The Twa Miss Dawsons Part 32

"But what have I been thinking about all this time?" said Marion suddenly.

She left the room and returned almost immediately with a child in her arms--May's eldest, a beautiful but rather delicate looking boy of a little more than a year old.

"This is George Dawson--the precious darling. He is just a little shy at first, but he is not going to be shy with his own grandpapa, is he, my pet, my darling, my bonny boy?" And she fell into a soft babble of fond words, which would have had no meaning to an indifferent listener, but the grandfather listened, well pleased. The "bonny boy" showed his shyness by clinging to his nurse, but he looked at his grandfather bravely enough, and did not resent the cautious advances made to him.

He was persuaded to show all his pretty tricks of action and speech, and smiled, and cooed, and murmured his baby words; and it would not have been easy to say whether his nurse or his grandfather was most delighted at the success of the introduction.

"And now," said Marion, "I think we may tell grandpapa our secret. And it will not be long a secret now, will it, my bonny boy? For mamma is coming down to-day, and all the world must know."

Then setting the child safely in a corner, she moved a step or two away, and held out her arms. Then there were more sweet foolish words, and then the venture was made, and two or three uncertain steps taken, and the little hero was safe again in her arms.

Again and again, with a skill and courage that increased as the distance was lengthened, the journey was made in triumph. Then Marion knelt down, and steadying the child before her, said softly and firmly,--

"Now go to grandpapa." And forgetting his shyness in the glory of success, away he went with eager, faltering steps, and sprang joyfully into the old man's arms. The door had opened softly and the young mother, pale but smiling, stood on the threshold seeing it all. As the child turned she stooped and held out her arms, and again he crossed the s.p.a.ce between them with quick, uncertain steps; and May kissed her father with her child in her arms.

Then, after a whispered word, Marion went out and returned in a little carrying a tiny bundle with trailing white robes, and presented to Mr Dawson another grandson. If she had been at all afraid of him at first, her fear had not outlasted the play with the child, and Mrs Manners saw with mingled surprise and amus.e.m.e.nt the good understanding between them, and the interest her father allowed to appear in the pretty ways and pleasant words of the girl whom in the old days they had found it best to keep a little out of his sight.

He listened to their lamentations about Jean's not coming patiently, and answered with a good grace, more questions in ten minutes than ever she had ventured to put to him in as many days.

"She has wonderfully improved since she left Portie," said he, when Marion had carried away the baby again.

"She was ay a bonny la.s.sie," said May.

She was not going to put him on his guard against the fascinations of her friend by praising her too earnestly.

"I like her to be here with me when I cannot go out. She is very nice with Georgie."

That was all she said to him, but she told her husband that night, that Marion, with the help of the "bonny boy," had made a conquest of her father.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

MARION.

That was but the beginning. Mr Dawson might have had a dull time for the next few days, since Mr Manners was more than usually engaged, and Mrs Manners was not permitted to come down-stairs very early. But he did not. There was the boy, and there was Marion, ready to show one another off to the best advantage for his admiration and amus.e.m.e.nt. And when the boy was carried away by his nurse, Marion still considered herself responsible for the entertainment of the old gentleman of whom, since he had showed himself inclined to unbend, she had ceased to be afraid.

She read to him, she sang to him, she talked to him about many things-- about the leaders in the _Times_, the fis.h.i.+ng interests, the prospects of a good harvest. And when other subjects failed there was always Portie to fall back upon. Her interest in all that pertained to her old home and its inhabitants was inexhaustible.

"Oh! we are never at a loss," she told Mrs Manners, when she asked her how they had got through the day.

It might have come to that, however, if Mrs Manners had not judiciously suggested a change. When one morning Mr Dawson said he must go into the city, his daughter suggested that business and pleasure might be united for once, and he might take Marion. His business took him to the Bank of England, and there Marion found her pleasure. For he took her through all that wonderful place and showed her what was to be seen, to her great delight.

Then they threaded their way through the crowds of Cheapside, and came to the great cathedral which hitherto Marion had only seen in the distance. It was almost too much in one day, she thought, the Bank of England and Saint Paul's. But did she not enjoy it? They only meant to go in to rest for a minute, but hours pa.s.sed before they came out again.

Then Mr Dawson took her to lunch at a curious little place near Ludgate Hill, and then they moved through crowds again along Fleet Street till they came to Temple Bar and turned into the Temple.

Oh! the peace and quiet of the place, after the jostling and noise and confusion of the great thoroughfare! Marion fancied herself walking in a dream, as they wandered through the silent courts, and listened to the soft "plash, plash" of the fountain, and then sat down to rest under the trees of the garden.

A score of names famous in history and fiction rose to her lips. They had not said much to one another all the morning. Marion had said only a word now and then in her delight at the wonderful things she saw, but as they sat a while to rest and catch the cool air blowing from the river before they set out for home, her lips were opened, and she talked a good deal more than she would have been likely to do to Mr Dawson, or any one else, in other circ.u.mstances.

Foolish talk some of it was, about unreal folk who will still live forever because of the genius that called them into being. Unknown names most of them were to her listener; and in another mood and place, he might have called it all folly or worse. But he listened now with the pleased interest that one gives to the fancies of a child. And all she said was not foolish, he acknowledged as she went on. There were little words now and then, clear and keen and wise, which pleased him well.

But nothing that was seen or said that day pleased him so much as this.

"You have made a day of it together," said Mrs Manners laughing, as she met them at the door. "You must be tired enough by this time."

"Yes, I am tired. And no wonder. I think I never had so much pleasure in one day in all my life before."

She did not say it to him. He only heard it by chance as she pa.s.sed up the stairs. But he said to himself that there should be more such days for one so easily pleased before he left London.

And so there were. They saw together pictures and people, parks and gardens. They went to Richmond and Kew and Hampton Court, and to more places besides. Mrs Manners went with them sometimes, but their energy and interest were too much for her, and usually she let them go without her. And Mr Dawson was fain to acknowledge to himself that he had a share in the pleasure which he meant to give "the blithe and bonny la.s.sie" at such times.

She was "blithe and bonny" at all times, but when he saw her, as often happened, moving about among the guests that sometimes filled his daughter's pretty rooms, none more admired and none more worthy of admiration than she, he owned that she was more than that.

They were not just well-dressed, well-mannered n.o.bodies that Mrs Manners entertained. Many of them were men and women who had been heard of in the world for their worth or their wisdom, or for good work of one kind or another done by them. And this blithe and bonny la.s.sie, who enjoyed her play with the child and her sight-seeing with the old man, was not out of place among them. She was young and a little shy of folk that seemed great folk to her, and she was very quiet and silent among them. But many eyes followed her with delight as she moved up and down among them in her pretty evening dress; and she had words of wisdom spoken to her now and then as well as the rest, and she could answer them too, on occasion, as he did not fail to see.

She sang too, not only the old songs that delighted him, but grand, grave music, to which they listened who were far wiser about such things than he. She was a wonder to him at such times, but in the morning she was just as usual, "bonny and blithe" and easily pleased.

"Ye mind me whiles of our Jean," said he to her one day, and he could not but wonder at the sudden brightness that flashed over her face at the words. Mrs Manners laughed.

"That is the very utmost that can be said, papa. You cannot go beyond that. There is no one like. Jean in. Marion's eyes."

"Am I like her? Maybe I may grow like her, sometime," said the girl softly.

All this time May had been keeping a wise silence with regard to her friend. She believed that he would see all that was good and pleasant in her all the more readily that they were not pointed out to him; and so it proved.

The days pa.s.sed quickly and happily and came to an end too soon. All this time Mrs Calderwood had been at the seaside with her old friend, who had needed the change, and when they returned Marion was called home. She was glad to go home, but at the same time she acknowledged herself sorry to leave.

"For I think I never had so much pleasure all my life before. Only I am afraid my mother will think I cannot have been much comfort to you."

"She will be quite mistaken then," said Mrs Manners laughing and kissing her. "You have been a great comfort to me."

A great surprise awaited Marion when she reached home. She found her mother pondering gravely over a letter which she held in her hand, and the shadow of care did not--as it ought to have done--pa.s.s from her face as her daughter came in. It deepened rather; and in her pre-occupation she almost forgot to return the girl's greeting.

"Is any thing wrong, mother? Is it Willie?"

"No, no. It is a letter I have gotten from Miss Jean." She spoke with hesitation. Marion looked wistfully at the familiar handwriting of her old friend.

"Miss Jean asks you to visit her in Portie. It seems her nephew and niece are thinking of a journey, but Miss Dawson doubts about leaving her aunt, who is not strong. Miss Jean thinks she would go if you would promise to go and stay with her a while."

"Oh! mother! I should so like it." Marion held out her hand for the letter, but her mother did not offer it to her; she read bits of it here and there instead.

"'I have said nothing about it to Jean, and shall not till I hear from you. They would likely set off at once if you would promise to let Marion come to me, and that would please you, though--'

"'If you decide to let her come, she might travel here with young Mr Petrie, who, I hear, is soon to be in London. Though I think myself it might be better for her to come at once, in the company of my brother, who will not likely stay much longer.'"

"Oh, mother! I should so like to go. And is that all that Miss Jean says?"

"All she says about your visit."

"You don't wish me to go. Why, mother? It is nae surely that you canna trust me so far away? I am not more foolish than other girls, am I?"