"Oh, it is all very clean and neat, thank you," Mrs. Wilton faltered out; "it will do very nicely, and--and I will see about Puck: if he is troublesome, he must be sent away."
Alas! the very spirit of mischief, whose name he bore, seemed to have suddenly possessed Puck. A great bustling and low growling was heard on the staircase, and Hans and Carl laughing and saying, "At it, Puck--good Puck." In another moment Puck appeared shaking something soft frantically, and tearing wildly about with it in his mouth, letting off the spirits which had been pent up on his journey from Fairchester.
"What has he got? Take it from him, children.--What is it, Salome?"
"It's a bird, I think.--Puck, put it down," said Reginald sternly, seizing Puck by his fluffy tail, and administering several hard slaps.
[Illustration: "'It's a bird, I think.--Puck, put it down!'" _Page 113._]
When at last Puck dropped his prey, Mrs. Pryor exclaimed, "My feather brush--my dear, dear mistress's feather brush! I've seen her dust her own chayny with it _times_. I wouldn't have taken a pound for it. Oh dear! oh dear!"
"It is not much injured, I hope," said Mrs. Wilton. "Only two feathers have been loosened."
"A nasty, mischievous little thing," said Mrs. Pryor in an injured tone, making a thrust at Puck with the short handle of the feather brush.
It was not in dog nature to take this patiently, and Puck stood at bay, barking furiously, and growling as an interlude between every fresh outburst.
Mrs. Pryor put her hands to her ears, and saying something about calling her son to protect her, she toddled away. After a storm comes a calm. Puck stood apologetically on his hind legs when his enemy was gone; and Carl, seizing him in his arms, carried him off to the little room he was to occupy with Hans, saying, "That horrid old woman should not touch him."
Like the sun shining through a cloud was the appearance of Ruth's good-natured face.
"I will manage it all," she said to Stevens. "If mother makes a great fuss, why, I'll take the little creature to live with us. _I_ am not so particular or fidgety. Don't take any notice of what mother may say; she means well."
Alas! how many people "mean well," and how much better it would be if they made their meaning clear. Their good intentions are often like a riddle, hard to find out. If the intention is good, it is a pity that it is not better fulfilled. People who say they mean well are, I am afraid, often very disagreeable, and do not make the lives of others easier by their "good meaning."