y. "Why, she has a look of
Miss Nelson herself. Do you know who she is, Miss Ermengarde?"
"No," said Ermengarde. "But I think there's a story about that
picture. Marjorie knows. Marjorie has a way of poking and prying into
everything. She's awfully inquisitive. I don't interest myself in
matters in which I have no concern. Now come over and sit by the
window, Susy. You must sit back, so that no one can see us from the
grounds; and when Hudson brings my dinner, you must dart into that
cupboard just behind us."
"Oh, yes, miss. Hudson won't catch me poaching on these preserves."
Susy was fond of using expressions which belonged to her father's
profession. She was a very imaginative child; and one secret of her
power over Ermengarde was her ability to tell long and wonderful
stories. Horrible, most of these tales were--histories of poachers,
which she had partly heard from her father, and partly made up
herself. Ermengarde used to hold her breath while she listened.
Between these thrilling tales, Susan artfully flattered. It was not
necessary to make her compliments too delicate. She could say the same
thing every time they met. She could tell Ermengarde that never, since
the world was created, was there to be found such another beautiful,
clever, and noble little girl as Ermengarde Wilton. Ermie was never
tired of hearing these praises.
She was very glad to listen to them now. By the time Susan Collins had
been half an hour in the room, Ermie was once more certain that
Marjorie had betrayed her, that Miss Nelson was the most tyrannical of
mortals, and that she herself was the most ill-used of little girls.
At the end of half an hour Hudson unlocked the door, and brought in
some dinner for Ermie. When the key was heard in the lock, Susan hid
herself in a deep cupboard which stood behind a screen.
Hudson laid down the tray with Ermengarde's dinner, told her to eat
plenty, and retired. As she left the room she said she would return
for the tray in half an hour. She did not say any word of sympathy to
Ermengarde. Hudson was always on the side of discipline; she thought
that the children of the present day sadly needed correction; and when
one of the young Wiltons was punished, she generally owned to a sense
of rejoicing. That did not, however, prevent her supplying the culprit
with an excellent meal, and Ermengarde now raised the covers from a
plump duck done to perfection, some green peas, and delicious floury
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