Wild Kitty by L. T. Meade

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"Only given him a taste of blarney," was the reply. "Tell me now, Fred,
were you ever in Ireland?"

"No," answered Fred.

"Ah! I thought as much. If you had been, and if you had kissed the
Blarney Stone, why then, it's nothing could withstand you."

"What is the Blarney Stone?" asked Fred.

"Don't you know that much? Why you are an ignoramus out and out. Well,
I'll tell you. It's a stone on Blarney Castle, set low down in the wall,
five or six feet from the top; and to kiss it, why that is no easy
matter, for you have to be held by your heels and let hang over the
wall; and if you can get some one to hold you tight--very tight,
mind--you slide down and you reach the stone and you kiss it, and from
that moment--oh glory! but you carry everything before you. There's not
a man, a woman, nor a child, no, nor a beastie either, that can resist
you. You bewitch 'em."

"I have no doubt, Kitty, you kissed the stone," said Mr. Denvers.

"Why then, it's yes, sir," she answered raising her big eyes and then
dropping them again with an inimitable expression.

"What a queer little girl you are!" he said. "You are very amusing; but
I think we must tame you a bit."

"You won't do that, sir. They call me the wild Irish girl at home, and
the wild Irish girl I'll be to the end of the chapter. If it's schooling
I want, why, I'll have it, but taming, no thank you."

Kitty jumped from her seat and began to dance a sort of improvised Irish
jig about the room.

"Do you know the jig?" she said, dancing up to Fred as she spoke.

"No," he answered; "are you trying it on now?"

"Yes; jump up, my hearty, and I'll teach you in a twinkling. Here, watch
me; point your toes so, turn round--pirouette as we call it. Now, then,
put your hand on your hip, courtesy to me, and come back again. That's
how it's done. Oh, Fred, I'll soon have you as beautiful a broth of a
boy as if you were born in Old Ireland."

"Fred, my son, it is time for you to go back to college," said his
father. "Kitty, we are very pleased to have you here, and you are a very
amusing girl; but you know life is not all play."

Kitty pulled a long face. Fred darted a laughing glance at her, and ran
off. Kitty and Alice at last found themselves alone.

"You're disapproving of me a good bit, aren't you, Alice?" said Kitty,
going up to the other girl and taking both her hands in hers.

"Well, I think you are very odd," said Alice.

"And do you want me to be quite sober and tame, and to have all the
spirit knocked out me, alanna?"

"No; but we don't do exactly as you do in this country."

"And you think you'll tame me into your cut-and-dry pattern?"

"I don't know about that. I don't understand you, Kitty."

"You will after a bit, Alice. It's here I am for sure, and a gray sort
of land it is! Why, the sun doesn't even shine!"

"Oh, doesn't it," said Alice angrily. "It's ridiculous to talk in that
strain about this country. We have much finer weather than you have in
Ireland."

"Don't be cross, darling; I mean it metaphorically. You see we live a
gay life over there, we have a joke about everything, and the wit that
runs out of our mouths--why, it's like flashes of lightning. Oh, we have
a good time in the old country, and when you come and stay with me at
Castle Malone you'll say so for yourself. Now, then, what do you want to
do this afternoon?"

"I must look over my lessons first."

"Lessons--how many?"

"A good few. You see of course I want to get on."

"By the way, Alice," said Mrs. Denvers, who came into the room at that
moment, "I am afraid you had a bad mark for unpunctuality this morning."

"Yes, mother, that is so."

"And what is your place in form?"

"I went down two or three places, mother."

"I am sorry to hear it; your father will be very much annoyed."

"I'll try and make up for it to-morrow, mother. And, mother, Gwin Harley
has asked me to go to tea with her this afternoon--may I?"

"I don't see how you can. There is Kitty Malone."

"But she has asked Kitty too."

"What's that?" asked Kitty, bounding forward. "A tea party, bless you?"

"You have been asked to tea at Harley Grove. Mother, may we go? I think
Kitty would enjoy it."

"If you are sure you are not too tired, Kitty; you have had a long
journey," said Mrs. Denvers.

"I'm not a scrap tired," said Kitty. "I'm as gay as a lark and as fresh
as a daisy. I hope it's rather a big swell party, for I have got some
awfully pretty dresses. I want to make myself look smart. You can tell
me how they manage these sort of things in England. I'm all agog to go."

"Yes, Alice, you may go," said Mrs. Denvers. "But Kitty, my dear, if I
were you I would let them down lightly."

"What do you mean, dear Mrs. Denvers?"

"Don't startle them too much. They are not accustomed to such--such
frankness as you are disposed to give."

"I'll bewitch 'em," said Kitty, beginning again to dance with light
fantastic measure up and down the room. "I'll bewitch 'em one and all. I
have made up my mind. I didn't kiss the Blarney Stone for nothing!"

CHAPTER III.

IS THAT THE GIRL?

Kitty and Alice went up to their bedroom, where Kitty began to unpack
her trunks and toss her dresses about--they were all new and most of
them were gay. She had scarcely a quiet-looking dress in the entire
collection.

"What will you do with those?" said Alice, who saw nothing to admire in
the fantastic clothes, and much to condemn. Alice had not the smallest
love for dress, and at this period of her life she considered any pains
taken over clothes a sheer waste of time.

"But don't you like them?" said Kitty. "I thought girls loved pretty
dress. Aunt Honora says so, and so did Aunt Bridget when she came to see
us at Castle Malone a month ago. When she heard I was going to England
she said: 'Why, then, my dear Kitty, you must titivate up. It will never
do for them to see you not looking as bright as a sunbeam and as gay as
a cricket. It's colors you'll want, Kitty, and rich materials, and
spangles, and jewels, and beads, and all the other fal-lals.' And father
said to Aunt Bridget:

"'Why then, now, Biddy,' said he, 'you just get what's right for the
child, for she hasn't a notion, and no more have I, what's worn in that
foreign place England.'

"So Aunt Bridget said: 'A wink's as good as a word,' and I'll dress her
up in dashing style!' So she took the measure of my chest, and the round
of my waist, and the length of my skirt, and she saw how many inches I
wanted in the sleeve, and she said: 'You leave the rest to me, Kitty.'
And of course I did, and in three weeks' time down came a trunk that
would make your eyes shine even to look within it. Oh! wasn't it just
the darling entirely! Here's one of the dresses. Now, what do you think
of that?"

As Kitty spoke she pulled out a pink nun's-veiling, made up with
innumerable ruffles and frills and laces and embroidery, a really very
pretty dress for quite a gay party, but totally unsuitable for a
schoolgirl of Kitty Malone's age.

"Why, it's a long dress?" said Alice. "How old are you, Kitty?"

"It's fifteen I'll be my next birthday, darling. Well, and is there
anything wrong about fifteen? I always thought it was a jewel of an
age."

"Yes, but this dress is long; why, there's a train to it!"

"Oh, mercy me! so there is," said Kitty. "To tell you the truth, I never
even tried on the skirt, I was so bamboozled and overexcited with the
others. A train to be sure! Oh, won't I bewitch 'em entirely. Let me try
it on, darling. Have you got a long looking-glass anywhere?"

"Not in this room," answered Alice; "it is not necessary."

"Not necessary? Well, now, I should say it's the one thing you ought to
have in every room, a long looking-glass that you can see yourself in
from top to toe. Why, half your elegance is lost if you cannot see how
you look your own self. Is there one in any other room?"

"In mother's dressing-room, I think."

"And where's that room situated, my jewel?" asked Kitty.

"Oh, at the other end of the passage; but really, Kitty--"

Kitty, however, was off. Alice stayed in her room, too disgusted to
follow her.

"Something must be done to put a stop to this," she thought. "Of course,
mother won't keep a girl of that sort. Why, she's a regular wild Indian;
I shall be ashamed to take her out this afternoon."

But at that moment a high voice, accompanied by peals of laughter, was
heard shouting for Alice.

"Alice, mavourneen, come along this minute! Alice, come quick! quick!
Why, it's enthralling I am! You never saw anything like me before, did
you? Oh, the Blarney Stone, what it has done for me. Come, Alice, come,
come quick!"

"What can be the matter?" called Mrs. Denvers from downstairs. "Has
anything happened?"

"Oh, it's only me, dear Mrs. Denvers. Do come up this minute, my dear
ducky woman, and see me. I found a dress with a train to it in my trunk,
a new dress from Dublin, and I'm in it, and beautiful I look. Come up
and see me. I'm gazing at myself in your glass. I never saw anything so
lovely in the whole course of my life."

Mrs. Denvers and Alice now both appeared upon the scene. Kitty in her
new dress, with a train nearly a foot on the ground, was stepping
backward and forward before the long glass in Mrs. Denvers' wardrobe.
Her eyes were flashing with merriment and delight. Her small arched feet
were dancing a _pas de seul_ in and out of the many flounces which
befrilled the end of the pink dress.

"Well, do you like it?" called Kitty. "How do you think I look? Did you
ever see anybody more elegant in all your born days? Oh, if only the
dear old dad could see me! I feel as if I must kiss myself." Here she
commenced blowing kisses vigorously at the gay figure reflected in the
glass.

"Come, Kitty," said Mrs. Denvers, "you are not going out in that dress."

"And why not, my dear Mrs. Denvers? Why shouldn't I go out and captivate
the natives? That's what a pretty girl is made for."

"Not in this country," said Mrs. Denvers in a somewhat severe voice. "It
cannot be done; Kitty, you are much too young to wear a dress of that
sort. While you are with me you must expect to be guided by my taste and
wishes."

"But, dear Mrs. Denvers, Aunt Bridget ordered it."

"Well, of course, dear, you can wear it at Castle Malone, but not
here--at least, not out of doors. Yes, my child, it is a very pretty
dress; but I do understand what is right for girls to appear in. You
must have something quieter, Kitty."

"Then come along and choose for me," said Kitty, who was as good-natured
as she was high-spirited and volatile. "Come straight and choose, for
Alice, poor child, is troubled with the sulks."

"What do you mean?" said Alice indignantly.

"But isn't it true, darling; you have such a frown between your brows,
and it doesn't improve you. There, cheer up, Alice, honey! Why, it's the
best of friends I want to be with you; but you don't like me, not a bit.
I'll win you yet, Alice, aroon! But at the present moment you're saying
in your heart: 'What a nasty, forward, ill-bred girl that is, and I am
ashamed, that I am, that my schoolfellows should see me with the likes
of her.'"

"Come, come, Kitty, no more of this," said Mrs. Denvers. "If you are
going out you have no time to lose. Yes, let me see your wardrobe. I
think this dark-blue dress is the best."

"But you are not expecting me to go out in the open air without a body!"
said Kitty, "and there's nothing but a skirt to this. I suppose I may
wear one of my pretty blouses?"

"Yes; that skirt and a nice blouse will do. Now then, get ready, both of
you, as quickly as you can. Kitty, remember I expect your things to be
put away tidily."

"To be sure, ma'am. Why, then, it would be a shame to spoil all these
pretty garments. I'll put them away in a jiffy, and come down looking as
neat as a new pin."

Alice, who had brushed out her hair, put on a clean collar and a pair of
cuffs, was now standing waiting for her friend.

"Look here," she said suddenly, "will you be long putting away your
things and dressing?"

"Not very long, darling; but I must curl my fringe over again."

"I wish you wouldn't wear a fringe, Kitty; none of the nice girls do at
the school."

"Is it give up my fringe I would?" answered Kitty.

"What a show I'd be! Why, look at my forehead, it's too high for the
lines of pure beauty. Now, when the fringe comes down just to here, why,
it's perfect. Aunt Bridget said it was, and she's a rare judge, I can
tell you. She was a beauty in her youth, one of the Dublin beauties; and
you can't go to any city for fairer women than are to be found in
Dublin. I tell you what it is, Alice, I see you are in a flurry to be
off. Can I overtake you?"

"You can," said Alice suddenly. "You can come to me at Bessie
Challoner's house."

"Bessie Challoner!--what a pretty name!--Challoner! I like that!"
answered Kitty, looking thoughtful. "And where's her house, aroon? What
part of the neighborhood is it situated in?"

"Come here to the window and I'll show you. When you leave this house
you turn to the right and walk straight on until you come to Cherry
Lodge--that's the name of the house. Bessie and I will be waiting for
you."

"Well, then, off you go, and I won't keep you many minutes."

Alice ran out of the room. She found her mother waiting for her
downstairs.

"Oh, mother," said Alice, "she's too dreadful."

"Come now, no whispering about me behind my back," called a gay voice
over the stairs. "I thought it would be something of that sort. That's
not fair--out with your remarks in front of me, and nothing behind."

"Kitty, Kitty, go back and dress, you incorrigible child!" called Mrs.
Denvers.

"Mother!" said Alice.

"My dear Alice," said her mother, "you will soon learn to like that poor
child. She has a great deal that is good in her, and then she is so
pretty."

"Pretty?" muttered Alice. "Oh, I see you're bewitched like the rest of
them."

She left the house, feeling more uncomfortable, depressed, and angry
than she had done for several years.

Mr. Denvers was a lawyer, and made a fairly good income; but his large
family and the education of his boys had strained his resources to such
an extent that he was very glad to accept the liberal sum which Kitty's
father was paying for her. Alice knew all about this, and at first was
more than willing to help her family in every way in her power. She did
not murmur at all when she was asked to give up half of her room to the
Irish girl. She was quite willing to take her under her patronage, to
show her round, to try to get friends for her among her own
schoolfellows--in short, to make her happy. But then Alice had never
pictured any one in the least like Kitty Malone. She had imagined a
somewhat plain, shy, awkward girl, who would lean upon her, who would
give her unbounded affection, and follow her lead in everything. Now,
this sparkling, racy, daring Kitty was by no means to her mind. There
was not the least doubt that Kitty would not be guided by anybody, that
she would never play second fiddle, and there was also a dreadful fear
down deep in poor Alice's heart that she would fascinate her school
fellows instead of disgusting them, and that Alice's own dearest friends
would leave her in favor of the stranger.

She walked very slowly, therefore, a frown between her brows, discontent
and jealousy in her heart.

Bessie was waiting for her at the gate.

"Why, Alice," called out Bessie, "how late you are. We shan't get to
Harley Grove by five o'clock."

"I can't help being late; it is a blessing you see me now," answered
Alice. "I wonder you waited for me, Bessie."

"Well, my dear," answered Bessie, "I would much rather walk with you
than take a solitary ramble by myself. I thought," she added, "you were
going to bring that new Irish girl with you. Has she come?"

"Has she not come?" answered Alice. "Oh, Bessie, Bessie, it is because
of her I am late. Oh, Bessie, she is quite too dreadful."

"How so?" asked Bessie.

"She is the most extraordinary, wild, reckless, absolutely unladylike,
vulgar person I ever came across in the whole course of my life."

"What a lot of adjectives!" laughed Bessie. "I shall be quite curious to
see her; from your description she must be a monster."

"She is a monster, a human monster," answered Alice; "and the worst of
it is, Bessie, that in some extraordinary way she has fascinated both
father and mother, and even Fred--Fred, who hates girls as a rule; they
are all so taken up with this blessed Kitty Malone that they don't mind
her perfectly savage manners. I can tell you I am quite miserable about
it."

"Poor Alice," answered Bessie in a sympathetic tone. "I suppose then,
dear, she is not coming with us?"

"Oh, yes, she is; she is following us. She could not find anything quiet
enough to put on."

"Quiet enough to put on! What do you mean?"

"Oh, my dear, her wardrobe is beyond description. She absolutely wanted
to come to poor Gwin's quiet little tea party in a dress fit for a ball,
flounced and frilled and laced and ribboned, and with a train to it,
absolutely a train, although she is not fifteen yet."

Bessie could not help laughing. "I am sorry she is fond of dress," she
answered; "I can't bear that sort of girl."

"Oh, you'll positively loathe her, Bessie. I quite pity you at the
thought of having to walk with her this afternoon."

"My dear Alice, we must make the best of it," answered Bessie, "and I
don't suppose she will quite kill me; she will be amusing at any rate."

"Amusing enough to those who have not got to live with her day and
night," answered Alice in a very discontented voice. "Oh, and here she
comes," she added; "and, look, she is running and racing down the road
and waving her hands to us. Oh, Bessie, it is intolerable! Don't you
pity me?"

"What! is that the girl?" cried Bessie. "How very--"

"How very what?" asked Alice.

"How very pretty she is!"

"Pretty," said Alice in a tone of such withering scorn that Bessie could
not help gazing at her friend in astonishment.

CHAPTER IV.

TIFFS ALL AROUND.

Kitty's dark-blue skirt was all that was correct and proper; it reached
just to her ankles, and her remarkably small and beautifully-shaped feet
were encased in the neatest possible tan boots. But the blouse of light
pink silk, all bedizened with bunches of ribbons and lappets of lace,
was in Alice's eyes almost as painfully unsuitable as the trained skirt.
Kitty wore a little close-fitting cap of dark-blue velvet on her head.
Her hair, of the softest, cloudiest black, true Irish hair, was piled up
in a thick mass behind; in front it waved and curled round her white
forehead. Kitty was very tall, and, child as she still was in years, had
a more formed figure than most girls of her age. She was drawing on her
tan gloves now, and unfurling a parasol of tussore silk with a heavy
lace fall.

"I do hope I'm smart enough," she said, panting slightly as she spoke.
"Is this one of your schoolfellows?"

"Yes; my friend, Miss Challoner."

"Haven't you got a Christian name?" asked Kitty, staring frankly with
her wide-open eyes at Alice's friend.

"Bessie is my name," answered Bessie Challoner.

"Do you mind my calling it to you? I like Challoner awfully, and if I
were to say Challoner without the Miss it might do, but Miss is so
stiff. I hope I may be Kitty to you, and then you won't object to being
Bessie to me."

"Not a bit," answered Bessie heartily; "but we are a little late, and
had better walk on as fast as we can."

Gwin Harley lived in a beautiful house about two miles away, and the
girls turned down a path which led across some fields in the direction
of Harley Grove. The time of year was toward the end of May, and the
weather was perfect.

Kitty, who had been silent for a time, now stood in the middle of the
field, threw both her hands to her sides, let her parasol drop on the
ground, and opened her mouth wide.

"Have you gone quite mad?" asked Alice in a severe tone.

"Mad is it?" said Kitty; "not I. I am taking in some of the air." Here
she began to breathe very deeply and with considerable noise. "Why, my
ducky girls, the pair of you, I was fairly suffocated in that bandbox of
a house; now the breeze here is fine and fresh, and I want to fill my
lungs. Is there any objection?"

"Oh, none I am sure," answered Bessie; "but you really did look most
extraordinary."

"I am glad no one was passing at the moment," said Alice. "What would
they have thought?"

"Does it matter what they think?" asked Kitty. "We never mind what
anyone thinks of us in Ireland. Ah, the dear old place; how I pine for
it! There now, my lungs are full, and we can go on again."

She picked up her parasol and began to stride forward.

"Isn't she a horror?" whispered Alice to Bessie.

"Hush!" answered Bessie; "she only does it to amuse us. The thing is to
take very little notice; we'll soon tame her down."

"Is it taming me you're after?" called back Kitty. "Well, then, you'll
never do that, for I come of a wild lot, and I have always been called
Wild Kitty from the moment I could speak. But there's no harm in me, not
a bit. Now, then, I'll walk as sober as you please. What shall we talk
about?"

"Is there anything you would like to ask us?" said Bessie.

"I am sure then, darling, I don't think there is. Wouldn't you like to
ask me some questions? I'm as open as day. I'll lay bare all the
thoughts of my secret soul to the pair of you, if you care to hear
them."

"I don't know that we do," said Bessie. "You see we have got to make
your acquaintance yet, Kitty."

"Ah, now it's nice of you to call me Kitty, and that's a very pretty
little voice you have; soft and winning. How is it you say some of those
words? I can't get my tongue round them; but I dare say I will after a
bit."

"Would you like to know what kind of place we are going to?" asked
Bessie.

"Oh, I'll wait until I get there," answered Kitty. "I suppose it's like
all other places; there's a house and some girls; and if we are asked to
tea, why we'll get tea, and they'll think me no end of an oddity, and
I'll think them a lot of muffs; but that don't matter. Oh, my dears, if
you only saw Old Ireland, and if you only knew the free life we have
there, and the beautiful air that comes blowing in from the broad
Atlantic. Why, it's smothered I'll be in this queer place. I doubt if
I'll stay long. I'll write to father, and ask him to take me back
again."

"I would if I were you," said Alice stoutly.

"Now, what do you mean by that, 'Alice, aroon?'"

"I mean," said Alice, who had now almost lost control over her temper,
"that if you go on as you have done since you came here, we shall none
of us like you, and I for one shall be delighted when you return to
Ireland."

As Alice spoke Kitty's charming face suddenly lost its brilliant color;
it became white, and her dark eyes flashed with an angry fire. She stood
perfectly still for a moment, then began to walk on a little faster than
before.

"You have hurt her, Alice," said Bessie; "you should not have said
that."

"I don't care; she made me do it; she is intolerable."

"Still, you had no right to speak as you did; remember she is a
stranger."

Here Bessie ran after Kitty, and tried to slip her hand through her arm;
but the Irish girl made an impatient movement, and, shrugging her
shoulders, walked on quicker than before.

"Oh, leave her alone," whispered Alice; "let us talk about things that
interest us. Why should all lives be upset by her? There, she is going
on in front; let us fall back and talk about interesting things. Have
you finished your work yet?"

"Oh, yes; I had a great deal to do this afternoon. I do hope, Alice,
that Gwin won't mind if I ask her to let me go into the library. I must
take a peep into 'Household Encyclopaedia;' it is such a chance."

"Oh, I am sure she won't mind," replied Alice. "Gwin is the soul of good
nature. I only dread what she will think."

"Oh, you need not dread anything," said Kitty, suddenly turning round
and coming back to the girls. "I shan't be here long; don't be afraid."

"Please, Kitty," said Bessie; "don't mind what Alice said just now, she
was vexed, because we are not quite accustomed to manners like yours.
You will soon get into our ways, you know."

"Never, never!" cried Kitty.

"Well, at any rate, don't mind about it now. Do you think you will like
your school life?"

"No; I shall just hate it."

"What a pity that will be; but I'm sure you don't know what you are
saying. You are vexed with Alice, and I don't wonder--Alice, you were
very hard on her."

"Oh, never mind," answered Kitty; "don't ask her to apologize. I can go
home again. I don't want to be with people who have made up their minds
to dislike me. All the folks at home love me, and--" Here tears dropped
from her eyes, splashing down her cheeks in bright round pearls.

"I didn't mean to vex you," said Alice, who was disconcerted at this
evident grief. "I dare say I shall get accustomed to you after a bit. I
mean I do not really want you to go home."

Kitty's face underwent a change, rapid as a flash of lightning.

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