The Old Pincushion Part 5

'I must have deserved it,' she would say sometimes to the old servant.

'I fear I have been selfish--caring too much for my own dear brother, and thinking of nothing else.'

'Oh, miss,' Martha would remonstrate, 'how could you ever think so? I'm sure no lady could have been kinder than yourself to all the poor folk about. You've never been one to turn a deaf ear to anybody's troubles.'

'But in my heart,' said her mistress, 'in my heart my one thought has been David, and that cannot be right, for now it seems as if there was nothing left, now that I can no longer plan for his happiness. I don't know what to do with myself, Martha. I'm getting old, and I am useless; at least, I feel that I shall be useless away from here. I should like to become a sister, and work among the poor, but I am afraid I should not understand it, away from here.'

'Never fear, miss,' Martha would say consolingly. 'A way will show for those as really wishes to do right. You've done what was your duty well till now. I'm sure no lady knows better how to see to a garden or a dairy; and for poultry, miss, you've quite a special calling. Don't you worry, miss.'

And this she would say, though her own heart was sad. She feared she would have to leave Miss Clotilda, and it was hard to think of going to work among strangers at her age. But she was a truly good and faithful-hearted old woman. She believed that, as she said, no one really anxious to do right will ever be left for long at a loss.

Many a night had Martha lain awake, thinking about the lost will. She turned over in her head every possible, or impossible, place in which Mrs. Wynne could have hidden it. More than once, indeed, she had got up in the dark, and lighted a candle to go peeping into some cupboard or drawer which it had struck her had not been thoroughly turned out. But all in vain. And now she, too, like Miss Clotilda herself and the rest of the world, had begun to think all hope was over.

She was very delighted when the boy Neville's first letter came, for of course she was at once told of its contents. And she saw that it brought a light to Miss Clotilda's eyes, and a colour to her cheeks, that had not been there since Mrs. Wynne's death.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'THERE'S YOUR WORK FOR YOU, SO TO SPEAK, MISS.']

'There now, missy dear,' said the old servant, for Clotilda, whom she had known for more than thirty years, still seemed a child to her sometimes, 'didn't I tell you it would be shown you what to do? There's that dear little girl, by her brother's account--and an uncommon well-thinking young gentleman he must be--sorely in need of a mother's care; and who could do so well instead of a mother as her own aunt, I'd like to know? There's your work for you, so to speak, miss.'

'But, Martha,' said Miss Clotilda, 'I can't have her to live with me, as Neville hints. Even if David were to give me what he pays for her now--and it would go hard with me to take it--I have no house. And I am not clever enough to teach her;' and again Miss Clotilda's face fell.

'Wait a bit, miss,' said Martha again; 'there's no telling how things may turn out yet. The first thing to do is to have the young lady and her brother for the holidays, so you'll get to know them, and they you.

And maybe a way will be shown for you to have them more with you after that.'

'But, Martha,' said Clotilda again, '_can_ I have them with me even for the holidays? I've so very little money left. And children have good appet.i.tes, and it would be dreadful not to give them nice things and plenty.'

'We'll manage it,' said Martha. 'We've still the use of the garden, and some of the poultry's your very own, miss. And the cow is still giving milk. Mr. Wynne-Carr said nothing about that.'

'No. I think if I wrote to him about the children he would tell me I might use all there is in the place. And we don't need much, you and I, Martha--we need hardly anything that has to be bought, and I can be even more careful till my half-year's money comes,' for she had fifty pounds a year of her own, but that was all. 'If I can make the children happy these holidays, I don't care what happens afterwards,' she added brightly. 'I can always go to one or other of my old friends for a few weeks till I find some kind of situation.'

'To be sure,' Martha agreed.

So the letter was sent which we have read. And then Miss Clotilda and the old servant went into all sorts of discussions as to ways and means.

Mr. Wynne-Carr was written to, and in reply he, as Martha expressed it, 'made Miss Clotilda free of the cow and the garden,' and told her to consider _all_ the poultry as hers, to eat or sell, as she preferred.

That was grand. Martha disposed of several couple almost at once, and proceeded to fatten up others. And when the news of the 'Captain's children' coming to visit their aunt was told to some of the neighbours, several substantial proofs of goodwill were forthcoming. Old Thomas Evans, the princ.i.p.al tenant, begged Miss Clotilda to allow him to send her a forequarter of mutton every time he killed a sheep, while the young people should be with her; and Mary Jones, the village schoolmistress, humbly presented a beautiful dish of honeycomb. Old Martha was triumphant, and maintained that troubles are often blessings in disguise, as they show us good points in our neighbours which otherwise might never be suspected.

And the next day or two were much more busy and cheerful than their predecessors, though Miss Clotilda felt anxious to hear again from Neville, and in the day or two which had to pa.s.s before the boy's reply could possibly come she had time enough to worry herself with all sorts of fears and misgivings.

'It would be too disappointing if they decided they did not care to come now that we have settled all so nicely, would it not, Martha?' she kept repeating. 'I hope my letter was not too discouraging, so to say. What I said about being so poor now. I trust that will not make them afraid of coming.'

'What you said, miss, was just the plain truth--that you'd do your best for them, and give them a hearty welcome. You couldn't pretend things would be as in the old days, or as they _should_ be if the Captain had his rights. But don't worry, miss; Master Neville's a sensible young gentleman and his father's own son, or I'm much mistaken, and the little girl is just a child. It'll be all right, you'll see.'

It was, however, very provoking, that the morning Neville's letter was on its way, the very first day that there could possibly have been an answer from him, old John should have been particularly late. Twenty times that morning did Miss Clotilda open the front door, and stand gazing along the drive in hopes of perceiving the familiar figure of the old letter-carrier, and at least half as many times was Martha despatched to the cottage at the corner of the road which he _must_ pa.s.s, to make sure that he had not already done so. To tell the truth, Martha only went once, and there would have been no use in her going oftener, for she explained the matter to her namesake, Martha Price, the owner of the said cottage, and made her promise to send the old man, 'anyways,' to say so, even if there were not a letter.

But nevertheless, every time Miss Clotilda's voice was heard calling 'Martha, you might just run to the cottage,' the cunning old body called out, 'To be sure, miss, to be sure.' And when the inquiry came down the kitchen pa.s.sage--'Well, Martha?'--'Not yet awhile, miss. Old John's not in sight just yet,' she would reply.

The longest lane has its turning, however, and the longest waiting comes to an end.

It was nearly one o'clock when Parry at last appeared, smiling and complacent, so that Miss Clotilda found it impossible to meet him with the scolding she felt sure he deserved. He'd have been sharper, to be sure, if he'd known the lady was in a hurry for her letter--there was but the one for the White House--another time if she'd give him a hint a day or two before, he'd see to it she wasn't kept waiting. But she had no patience to listen to his polite speeches, she seized the letter and hurried off with it to her own room to read it in private. Poor loving-hearted Miss Clotilda! Her nerves had been sadly tried of late.

She really felt that if the letter were to say they were not coming after all, she might be guilty of bursting into tears, and that it would not do even for Martha to see!

It was all right, however. The first word or two rea.s.sured her.

'MY DEAR AUNT,' wrote Neville, 'Kathie and I thank you very much for your kind letter. I have not seen Kathie, but I wrote to her, and we are both sure we should like very much to come. I am very sorry about all the trouble. I am so sorry it should make you poorer too. I should like to be grown-up, and to work hard to help papa and mamma and my sisters and you. It will not make us unhappy to see the place. We shall like to see it. Please write to Mr.

Fanshaw and Miss Eccles. Kathie's holidays begin in three weeks, and I could come then too. I am sure we should be all right to come third-cla.s.s. A boy here, whose people are very rich, goes third with his sister, because his father says it's better than second. Mr. Fanshaw can find the trains if you'll fix the day.--Your affectionate nephew,

'NEVILLE W. POWYS.'

Again Miss Clotilda's voice sounded along the kitchen pa.s.sage.

'It's all right, Martha,' it said joyfully. 'The dear children are coming. I think I'll just slip on my bonnet and run up to Mr. Parry's'

(_this_ Mr. Parry was the vicar), 'and see if he's got a--a clergy list--oh, dear me! what am I saying? I mean a railway-guide, and then if I mark down the best train I can write at once to Miss Eccles and to Mr.

Fanshaw. It will save them all trouble, and of course I must choose a train which will arrive in good time at Frewern Bay, on account of the long drive, you see, Martha.'

'To be sure, miss, to be sure,' Martha agreed. 'But you'll have some luncheon first, miss. They'll be at theirs at the vicarage.'

'Very well, Martha,' said Miss Clotilda submissively. She felt far too excited to eat, but still she did not want to delay Martha's own dinner.

The calling this mid-day repast 'luncheon' was a pious fiction, for, for many years past, even in the so-called 'old days,' it had been the real dinner. Mrs. Wynne had been too delicate to take a substantial meal late in the day, and now, alas! there were serious reasons why Miss Clotilda should be content with but one such. And with her present economical intention, I am afraid even her luncheon was not a luxurious meal. But the thought of the little visitors for whom they were made sweetened and cheered her self-sacrifices.

'I've been thinking, miss,' said Martha, as she waited upon her mistress, 'that if I was a little saving with the milk this week or two, we might get a pound or so of b.u.t.ter to sell at the market with the chickens next week. I've spoke to widow Jones about it, and she'll be pleased to sell whatever we like with hers.'

'A very good idea,' said Miss Clotilda approvingly. 'Of course, it's nonsense for me and you to use all the milk. For my part, I don't care about cream in my tea at all. I meant to have told you so. Nor do I care about b.u.t.ter--just now, in the hot weather too. You may save all the milk you can for churning, as far as I'm concerned, only don't stint yourself, Martha, mind.'

Martha murmured something like 'No fear of that.'

But all the same it was scanty milk and no b.u.t.ter that fell to the share of the old servant's tea. Miss Clotilda, too, was satisfied that she herself was practising the utmost economy, though more than once she remarked to Martha that the red cow's milk seemed nicer than ever. 'In my tea I should really not tell it from cream.'

And silly little Kathie all this time never thought and seldom spoke of her aunt except as 'that stupid old maid,' and thought herself, I rather suspect, very condescending for having made up her mind to spend the holidays at the White House.

CHAPTER V.

A GRAVE PREDICAMENT.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decorative I]

t was a hot, close morning in July when Neville and Kathleen found themselves at Paddington, waiting to start by the ten o'clock train for Frewern Bay. They had rather a long journey before them, longer than it need have been in one sense, for they could not travel by the express as they were to go third-cla.s.s. It had been decided by all the authorities concerned that as little as possible must be spent upon the railway fares, for there had not, of course, been time to write to Captain Powys, and have his instructions.

Up to the last there had been some uncertainty as to the day of their going. Miss Clotilda had named Wednesday or Thursday in her last letter, saying that if she did not hear to the contrary she would not expect them till Thursday, and would arrange to meet them that day at Frewern Bay. But late on Monday evening came a note from Neville to ask if Kathie could be ready for Wednesday. Mr. Fanshaw, who was to see them off, had an unexpected engagement on Thursday, and if Wednesday would not do, their leaving must be delayed till Friday. But this would not at all have suited Kathleen. She was eager to be off, and even twenty-four hours more at school seemed intolerable to her. And to Miss Eccles, one day or the other, provided Miss Fraser could guarantee the young lady's packing being completed in time, was the same. Miss Fraser, to tell the truth, was quite as eager to get rid of Kathie as Kathie was pleased to say good-bye to her. Poor Miss Fraser! her sharp face had looked a little more amiable of late, and her voice had had a softer ring. She had the prospect of a holiday at last, after two years' incessant work, for so many of the girls were this year disposed of among their various relations that Miss Eccles had given up the usual visit to Bognor, and the young governess was in consequence to have three weeks to herself.

And Philippa Harley was to travel down to Cheltenham this same Thursday under Miss Fraser's convoy.

'Of course I can be ready for Wednesday!' Kathleen exclaimed, when she read Neville's note. 'Wait till Friday, indeed! And you leaving on Thursday, Phil. I should die of dulness before Friday morning.'

'It'll be rather horrid for me on Wednesday,' said Philippa. 'I wish we had been going the same day, as it was settled.'

'Oh, poor Phil,' said Kathleen, ashamed of her thoughtlessness. 'I quite forgot. Never mind, dear; you are so good, you know. You wouldn't have liked to think of me alone here all Thursday.'