," she said decidedly, "I want to stay and nurse baby. May I take her now?" she added, preparing to descend from her chair.

David could not help bursting out laughing again.

"What wages is her to get, Liz?" he inquired.

Hoodie turned upon him indignantly.

"Ugly man," she exclaimed; "you'se not to laugh at me. I don't love you. I love baby — please give me baby," she said beseechingly to the young woman. "I'm all zeady," for by this time she was again settled in the little chair and had smoothed a place for baby.

Lizzie good-humouredly laid baby again in her arms.

"Hold her tight, please, Missy," she said, turning towards the door with her husband at a sign from him, and Hoodie sat in perfect content for some minutes till baby's mother returned.

"Has zat ugly man gone?" inquired Hoodie coolly. "I'll stay with you and baby, but I don't like zat man."

"But he's a nice man, Missy," said Mrs. David. "I don't know about his being very pretty, but he's very kind to baby and me, and that's better than being pretty, isn't it, Missy?"

"I don't know," said Hoodie.

After a time, in spite of her devotion, baby's unaccustomed weight made her little arms ache.

"When does baby go to bed?" she asked.

Baby's mother seized the opportunity.

"Now, I think," she said. "I'll put her in her cradle for a bit, and then you and I can talk a little. – Don't you think, Missy?" she went on, when baby was safely deposited and Hoodie was free to stretch her tired little arms, "don't you think your poor mamma will be wondering where you are all this time?"

"She's out d'iving in the calliage with Maudie. She won't know where I'm goned," replied Hoodie.

"But your nurse, Missy — she'll have missed you?" said Mrs. David.

"We haven't no nurse. We've only Martin," replied Hoodie, "and Martin loves Hec and Duke and Maudie best. She 'zinks Hoodie's naughty. She always says Hoodie's naughty."

"Little baby's mother" did not know very well what to reply to this, so she contented herself with a general reflection.

"All little girls are naughty sometimes," she said.

"Yes," said Hoodie, "but not always . I'd like to stay here with you and baby, little baby's mother, 'cos baby loves me, if you wouldn't have zat ugly man here."

"But it's his house, Missy. We couldn't turn him out of his own house, could we? And I'm afeared there'd be many things you'd want we couldn't give you? At home you've a nice little room now, all carpeted and curtained, haven't you? And a pretty little bed all for yourself? We've nothing like that – we've only one room besides the kitchen."

Hoodie did not at once reply. She appeared to be thinking things over.

"I'd like to stay," she remarked after a while, "but I'd rather be let alone with you and baby. I don't like zat man. But if you haven't a room for me perhaps I'd better go and look for a grandmother's cottage again, and I'll come and see you sometimes, and baby, little baby's mother."

"Yes, that you must, Missy, and bring little brothers too. You won't think of going off to look for your grandmother again just yet. Perhaps it's quite a long way off by the railway she lives. Couldn't you ask your mamma to write her a letter and tell her how much you'd like to see her?"

"But I want to go to her cottage ," persisted Hoodie. "I know it is a cottage, Martin said so. I shouldn't want her if she wasn't in a cottage. And I saw it in the Hoodie-girl picture too."

This was getting beyond poor Mrs. David; and finding herself not understood, added to Hoodie's irritation. She was half way, more than half way, fully three-quarters of the way into one of her hopeless crying fits, when fortunately there came an interruption.

Hasty steps were heard coming up the garden path, followed by a hasty knock at the door. And almost before Lizzie could get to open it, two people hurried into the room. They were Martin and Cross the coachman. Hoodie looked up calmly.

"Has you come to fetch me?" she inquired. "I didn't want to go home, but little baby's mother hasn't got enough little beds, but I'm going to come back here again. I will , whatever you say."

Well as Martin knew the child, this was a degree too much for her. To have spent between two and three hours in really terrible anxiety about the little girl; to have had to bear some amount of reproach for not having sooner discovered Hoodie's escape; to have rushed off to fetch her on receiving the joyful news from the young labourer as he drove past Mr. Caryll's house, her heart full of the tenderest pity for her stray nursling who she never doubted had somehow lost her way, – all this had been trying enough for poor Martin. But to be met in this heartless way by the child – before strangers, too – to be coolly defied beforehand, as it were – it was too much. It was a toss-up between tears and temper. Unfortunately Martin chose the latter.