Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 28

Remembering all they had pa.s.sed through together, Christie could hardly restrain her tears. But, as the lady seemed to expect an answer, she said, with some difficulty--

"She was very kind to me, and I loved her dearly--and the children."

It is possible Mrs Seaton did not consider much love necessary between mistress and maid. She did not look as though she did, as Christie could not help thinking as she glanced towards her.

"And you got on nicely with the children, did you? Of course you will have little to do here in comparison with what you must have had there.

But my wilful Clement, I am afraid, you will find too much for you. He is a masterful lad."

She did not speak regretfully, as though the child's wilfulness grieved her very much, but rather the contrary. And, indeed, one could hardly wonder at the pride in her voice as Master Clement rushed in among them.

He was a child that any mother would own with pride--a picture of robust health and childish beauty. His brown curls were sadly disordered. One arm was thrust into the sleeve of his frock, in a vain attempt to finish the dressing which Mattie had commenced. One foot was bare, and he carried in his hand his stocking and shoe. He walked straight up to his sister, saying gravely:

"Baby is crying, and I came to tell mamma."

She did not answer him, but laying down Claude's head on the pillow, she began to arrange his disordered dress. He submitted quite patiently to the operation, only saying, now and then, as he turned round to look in her face:

"Am I naughty, Tudie? Are you going to punish me?"

She did not answer him. Indeed, there was no occasion. He did not seem at all afraid of the punishment, whatever it might be. When she had tied on his shoe, he slipped from her, and flung himself on the sofa beside his brother. He did not mean to be rough with him, but the little fellow uttered a peevish cry, and pushed him away.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't cry."

His little brown hand was laid softly on Claude's pale cheek, and their brown curls mingled as their heads were laid on the same pillow. What a contrast they presented! Christie could hardly persuade herself these were the little lads that she and the Lee children used to admire so much--partly because they were so pretty, and partly because they were so much alike. They were alike still. One could hardly have told, as they lay together, to which head the tangled ma.s.s of brown curls belonged. Their eyes were the same, too, but little Claude's were larger, and they drooped with a look of weariness and pain sad to see in any eyes, but very, _very_ sad to see in the eyes of a child. His forehead was larger, too,--or it seemed larger, above his thin, pale cheeks. But not even his wan cheeks or weary eyes struck so painfully to Christie's heart as did the sight of his little, wasted hand, white as the pillow on which it lay. It seemed whiter and more wasted still when it was raised for a moment to stroke his brother's rosy cheek. Oh, how very sad it seemed! And his mother! She closed her eyes, and laid herself back in her chair, with a sigh that was almost a groan.

Clement was very gentle, or he meant to be very gentle, with his brother. He stroked his cheeks, and kissed him, calling him "little brother," and "poor Claudie." And the little fellow hushed his peevish cry, and tried to smile for a moment.

"I am going into town," said Clement; "and then we are going to spend the day at Aunt Barbara's. They are making hay there. May Claude go?

It would make him quite well to play among the hay with me and f.a.n.n.y and Stephen. Mamma, mayn't he go? Tudie, do let Claudie go."

"Mamma, mamma, let me go. Let Mattie dress me. Oh, I want to go among the hay!"

He came down from the sofa, and went towards his mother as fast as his trembling limbs could carry him. She met him and received him in her arms.

"My darling cannot go. He is not strong enough. Oh, Gertrude, how could you let Clement come in here?"

"Mamma, I am quite well. I should be quite well if I could play among the hay, as we used to do."

Memories of health and strength enjoyed in summer suns.h.i.+ne were doubtlessly stirring at the boy's heart, to which he could give no utterance. The look of wistful entreaty in his weary eyes went to his mother's heart.

"My dear boy, if you only could? Oh, Gertrude! how could you be so thoughtless?" she repeated.

"I desired Clement to stay in the nursery, and he disobeyed me," said Gertrude, gravely.

"And now are you going to punish me?" he asked.

"Go into the nursery, and I will tell you. Go at once."

"Go away, naughty boy, and not vex your little brother," said his mother, rocking in her arms the child, who was too weak and weary to resist.

"I didn't vex Claude. Let him go with us. I'm not a naughty boy." He looked as though he meditated taking up a position on the sofa.

"Go," said his sister.

"How will you punish me, then?"

"I will tell you when I come to the nursery," she said, opening the door for him.

Not very willingly, but quietly, he went; and in a little while they heard his merry voice ringing along the hall.

"I am very sorry," said the young lady, coming back; "give me Claude. I will walk about with him; you are not able."

"No, no," said Mrs Seaton, though the little boy held out his arms to go to her. "Go; the carriage is waiting. You should have gone long ago."

"Need we go?" she asked, looking at Christie. "Clement can be kept out of the way now."

"Yes, yes; go," answered she, hastily. "We have had vexation enough for one day. And I thought this dear child was so nicely settled for the day; and now he is getting quite feverish again."

Miss Gertrude turned and went out without reply.

"My boy, my poor boy!" murmured the mother, as she rocked him in her arms, and her lips were pressed on his feverish brow. "Will he ever play among the hay again?"

She rocked him till his crying was hushed, and weary with struggling, he begged to be laid down. Christie arranged the pillows, and his mother placed him on the sofa. She would fain have lingered near him; but, weak from recent illness, she was obliged to lie down. In a little while he asked for water, and to his mother's surprise, was willing to take it from Christie's hands. He even suffered her to bathe his hands and feet, and when he grew restless again, let her take him on her lap.

He was quite contented to stay there; and the last object the mother saw before she sank to sleep was her sick boy nestling peacefully in the arms of the little stranger maid. And it was the first object she saw when she waked, some three hours afterwards. Christie had not moved, except to let her hat and shawl fall on the floor, and little Claude was slumbering peacefully still. He awoke soon, however, refreshed and strengthened, and not at all indignant at finding himself in a stranger's arms, as his mother feared he might be. He suffered her to wash and dress him, as he had suffered no one but his mother to do for the last three weary weeks. It was very well that he was inclined to be friendly, for Mrs Seaton found herself much too ill to do the accustomed duty herself; and it was with something very like grat.i.tude stirring at her heart that she said to Christie, when all was done:

"You are fond of children, are you not? You are very gentle and careful, I see."

The little boy quarrelled with his dinner, as usual; but upon the whole the meal was successful, his mother said; and as a reward for being good, he was promised a walk in the garden by and by.

In the meantime Christie went down-stairs to her dinner, under the care of the friendly Mattie, whom she had seen in the morning. She was very kind, and meant to make herself very agreeable, and asked many questions, and volunteered various kinds of information as to what Christie might expect in her new place, which she might far better have withheld. Christie had little to say, and made her answers as quietly and briefly as possible.

When she went up-stairs again, she found affairs in not quite so cheerful a state as when she had left them. The doctor had been in, and though he had greatly applauded the scheme for sending little Claude into the garden, he had utterly forbidden his mother to leave her bed to go with him. It could not be permitted on any account; and she had so entirely devoted herself for the last few weeks to the care and amus.e.m.e.nt of the child that he could not, at first, be prevailed on to go without her. He would not look at Mattie, nor at Mrs Grayson, the housekeeper. After much gentle persuasion on her part, and many promises as to what he would see and hear out in the pleasant suns.h.i.+ne, he suffered Christie to bring his hat and coat and put them on.

"I think you may trust me with him, ma'am," said Christie. "I will be very gentle and careful with him. Poor wee boy!" she added, looking into the face that seemed more wan and thin under the drooping plumes of his hat. But his mother dismissed them with a sigh.

It was not a very easy thing to amuse the exacting little fellow for a long time, but it was perhaps a very good thing for Christie that it fell to her lot to do so. A longer indulgence in the musings which had occupied her during three hours pa.s.sed in the darkened room would not have been good for her, at any rate; and there was no chance for that here. She was suffering very keenly from her parting with Mrs Lee and her children, and as she had felt the clinging arms of little Claude about her neck, she had said to herself, almost bitterly, that she would not allow herself to love any one--any stranger--so dearly again. Yes, the pain was very hard to bear, and she felt very lonely and sad as she paced slowly up and down the long walks of the garden.

It was a very quiet place, however, quite out of reach of all disturbing sounds, and Christie could not help wondering that she did not enjoy it more, till she remembered what good reason she had for being very weary, and she was content to wait for a full enjoyment of the pretty garden.

"I dare say I shall like to stay here after a little," she said to herself. "There is one thing sure, it was no plan of mine to come. I have had enough of my own plans. I'll just try and be as useful and happy as I can, and wait till I see how things will turn. I am afraid Effie may not like my staying, but I can only just wait, and it will all come right."

And she put her good resolutions into practice then and there. She was very patient with her little charge. She amused him, till he quite forgot his shyness with her. She brought him flowers, and translated the talk of the two little birds who were feeding their young in the old pear-tree, till he laughed almost merrily again. The time soon pa.s.sed, and it was a very weary but very happy little face that he held up to kiss his mother that night, and he was soon slumbering quietly in his little cot by her side.

Then Christie betook herself to her place in Master Clement's nursery.

She found that noisy young gentleman quiet for the night, and gladly laid herself down. In spite of her weariness, her long walk and her afternoon in the open air had done her good. She was asleep before any lonely or home-sick thoughts had time to visit her, and she slept as she had not slept for weeks, without waking till the twittering of the birds in the pear-tree roused her to begin her new life.

Christie had never to measure her strength with that of the "masterful"

Clement. It happened quite otherwise--fortunately for her, though sadly enough for Mrs Seaton. The doctor, at his next visit, very decidedly a.s.sured her that her proposed visit to the sea-side must no longer be delayed, unless she intended to remain an invalid during the rest of the summer. Her health, her life even, depended on a change of air and freedom from anxiety. The good she could do her sick boy by staying at home would be very little in comparison to the harm she would do herself. She ought to have gone weeks since. Her infant and nurse might go with her, but none of the other children. It would do her more harm than good to be troubled with the boys on the journey or at a strange watering-place, and as for them, home was the best place for both. He a.s.sured her that her anxiety for Claude was unnecessary. He was in no immediate danger. It might be months, or even years, before he would be quite well again. He might never be so strong and healthy as his brother. But there was no danger for him. Quiet and constant care were what he needed; and they could be found best at home.

"Come here, my little man," said he, "and let me prove to your mother that you are going to be quite well again, and that very soon, too."