Wild Kitty by L. T. Meade

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"Oh Elma, don't look so miserable," said Carrie. "What is the good of
sinking into despair?"

"Don't talk to me," said Elma, pushing her sister's hand away. "You have
ruined me; that is the sort of sister you are. And I would have done
anything for you, Carrie. When I rose myself and improved myself in the
social scale, when I got my post as teacher, I would have done all in my
power to aid you and mother; but now--now we must all sink together. Oh,
Carrie, to think that I should be ruined by my own sister!"

CHAPTER XVI.

PADDY WHEEL-ABOUT'S OLD COAT.

It was a moonlit evening in the County Donegal, and there was a broad
bar of silver shining in burnished splendor across the beautiful Lake
Coulin. Two boys were standing on the edge of the lake. A
prettily-trimmed little boat was lying at their feet. One, the taller of
the two, was standing with his hand up to his ear, listening intently.

"Ah, then, Pat, can't you stop that shuffling?" he cried to his younger
companion. "I can't listen if you keep whistling and moving your feet.
It is about time for Daneen to appear. Kitty is sure to send the tinos,
dear old girl. Father takes care to keep her well supplied."

"There, I hear Dan's horn; he is coming through the Gap," cried Pat, his
face lighting up. "Stay there, Laurie, and I'll run to meet him. He'll
just be at the other side of Haggart's Glen when I get up."

The younger boy put wings to his feet, and the next moment was out of
sight. The older boy, thrusting both his hands deep into his pockets,
stood staring straight before him into the silver light caused by a full
moon. The white radiance lit up his young person, his pronounced
features, and handsome face. There were gloomy depths in his big black
eyes, although the slightest movement, the faintest play of expression
would cause them to dance with vitality and fun; the petulant
expression, round lips, curved and cut with the delicacy of a cameo, was
very manifest. The lad was built in almost Herculean mould, so broad
were his shoulders, so upright and tall his young figure. With his head
thrown back, the listening attitude on his face, his black hair swept
from his forehead, he looked almost like a young god--all was _verve_,
expectancy, eagerness in his attitude.

"If only Kitty is true it will be all right," he muttered. "Ah, then,
what a fool I was when I allowed the other fellows to tempt me to play
that practical joke on old Wheel-about. I don't think the governor minds
anything else; but he cannot stand our making fun of that poor, old,
half-witted chap. Never again will I do such a thing. I would not have
father know this matter for all the world. Hullo! there comes Pat. I
wonder if he has got my letter."

"Nothing, nothing, and worse than nothing," sang out Pat, extending two
empty hands as he approached.

"No letter for me?" cried Laurie. He stepped out of the light, and
striding up to his brother, laid one of his big hands on the boy's
slighter shoulder. "No letter? But did you really meet Daneen?"

"Of course I did. Don't grip me so hard, old chap. He had only one
letter in his pocket, and that was for Aunt Honora, two newspapers for
father, and a heap of circulars--nothing else whatever."

"But are you certain sure? Surely Kitty would not fail a gossoon when he
was in trouble."

"I tell you, Laurie, there was nothing from her, nor from any one,
except that one letter for Aunt Honora; but perhaps you'll hear in the
morning."

Laurie made no reply; his hands dropped to his sides. The next moment he
dived into his trousers pocket and extracted a few coins.

"Have we enough for a telegram, I wonder?" he said. "Ah, to be
sure--why, we can send one now for sixpence. And I have tenpence here.
I'll wire at once. I say, Pat, we must go to the nearest post office,
and to-night. We will start now; do you mind? We can row across the
Coulin, and anchor the boat at the opposite side, and then it is only
eight miles across the mountains to Ballyshannon."

"But James Dunovan will have shut up the office," exclaimed Pat; "and if
we are absent from supper what will father say?"

"Old Jim knows us; he'll open fast enough when he hears that we two lads
have come on business."

"But they can't send the telegram after the office is shut."

"Don't make difficulties, Pat. I tell you this is a serious business.
You don't want to be banished from the country do you? We'll go
to the post office at once, and see that the message is sent to Kitty
the very first thing in the morning. Come, what are young lingering
for?"

"Supper is waiting, and Aunt Bridget will make a fuss. You know we are
not allowed to be out after ten at night."

"Bother!" cried Laurie. "Well, then, we must go home first. What a
nuisance. We'll have a bite, and then slink out. The dad can think we
have gone to bed. Why, Pat, old boy, I met Wheel-about to-day, and he
was like a mad man. He told me he had collected all that money for his
funeral. What apes we were to touch the coat!"

"Sure, it's unlike Kitty not to write," said Pat. "She is the last in
the world to leave a fellow in the lurch."

"Don't I know that? Who's fault it is it isn't hers, poor old girl.
Something has happened to the letter. Now, Pat, let us get supper over,
for we have no time to lose."

As Laurie spoke he fastened the little boat securely by a rope to a
stone near by, and then the lads turned their backs upon the
silver-burnished lake, and strode into the darkness of a narrow mountain
defile. The path was steep, and they had to scramble up, doing so with
the agility of young ponies.

"It is the thought of Wheel-about that bothers me entirely," said
Laurie, after a pause. "I don't want to have it lying on my soul--upon
my honor I don't--that I turned the poor old chap's brain still
crazier."

"Oh, the money will come along before Saturday," said Pat; "and you know
you told him he must wait until Saturday. Don't you worry, Laurie. Come
on, I tell ye; there's the gong sounding at the Castle."

The deep notes of a very sonorous old gong were distinctly borne on the
breeze; the boys ran, hurrying and panting. A few moments later they had
climbed an almost inaccessible rock, had tumbled over each other up a
lawn, and entered a huge hall, where supper was spread. Squire Malone
was seated at the head of the table; down both sides were crowded
guests and different retainers--Squire Malone's cousins, all of them,
some to the fifth or sixth removed. Miss Honora Malone was at the foot
of the table, and Miss Bridget presided at the tea tray at one of the
sides.

"Sit down, you lads," roared the squire when he saw his sons; "you have
been keeping us waiting. Now take your places and fall to."

The boys dropped into the seats reserved for them without a word. They
were hungry, and enjoyed the abundant fare provided. Miss Honora began
to address them with a volley of words.

"Ah, then, boys," she said, "it is ashamed of you I am. Why should you
come in to supper like that, without your hair brushed or your hand
washed and looking as rough as a pair of young colts? Look at me, now,
how neat I am--I have changed my dress for the evening." As she spoke
she glanced at her thin arms, bare to the elbow, and touched the gold
chain that encircled her scraggy throat. "You'll never get Dublin
manners, you two," she continued, "and what will you do when you go into
society? Ah, it is enough to break the heart to look at ye."

Laurie winked boldly at her; Pat laughed, and helped himself so some
potatoes.

"Dennis," called out the lady, addressing her brother, "don't you agree
with me that it is very bad manners on the part of the boys to come to
supper without so much as washing their hands or brushing their hair?
Ought they not to put on evening clothes now that they are almost
assuming manhood's estate?"

"Oh, leave 'em alone, Honor," was the reply. "Boys will be boys, and
Castle Malone is Liberty Hall. Time enough a few years hence to put on
that high-faluting style. I like 'em as they are: rough diamonds no
doubt, but diamonds all the same."

The old man looked fondly at his sons. He was a picturesque-looking
figure, with snow-white hair.

"What will you do, lads, when I send you to England to school?" he said.

"England, father?" said Pat, turning pale. "It would kill me to leave
the soil on which I was born. Ah, now, father, I could not live through
it; and as to Laurie, why he would--Laurie, you know what you would do."

"Oh, father's joking," said Laurie, but his face went a little white, and
as he drained off a great glass of ice-cold water his hand trembled a
trifle.

"It would not be for the making of our happiness, father," he said, just
glancing at his father. "Pat is right--it would about kill us both."

"You young beggars, kill you, indeed!" cried the squire. "Well, I have
not made my plans yet. I am thinking of it, and you may as well know it.
I have sent the girleen away, and if you can't stand what she can, why,
I don't think you have much grit in you. As to Pat, when he's a little
older he'll have to prepare for the army."

"Ay, and that's a fine polishing up," said Aunt Bridget, bridling as she
spoke, and arranging the set of her very fashionable sleeve. "My jewel
of a lad, you'll know what life is like then. You'll think a deal of
your clothes, and of the sort of thing that will kill the girls then.
Why, if you know how to manage, and with my help I dare say I can
contrive it for you, you'll get easily into the very height of Dublin
society, and be petted, and spoiled, and coaxed no end. I wonder, now,
how that girleen is conducting herself. Sometimes, Dennis when I look at
you and think how your heart is wrapped up in her and how she is so to
speak the jewel of your eye and the core of your heart I wonder how you
had the courage to let her go."

"Don't you worry me about it," cried the squire. "I did it for her good.
Laurie, where are you off to?"

"I have had about enough supper," answered Laurie. Pat also scrambled
to his feet.

"You are as ill-mannered a pair of young cubs as I ever came across,"
cried Miss Honora, now really angry. "Why, the syllabub is coming on
soon, and the trifle, and the cream that I whipped myself. Well, Pat,
you'll have to mend your manners when you get into the army; and as to
you Laurie, you'll never be as good a squire as your father, try hard as
you may."

A loud laugh at the head of the table interrupted the good lady's flow
of words.

"Honora, my woman, you are talking to the air," called out the squire.
"The boys are out of earshot. Bless 'em can't you let 'em be? They are
hearty lads, and I don't think I'll send either of them out of the
country unless they happen to displease me."

Meanwhile the lads had gone down to the lake, unshipped the little boat,
and were by this time half across the Coulin. They soon reached the
opposite shore, jumped to land, pulled up the boat, fastened it, and
started along a long narrow and mountainous path which was the shortest
cut to Ballyshannon. They walked so quickly and the hill was so steep
that they had little or no time for words. Nor were they boys who talked
much when they were alone. Laurie was given to his own meditations. Pat
was always planning some scheme which should circumvent Aunt Honora, who
lived with them, and annoy Aunt Bridget, who nearly lived with them,
although not quite. Aunt Bridget was the most fashionable member of the
family; her real home was in Dublin. She was the one who had worked upon
the squire's feelings until he had decided to send Kitty to an English
school. Pat was not fond of either of his aunts, but he disliked Aunt
Bridget the most. After an hour-and-a-half's brisk walking they reached
Ballyshannon, knocked up the postmaster, who had gone to bed, asked him
to let them in, and confided to him what they wanted. He was a
hearty-looking Irishman, and was soon as much interested in the telegram
which Laurie was to send as the boy was himself.

"You have heard what a scrape I have got into?" said Laurie.

"About that poor, mad fellow?" said James Dunovan.

"Yes; some other fellows and I stole his coat away in a fit of frolic
that day when we were out in the crazy boat on the Coulin. A sudden
breeze got up and the boat upset; and the coat--bad luck to it--sank to
the bottom like a stone. We have tried to get it up, but it is all no
go; it has got right into the mud, and not all the boys in Ireland
could move it. If the squire heard we had played a trick on Wheel-about
he would just do what I don't want him to."

"And what may that be, Master Laurie?"

"Why, Jim, he would banish me to England. You think of that!"

"Ah, to be sure, sir; and it would be a hard punishment entirely, and
all for a boy's freak. But how can you circumvent him, sir? that's the
puzzle, for old Wheel-about is as sly a fellow as walks. He knows his
power with the squire--there's a story about, but I have not got the
rights of it. Anyhow, the squire is always trying to help him. If he
cannot get his coat in which he has hidden all his money he will go
raving mad about the country, and the squire will soon get at the bottom
of the mischief."

"Oh, that's all right," answered Laurie. I saw there was no help for it,
and I took Wheel-about into my confidence. He promised if I gave him ten
pounds by Saturday next to let the matter of the coat slip by. He said
he would never tell."

"I wonder now if the craychur is to be trusted," muttered Jim, in a
thoughtful tone.

"Oh, yes, he is, Jim; don't you meet trouble halfway. If once he gets
the money everything will be as right as possible. But this 'gram must
go off, and you must see to it for me."

"I'll do that, sir, and welcome, the very moment the office opens its
doors in the morning."

"How soon do you think it will reach my sister?"

"Well, to be sure, I expect in about half an hour or an hour at the
most. I often think I'd like to see them messages a-tumbling along the
wires. Do you believe as they go by the wires sir?"

"Oh, I suppose so; I don't bother my head about it. Now, then, Jim, hand
us a form and we'll fill it in. What do you think we had best say, Pat?"

"Make it strong," said Pat.

"Yes, I know that." Laurie stood biting the end of his pencil and
considering the blank form which Jimmy had provided him with.

"We must make it powerful strong," he said after a pause. "If dad hears
this, we two are about done, Pat. He's the easiest old boy in the world,
but when once he takes the bit between his teeth he is just like Slieve
Loon, our new mare. But I must not keep you up Jim; you are wanting to
get back to your bed."

"It don't matter, sir; don't you hurry yourself. I told the wife it was
two of the young gentlemen from Castle Malone, and she said I wasn't to
mind how much time I spent with you; it was only proper respect to the
family."

"All right Jim. Now, then, Pat, what shall I say?"

"Hurry up," said Pat; "if you're not sleepy I am, and the whole house
will be locked up if we are not quick."

"I cracked a pane of glass in our window on purpose this morning," said
Laurie. "I thought it might turn out convenient."

Pat laughed. Laurie, his face flushed, bent over the telegraph form.
After a time, during which beads of perspiration stood out on his
forehead, the following message was transcribed:

"Miss Kitty Malone, care of Mrs. Denvers, Franklin Avenue, Middleton,
London, S.E.--Wake up, old girleen; hurry with the tin.--Laurie."

"That's the time of day," he said. "You read it, Jim. Can you make out
the address plain?"

"Yes, to be sure," answered Jim. "Very well, sir; this shall go. I am
sorry you're in trouble, sir; but I know the squire sends a lot of money
to Miss Kitty, for he is always coming here for postal orders."

"Oh, I am safe to have it," said Laurie. "Well, good-night Jim, and long
life to you."

The boys left the office and retraced their steps across the mountain.
They had gone about halfway home when they were interrupted by a curious
sort of sound, something between a croon and a chant. It came nearer and
nearer, and the next moment a grotesque figure showed clearly in the
moonlight. This was no other than Paddy Wheel-about himself. He was a
tall man, with a long shaggy beard, penthouse eyebrows, and eyes which
were lit now with a fitful and uncertain gleam. He was dressed in rags,
his hat was pushed far back on his head, his hair streamed over his
shoulders. The savage and yet pathetic-looking creature stopped now
before the two boys.

"I say, Paddy, it is all right," said Laurie, going up to him and laying
his hand on his shoulder. "You'll get the tin I promised either
to-morrow morning or the day after. I have just sent a telegram to the
girleen in England. Why, Kitty wouldn't let you suffer; no, not if it
were to break her heart."

A wild and yet softened look came into the man's eyes.

"It is because of the girleen I'm fretting," he said. "Listen, you two,
I feel fit to die sometimes when I think the coat is lost, and it is all
on account of the girleen herself. Why, it was she put in the last patch
and a bit of gold was hidden in it; yes, and she sewed it round with her
own pretty hands, the darling."

"We'll get back the coat some day, see if we don't," said Laurie. "And
meanwhile Paddy, you are safe to have your money on Saturday."

"All right if I do," said Paddy; "if not it is all wrong. I go to Squire
Malone. Yes, I go to Squire Malone; but I'll wait until Saturday. I
promise that much, and I'll keep my word."

"You'll keep your word for Kitty's sake?" said Laurie.

The man nodded; again his eyes softened and changed in expression, the
next moment he had turned on his heel and was out of sight.

"I do believe the only person he cares for in the world is Kitty," said
Laurie. "Do you remember when he was so ill he would only allow Kitty to
visit him? I say, Pat, we must get back that coat somehow; but in the
meantime the ten pounds will keep matters quiet."

CHAPTER XVII.

"WE ARE BOTH IN THE SAME BOAT."

Gwin had explained all her points, and Miss Sherrard had listened to her
with indulgence, sympathy, and comprehension. They were seated together
in Miss Sherrard's charming little sitting-room.

"I am glad you take such an interest in Kitty," she said when the girl
had stopped speaking.

"I do. She is uncommon; she is unlike anybody else," said Gwin Harley.
"I hope," she added, looking anxiously at the head-mistress, "that you
will feel it right so far to mitigate her punishment as to allow the
Tug-of-war girls to talk to her. This seems just the time for a society
of this sort to help its members.

"There's a great deal in what you say, Gwin; but all the same, to my
regret, I am obliged distinctly to refuse your request."

Gwin's face, which had been slightly flushed, now turned pale. She rose
to her feet.

"Don't be hurt with me, dear," said the mistress in a gentle voice. "I
admire you for your kindness, Gwin, and I can also see the thing from
your point of view; but all the same Middleton School is a very
important one; there are from six to seven hundred girls here. Most of
these girls have got parents; all have got guardians and friends. It
would not do for them to know that such a wild and reckless act as
Kitty Malone has perpetrated should be passed over without a severe
punishment. Kitty will live through this week of isolation and be all
the better for it. At the end of that time you Tug-of-war girls can do
all in your power to help her. For this one week I must insist on her
living in Coventry. She will do her lessons, of course, for it would not
be at all wise to give her a holiday; but no girl belonging to the
school with the exception of Alice must speak to her."

"I am sorry; and you will forgive me for saying, without any disrespect
to you, that I think you are wrong," answered Gwin. She now held out her
hand to Miss Sherrard. Miss Sherrard took it and pressed it gently.

"You are a very good girl, Gwin; and I wish with all my heart and soul
that I could grant your request."

Meanwhile Kitty had returned to the Denvers' house in a whirl of
passionate protest and indignation. She could not understand why she had
been punished. The sin she had committed did not seem to be any sin at
all to her. What did it matter how she dressed or when she went out? The
fact that she had broken a very strict rule of Middleton School did not
affect her. She was now seriously unhappy--the fetters with which she
was surrounded tortured her. How could she live through the terrible
week of isolation? And what made her more wretched than anything else
was the fact that she could not see Elma in order to get the money from
her to send to Laurie.

Kitty and Laurie had always been more than ordinary friends. The
thoughts of each were known to the heart of the other. If there was one
person in the wide world whom Kitty loved with passion, almost with
idolatry, it was her handsome brother Laurie. The bare idea that Laurie
should plead to Kitty to help him, and that Kitty would be obliged to
turn a deaf ear to his entreaties was enough to madden the reckless
girl.

The whole of that afternoon she spent in her bedroom, pacing up and down
like a young caged tiger. Mrs. Denvers went to talk to her, but Kitty
would not speak. She would pour out her troubles to no one. Her proud
Irish heart felt as if it would burst from misery; but she would not
stoop to the sympathy of those who, she felt, could not possibly
understand her.

Of all the Denver family, she liked Fred the best; and when he ventured
to knock at her door in the course of the evening she did not refuse to
open it to him.

"Come along downstairs at once, Kitty," said Fred, holding out his hand
to her.

"I would rather stay where I am, Fred, asthore."

"I say it's a beastly shame to have you treated like this."

"Oh, don't begin to sympathize with me," said Kitty; "if you do, I'll
cry the ocean full of tears. I am holding them back hard now. You don't
know what a thing it is when an Irish girl fairly gives way."

"Well, they're beastly hard on you; but I'm sure I would not cry if I
were you," said Fred. I'd just be too proud. But come downstairs to my
den, Kitty; I have made it awfully comfortable."

"Your den?" said Kitty, her eyes lighting up; "have you got one?"

"Yes; it's not in the house; it's in the garden, at the further end.
It's a shed; but I have made it waterproof, and I have got a little
lamp, an oil one; and we can sit there and have a jolly talk."

For a moment Kitty's eyes sparkled with renewed hope. "And I have still
got some chocolates in my drawer," she exclaimed. "We might eat them
together and have a real good time. But oh, that money! it's the money
that's bothering me entirely. Oh dear! dear! I'll let the whole thing
out if I talk any more to you Fred. Fred, it's the true comfort you are
to me, and I'll never forget it to the longest day I live; but I can't
go to that shed with you, gossoon asthore, for if I did I'd let out
everything."

"But why shouldn't you let out everything?" said Fred. "There's
something bothering you, and you're keeping it all to yourself."

"But I promised I wouldn't tell, and I don't want to break my word. I
said when she asked me, 'No; I can't keep secrets;' but then it was put
in such a way that I must keep it. I can't go with you Fred; pray don't
ask me again. Good-by to you, and thank you, thank you."

Kitty ran into her room, shut the door, locked it, and retreated to the
window, to be as far as possible from Fred's insinuating voice and ways.

Mr. and Mrs. Denvers were out again that night, and the time dragged
terribly. Kitty wondered how she was to live through a whole week of
this torture.

"I promised Elma that I would not tell about her asking me for that
money," she said to herself. "I wish I hadn't said so now; but she
seemed so earnest, and I really thought nothing of it at the time. Oh
dear, dear! I wonder she does not bring it to me. She must be the
meanest of the mean. I never liked her; but now I hate her. Poor, poor,
dear old Wheel-about! Don't I know what he is feeling, and what Laurie
is feeling, my broth of a boy, my Laurie, asthore! Oh, to think that he
is in trouble, and I can't help him! How I wish I was back in Ireland
now! This will break my heart--it will break my heart."

Tears filled her eyes; but she was too proud to let them roll over.

"I will keep them back if I die for it," she said to herself. "I am
Kitty Malone, and they will break my heart if this goes on; but I won't
cry. No, that I won't."

While these thoughts were coursing through the poor girl's brain, there
came another knock at the door; an insistent and somewhat fierce one
this time. The handle was sharply turned, and the clear voice of Alice
was heard.

"Open the door at once, please, Kitty," she said.

Kitty crossed the room, turned the key in the lock, and allowed Alice to
enter.

"I must beg of you, Kitty," said Alice, "not to lock the door again."

"And why not, pray? You locked it last night. It was on account of that
I am now in all this trouble."

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