In a few moments Mr. Geoffrey Langford was sitting in the great red leathern chair in the study, writing as fast as his fingers would move, apparently without a moment for thought, though he might have said, like the great painter, that what seemed the work of half an hour, was in fact the labour of years. His daughter, her bonnet by her side, sat opposite to him, writing with almost equal rapidity, and supremely happy, for to the credit of our little Queen Bee let it be spoken, that no talk with Henrietta, no walk with grandpapa, no new exciting tale, no, not even a flirtation with Fred and Alex, one or both, was equal in her estimation to the pleasure and honour of helping papa, even though it was copying a dry legal opinion, instead of gliding about on the smooth hard ice, in the bright winter morning's sunshine.
The two pens maintained a duet of diligent scratching for some twenty or five and twenty minutes without intermission, but at last Beatrice looked up, and without speaking, held up her sheet.
"Already? Thank you, my little clerk, I could think it was mamma. Now then, off to the skating. My compliments to Fred, and tell him I feel for him, and will not keep him waiting longer than I can avoid:" and muttering a resumption of his last sentence, on went the lawyer's indefatigable pen; and away flew the merry little Busy Bee, bounding off with her droll, tripping, elastic, short-stepped run, which suited so well with her little alert figure, and her dress, a small plain black velvet bonnet, a tight black velvet "jacket," as she called it, and a brown silk dress, with narrow yellow stripes (chosen chiefly in joke, because it was the colour of a bee), not a bit of superfluous shawl, boa, or ribbon about her, but all close and compact, fit for the diversion which she was eager to enjoy. The only girl among so many boys, she had learnt to share in many of their sports, and one of the prime favourites was skating, a diversion which owes as much of its charm to the caprices of its patron Jack Frost, as to the degree of skill which it requires.
She arrived at the stile leading to "Knight's Portion," as it was called, and a very barren portion must the poor Knight have possessed if it was all his property. It was a sloping chalky field or rather corner of a down, covered with very short grass and thistles, which defied all the attacks of Uncle Roger and his sheep. On one side was a sort of precipice, where the chalk had been dug away, and a rather extensive old chalk pit formed a tolerable pond, by the assistance of the ditch at the foot of a hedge. On the glassy surface already marked by many a sharply traced circular line, the Sutton Leigh boys were careering, the younger ones with those extraordinary bends, twists, and contortions to which the unskilful are driven in order to preserve their balance. Frederick and Henrietta stood on the brink, neither of them looking particularly cheerful; but both turned gladly at the sight of the Busy Bee, and came to meet her with eager inquiries for her papa.
She was a very welcome sight to both, especially Henrietta, who had from the first felt almost out of place alone with all those boys, and who hoped that she would be some comfort to poor Fred, who had been entertaining her with every variety of grumbling for the last half-hour, and perversely refusing to walk out of sight of the forbidden pleasure, or to talk of anything else. Such a conversation as she was wishing for was impossible whilst he was constantly calling out to the others, and exclaiming at their adventures, and in the intervals lamenting his own hard fate, scolding her for her slowness in dressing, which had occasioned the delay, and magnifying the loss of his pleasure, perhaps in a sort of secret hope that the temptation would so far increase as to form in his eyes an excuse for yielding to it. Seldom had he shown himself so unamiable towards her, and with great relief and satisfaction she beheld her cousin descending the steep slippery path from the height above, and while the cloud began to lighten on his brow, she thought to herself, "It will be all right now, he is always happy with Busy Bee!"
So he might have been had Beatrice been sufficiently unselfish for once to use her influence in the right direction, and surrender an amusement for the sake of another; but to give up or defer such a pleasure as skating with Alex never entered her mind, though a moment's reflection might have shown her how much more annoying the privation would be rendered by the sight of a girl fearlessly enjoying the sport from which he was debarred. It would, perhaps, be judging too hardly to reckon against her as a fault that her grandmamma could not bear to hear of anything so "boyish," and had long ago entreated her to be more like a young lady. There was no positive order in this case, and her papa and mamma did not object. So she eagerly answered Alexander's summons, fastened on her skates, and soon was gliding merrily on the surface of the Knight's Pool, while her cousins watched her dexterity with surprise and interest; but soon Fred once more grew gloomy, sighed, groaned, looked at his watch, and recommenced his com- plaints. At first she had occupation enough in attending to her own security to bestow any attention on other things, but in less than a quarter of an hour, she began to feel at her ease, and her spirits rising to the pitch where consideration is lost, she "could not help," in her own phrase, laughing at the disconsolate Fred.
"How wobegone he looks!" said she, as she whisked past, "but never mind, Fred, the post must go some time or other."
"It must be gone," said Fred. "I am sure we have been here above an hour!"
"Henrietta looks blue with cold, like an old hen obliged to follow her ducklings to the water!" observed Beatrice, again gliding near, and in the midst of her next circular sweep she chanted-
"Although their feet are pointed, and my feet are round,
Pray, is that any reason why I should be drowned?"
It was a great aggravation of Fred's calamities to be obliged to laugh, nor were matters mended by the sight of the party now advancing from the house, Jessie Carey, with three of the lesser boys.
"What news of Uncle Geoffrey?"
"I did not see him," said Jessie: "I think he was in the study, Uncle Roger went to him there."
"No hope then!" muttered the unfortunate Fred.
"Can't you skate, Fred?" asked little Arthur with a certain most provoking face of wonder and curiosity.
"Presently," said Fred.
"He must not," cried Richard, in a tone which Fred thought malicious, though it was only rude.
"Must not?" and Arthur looked up in amazement to the boy so much taller than his three brothers, creatures in his eyes privileged to do what they pleased.
"His mamma won't let him," was Dick's polite answer. Fred could have knocked him down with the greatest satisfaction, but in the first place he was out of reach, in the second, the young ladies were present, in the third he was a little boy, and a stupid one, and Fred had temper enough left to see that there would be nothing gained by quarrelling with him, so contenting himself with a secret but most ardent wish that he had him as his fag at school, he turned to Jessie, and asked her what she thought of the weather, if the white frost would bring rain, &c., &c.
Jessie thought the morning too bright not to be doubtful, and the hoar frost was so very thick and white that it was not likely to continue much longer.
"How beautiful these delicate white crests are to every thorn in the hedge!" said Henrietta; "and look, these pieces of chalk are almost cased in glass."
"O I do love such a sight!" said Jessie. "Here is a beautiful bit of stick crusted over."
"It is a perfect little Giant's Causeway," said Henrietta; "do look at these lovely little columns, Fred."
"Ah!" said Jessie,
"Myriads of little salts, or hook'd or shaped
Like double wedges.-"