"I know he liked always to be here," I said, "and never seemed to care to go home."
"Just so; the poor lad never knew a mother's love, nor what it is to have a happy home," said my aunt. "Mr. Upsher's housekeeper is a very worthy woman, but not in the least fit to look after a young fellow like Jack. The Vicar cares only for his books. He likes to shut himself up in his study, and is almost a stranger to his son, except that he has a keen perception of his faults. And yet he is a good man, and, I am sure, loves Jack in his way."
"Jack is very fond of you, auntie," I said. "You have been almost a mother to him."
"I have always felt a great longing to 'mother' him," she said. "People talk against step-mothers, but it might have been a happy thing for Jack if he had had a step-mother."
"Does the Vicar still preach such dry sermons?" I asked.
"I cannot say that they have improved, Nan," replied my aunt with a smile.
"Humph," I said, "then we cannot offer the 'paying guests' the attraction of good preaching, though they will be able to worship in a beautiful old church."
Upon which we reverted to the subject we were destined to discuss again and again during the ensuing weeks.
Aunt decided to lose as little time as possible in preparing for the reception of her guests. She hoped that she might be able to secure some for Easter, which fell early this year.
As she had prophesied, the strong, fresh country air proved an excellent tonic for me. My nerves regained tone; I slept and ate well, and soon felt so strong that I was inclined to think slightingly of Dr. Algar's diagnosis of my case. I enjoyed the spell of sharp, clear weather we had in February. Jack and I had some delightful skating on the river. I was rather out of practice, for I had not skated for years, and I was very timid at first, but with his help I soon conquered my fears, and enjoyed immensely the excitement of skimming over the silvery ice with my arm linked in his.
Aunt and I were very busy as Easter drew near. We had to re-arrange and re-furbish the rooms. Many a shopping expedition took us to Chelmsford. Of course, it was necessary to advertise for our boarders, and the drawing-up of the advertisement cost us much thought, while it evoked many absurd suggestions from Jack. We were anxious to make the most of our attractions, yet there was danger in being too explicit, since what would attract one person might induce another to stay away. It is curious how many ways there are of putting things, and how various were the forms I drew up for aunt's consideration. I made my head ache with the effort to put a great deal in a few words. At last we were satisfied with something like this:
"Paying guests received in old country house in pleasant rural neighbourhood. Fine air, excellent farm produce, and all home comforts. Large garden with tennis and croquet lawns. Good fishing. Desirable residence for any needing quiet and rest."
It seems simple enough as I write it now, but, oh, the deliberation with which we weighed each word! Aunt Patty was for describing her home as "desirable for invalids," but I was certain that would frighten away every healthy person under sixty, and I did want some young people to come.
I made several copies of this advertisement, and sent them to such of the London newspapers as we judged best suited for our purpose. Aunt also wrote to many of her friends and acquaintances, telling them of the attempt she was making, and asking their kind assistance. Then we waited, I eagerly, she anxiously, for the result. She hoped to hear from gentle widows, worn-out governesses and the like. I hardly knew what to expect. But our first response when it came was a surprise to us both.
"I BEGIN to think that the money I have spent on advertisements is just money thrown away," said Aunt Patty, rather ruefully one morning as we sat in the breakfast-room at the close of our early meal.
I looked up from the letter which had absorbed my attention. It was a lively and lengthy epistle from Peggy, giving me all the home news, and I had been so delighted to get it that I failed to observe that the post had brought my aunt nothing. It was very disappointing. During the whole of the past week, the advertisement to which we had given so much thought had appealed to people from the columns of London newspapers, and not a single person had been moved to respond to it. To be sure, the weather had not been such as to make the idea of visiting the country attractive. The March winds had been sharp and boisterous, and sudden squalls were often accompanied by sleet.
"People are waiting till the weather becomes more spring-like," I said. "It is a pity that it continues so cold, and Easter falling next week."
"Yes," said Aunt Patty with a sigh. "I am afraid I have been in too great a hurry. It would have been better to have waited a few weeks before advertising."
The past week had been a trying time for Aunt Patty. Certain business transactions had taken place. The greater part of the land which had belonged to Uncle George, and his father before him, was now the property of Squire Canfield. He had also purchased a good deal of the farm stock, and the rest had been sold by auction at Chelmsford. I hardly realised all that this meant to Aunt Patty. It did not seem to me to make much difference to her, since the house and garden and the grounds immediately adjoining still belonged to her. But I knew she had felt it deeply, and now, as I saw her troubled air, I tried to comfort her.
"It seems rather warmer this morning," I said. "I believe the weather is going to change. We shall have some applications soon, auntie, I feel sure. Would you like me to go into Chelmsford this afternoon, and inquire at the post-office?"
We had only one postal delivery a day at "Gay Bowers," so if we went into town we never failed to visit the post-office, that we might obtain any letters that might have arrived by a later post.
"I am afraid it would only be another disappointment," said Aunt Patty, "and it is hardly worth while to have the horse and trap out for that."
"How I wish I had a bicycle!" I said. "Now that the winds have dried the roads, I could spin into Chelmsford and back in no time."
"Then you can ride?" aunt said.
"Oh, yes; Olive taught me, and she often lends me her bicycle—she is very good-natured about it. You know Mrs. Smythe gave her one because she thought she did not take sufficient exercise."
"I wish I could give you one, my dear," said Aunt Patty gently.
"Oh, auntie, don't say that!" I replied. "I don't care so much about it, only I thought it would be convenient just now if I had one."
"I tell you what you could do if you liked, dear," said my aunt, "not that I think it will make any difference as far as the advertisement is concerned, but there is a business letter I am anxious to receive which may come in by the second post. You might step over to the Vicarage, and ask Jack to call at the post-office for us as he comes back from Chelmsford."
"That I will," I said as I rose from the table, "and I must go at once or Jack will have started. He has to be at his tutor's by ten."
I put on my hat and coat, and went out. The breeze which met me and blew out my skirts was fresh and strong, but its keen edge had gone. The sun was breaking through the ragged grey clouds that were scudding across the sky. Its rays glorified a bed of crocuses, and by the gate, sheltered by the high garden wall, I found the first daffodil. I had been watching for days the green, swelling buds, but not till now had I seen the gleam of gold. Stooping to lift the drooping head, I gazed at it with exquisite delight. How different it was in its dainty freshness from any daffodil I had ever bought in London!
"I shall learn to love gardening if I stay here long enough!" I said to myself as I went on my way.
Turning to the right and following the winding of the lane, I came in a few minutes to Greentree Church, a picturesque, red-bricked building with a pointed steeple. A peaceful churchyard lay about it, with many old tombstones, grey and defaced by age, some bearing curiously worded epitaphs. A little beyond the church was the Vicarage, a beautiful old house, built of red brick, which had long taken on the rich, mellow hue of age. A magnificent cedar adorned the lawn, and an almond tree, breaking into blossom, overhung the gate. The trees and shrubs which grew within were rather too luxuriant, a sign of bad gardening, for flowers could not flourish beneath their heavy shade, and the garden had rather a neglected appearance. The Vicar cared nothing for flowers, nor did Jack concern himself about their culture, though he always evinced what I believed to be an unfeigned interest in Aunt Patty's garden.
The phaeton stood before the door of the house as I approached. Jack's dogs ran barking to meet me, and he came quickly from the house to see why they were making such a commotion.
"Oh, Nan, you are an early visitor—but only just in time!" he exclaimed, looking as pleased as if he had not seen me for a year, whereas he had been at "Gay Bowers" on the previous day. Jack was the most friendly and sociable of beings. It was a striking instance of the irony of fate that such a one should share this quiet home with a father who was always immersed in his books. Aunt Patty's guests, when they came, would have a welcome from Jack.
"Oh, are you going to drive?" I said. "I thought you would cycle to Chelmsford this morning."
"What—with this wind in my teeth all the way?" he replied. "That would be rather too much for me. I might have ridden Bess, only, you see, the pater is going up to town to-day, so I shall drive him to the station before going to Medley's."
As he spoke, the Vicar came out of the house. He was an elderly man, tall, with bowed shoulders, which bore witness to the habits of a scholar. He greeted me kindly, but in an absent-minded fashion. He rarely seemed to give his whole mind to the person he addressed, an unfortunate defect in a clergyman. He did, however, so far recognise my individuality as to inquire for Aunt Patty. It was Jack who asked whether we had had any response to the advertisement.
"Any bites?" was his concise way of putting it.
I shook my head, then hastened to make my request that he would call for us at the post-office on his way home.
"Of course I will," he said promptly, "and I will bring you good luck, too, in the face of an offer from a most desirable 'paying guest.'"
"That is more than you possibly can promise," I replied.
"Oh, you don't know. I have a presentiment that I shall find something good for you at the post-office," he returned. "Come and meet me, Nan, and see if I am not right. I shall walk back, for the trap will have to remain in Chelmsford for father. Meet me half-way."
"I dare say," I said, "that would mean a walk of five miles. I should have thought nothing of it a year ago, but now—although I am ever so much stronger than when I came down—"
"Of course! How thoughtless of me!" he broke in. "Come as far as the Wood End Oaks then; but no farther by the road, for I shall take the short cut."
"Perhaps," I said, "I do not promise," but I meant to go all the same.
Meanwhile the Vicar had climbed into the phaeton.
"The air is milder to-day," he said as he arranged his muffler about his throat.
"Oh, it is spring at last," I said joyfully; "I have found a daffodil in bloom."
"Ah!" he said vacantly, and I saw that a golden daffodil was no more to him than a yellow primrose was to Peter Bell.
I bade them good-morning and turned homeward, for I could see that the Vicar was in a fidget to be off. As I went up the lane the phaeton overtook me. Jack lifted his cap and cried rashly, "I'll bring you one, I promise you, Nan."
Jack usually lunched in town and got home some time in the afternoon. When I started about half-past three for the rendezvous, auntie told me to be sure to bring him in to take tea with us.
"There will be no one looking for him at home," she said.
Not till then did it strike me that Jack was perhaps walking back on purpose to gratify us, and that, if I had not asked him to call for our letters, he would have awaited in Chelmsford his father's return by the six o'clock train. It was just like Jack to give himself that trouble on our behalf, for he was the most good-natured fellow in the world; but I was vexed that I had not thought to tell him that the letters were of no consequence, and that very likely there would be none. When I remarked this to aunt, all she said was:
"Oh, the walk will do him good, and you too, Nan, if you do not go too far."
It was a lovely afternoon for a walk. The fresh breeze was most exhilarating, though it blew almost too strongly for me as I crossed the common. A little beyond this the road dipped suddenly, and to the left a wood bordered it for about a hundred yards. The old, gnarled trees which overhung the road were known as the "Wood End Oaks." A stile gave access to the wood, and a path running through it and across two meadows beyond was a short cut, which for pedestrians considerably shortened the way from Chelmsford.
I was not ill-pleased to find that I had reached the stile before Jack, for I was glad to seat myself upon it. I had not sat there many minutes when I saw Jack coming towards me through the wood. He gave a shout as he caught sight of me, and waved on high a letter.
"I was right, Nan," he cried, coming up. "I told you I should be sure to find a reply, and here it is! There can be no mistake about this." And he laid on my knee a letter directed in a small but clear hand to the "Proprietress, Gay Bowers, Greentree, near Chelmsford."
"Oh, yes, this is one at last," I said eagerly. "No ordinary correspondent would address auntie in that way; but of course the advertisement does not give her name. The handwriting looks like a man's."
"Oh, I don't know," said Jack; "many girls affect that style of writing."
"This is not a girl's writing," I said. "I like it. It is strong and original, and betokens intellectual tastes."
"Nonsense, Nan," said Jack; "you surely don't believe in telling people's characters by their handwriting and all that rubbish."
"It is not rubbish," I replied calmly. "I have often judged unknown persons by their handwriting, and I have seldom found myself mistaken in my conclusions."
"It is all pure imagination," said Jack, who had seated himself beside me on the stile in order to examine the envelope at his ease. "I may not be a genius—I rather think I am not—but at any rate I can make better G's and B's than that fellow, if it is a fellow. Where are you off to in such a hurry, Nan?"
"Why, home, of course," I said, as I sprang down, "to take Aunt Patty this letter and hear what it says."
"Ah! I guessed curiosity was moving you," he said.
"You have none, of course," I retorted. "If you had, it might soon be gratified, for auntie told me to invite you to take tea with us."
"I shall be most happy," said Jack, and he looked so pleased that I felt sure he was as curious concerning the contents of that envelope as I was.
We found Aunt Patty in the drawing-room. Our eager faces told her we brought news ere I gave her the letter.
It was not long, and she quickly scanned it; then said as she handed it to me:
"A nice letter, but not at all the kind of application I expected. The writer is a gentleman."
"I knew it," I said with a glance at Jack, and proceeded to read the following:
"Dear Madam,—I have recently returned from India, ill-health having compelled me to resign the professorship in an Anglo-Indian college which I have held for nearly five years. I am still somewhat of an invalid and find London life far too exhausting for my nerves. My physician advises me to live in the country for some months. Your advertisement seems to offer me the kind of home I desire, where I could pursue my studies in quiet and enjoy the advantages of a country life while keeping in touch with London. Will you kindly let me know whether you can give me a large and airy bedroom which I could also use to some extent as a study? Please state exactly on what terms you could offer it. A reply at your earliest convenience will greatly oblige.""Yours faithfully,""ALAN FAULKNER."
"Oh, auntie!" I exclaimed as I put down the letter. "To think of our having a professor here! It seems to me rather alarming."
"I should not have thought you would have found it so," said Jack. "I expect he is quite harmless."
"I dare say he will be absorbed in his studies and won't expect much from us in the way of entertainment," said Aunt Patty. "He is human, if he is a professor, and I believe I can make him comfortable. The room above this is large and airy enough, I should think. We could easily screen off the bed and make it look like a sitting-room."
"You thought of putting two beds there," I said. "Yes, but I may have no application for a double-bedded room," she replied, "and he ought to have a large room if he is going to spend so much of his time in it. He will be a man to suit your father, Jack. I dare say they will draw together."
"I do hope for your sakes that he may not be so absent-minded as my dear progenitor," said Jack. "I am anxious as to what escapade he may commit when he is out of my sight. Did I ever tell you, Nan, how he once appeared wearing a girl's hat?"
"Jack, what can you mean?" I cried.
"It is a fact," he said. "It happened two years ago last summer. He had been taking a little holiday and visiting a cousin in Wales. I came up from school and met him at Paddington, that we might go home together. Imagine my astonishment when I saw him step out of the train wearing a round straw hat with long ribbon streamers at the back! How the people did stare!" "'Why, dad,' I said, 'whatever have you on your head? Is that the latest style for clerics?'"
"If you'll believe me, till I spoke, he had no idea there was anything wrong. He had donned a straw hat with his holiday garb. The day being hot, he took off his hat in the train, and a young girl seated in the same compartment also removed hers. He had to change trains rather hurriedly at a certain junction, and in his haste put on her hat in mistake for his own. I was thankful none of the school chaps were with me. You may be sure I hustled him into a cab pretty quickly."
"Oh, how ridiculous!" I cried, laughing heartily; "but, oh, that poor girl! What must have been her state of mind when she discovered what had happened, and found herself in possession of your father's hat?"
"Oh, that did not matter," said Jack. "Girls can wear anything."
Aunt was laughing too, although she had heard the story before.
"Well," she said merrily, "if Professor Faulkner is as absent-minded as that we shall not lack amusement."
We discussed the unknown Professor pretty thoroughly as we took our tea. I have often smiled since to think how wide of the mark were most of our conjectures. Aunt Patty lost no time in replying to his letter. The result was satisfactory. He wrote again giving excellent references and asking to be allowed to spend Easter with us. He would then be able to judge whether the place would suit him for a longer sojourn.
"A canny Scotsman," was aunt's comment, as she read this. "He is not going to commit himself to the unknown. Well, I do not blame him for that."
With considerable excitement and some perturbation, we looked forward to the stranger's arrival. On the very day we expected him, we had our second "bite," to use Jack's expressive metaphor.
WHEN Thursday came I could see that Aunt Patty looked forward with some nervousness to the arrival of her guest. Everything was in readiness. The Professor would be hard to please if he did not like the pleasant room, to which aunt had added a bookcase and a writing-table, and contrived to give quite the appearance of a sitting-room.
"Will he care for any flowers, do you think, Nan?" aunt asked, as we put the finishing touches to its arrangement.
"Not if he is like the Vicar," I replied.
"He may surely have scholarly habits without being exactly like Mr. Upsher," aunt said with a smile. "I should put a few if I were you. A room looks so bare and unhomelike without them."
So I went into the garden and picked half-a-dozen of the lovely daffodils, which by this time had opened more freely, and put them, with some of their lance-like leaves, in a tall, slender vase which I placed on the Professor's writing-table.
I had been in the woods that morning and had brought home some of the first primroses, smelling so freshly of their mother Earth. Pleased with the effect of the daffodils, I brought a little bowl which I had filled with primroses resting amid tiny sprays of ivy, and stood it on the top of the low bookcase.
"The room does look nice," I said to myself then, "almost too nice for a dry old professor." I gave the fire a stir and went away to change my dress, for we did not expect our visitor till close upon dinner-time. He was coming by the six o'clock train, and Jack had volunteered to meet him and bring him to "Gay Bowers."
I made my toilet carefully enough to satisfy even Olive. The pretty evening blouse I wore, with transparent yoke and sleeves, was her handiwork, and I had the satisfaction of knowing that I looked well in it. My chestnut-brown hair, which Olive thought pretty, was deftly coiled, and I observed with some pleasure how well it contrasted with my black dress, yet I am certain that no idea of pleasing Professor Faulkner's eye ever crossed my mind. I never imagined that his mighty intellect could bend to observe the details of a girl's dress.
When I went downstairs I found Aunt Patty reading a letter, from which she looked up with an eager, excited countenance.
"The Vicar has been in," she said; "he came from Chelmsford and brought me this letter. When he was at the post-office on his own account, he thought he might as well ask if there were any letters for 'Gay Bowers.'"
"You don't mean it!" I exclaimed. "Really I should never have expected him to be so thoughtful."
"You are too hard on Mr. Upsher, Nan," said Aunt Patty. "I know he is often dreamy and absent-minded; but when there is a strong necessity for action, or real trouble anywhere, no one can be more kind and helpful."
"I am glad to hear it," I said. "But, auntie, the letter? It is surely not another application?"
"It is," she said, smiling, "and from an American gentleman! His name is Josiah Dicks, and he wants to know if I can accommodate him and his daughter, or rather, he calmly announces that they are coming here on Saturday, hoping to find that I can take them in. If not, he supposes they can put up at the village inn!"
"The village inn!" I exclaimed with a laugh. "That is hardly the place to suit a rich American; but, of course, there is a good hotel at Chelmsford. Is he rich, though?"
"I should imagine so," said my aunt, "since he says that he and his daughter have been 'all over Europe,' and now want to see a little of English rural life. It seems too that he is somewhat of an invalid and country air has been prescribed for him."
"How strange!" I exclaimed. "'Gay Bowers' seems about to be turned into a convalescent home. But I suppose the daughter is not an invalid. I shall be glad to have a girl here, if she is nice."
"The ways of American girls do not, I believe, always accord with English notions of what is becoming," said my aunt; "but I cannot speak from personal experience."
"Nor can I," was my reply. "I have never known an American girl intimately. Well, I hope they may prove desirable, for Mr. Josiah Dicks and his daughter would be a set-off to the Professor."
"You seem to be making rather a bugbear of that Professor, Nan," said my aunt.
"Not at all," I replied. "I expect him to be an amiable but rather melancholy individual with a yellow parchment-like skin and a chronic liver complaint."
I had hardly said the words when I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel outside. Aunt went quickly out and met Professor Faulkner in the hall. The rich deep tones in which he responded to her greeting came agreeably to my ears. Sweep had sprung forward barking angrily, as she did at every intruder, but was almost instantly quelled. I heard the stranger speak to her in tones that seemed to accompany a caress, and Sweep's bark was changed to a whine of pleasure. This was wonderful, for since uncle's death Sweep had shown herself antagonistic to all mankind. I began to feel curious, and I went forward, meaning to have a word with Jack ere he went away.
I could have laughed to think how different from my pre-conception of him was the individual my aunt now introduced to me. I saw a man rather above the middle height, upright, of energetic bearing, and looking little more than thirty years of age. His features were strong and regular; his eyes, of a deep sea-blue, had a very direct and searching gaze; his complexion was pale, but devoid of any tinge of yellow. He had fair hair, which he wore rather long. But detailed description must fail to portray the vivid, powerful personality with which I then made acquaintance. I thought later that he reminded me of an old picture of a Viking king which I had seen somewhere. He looked daring and resolute enough to be a leader of men. A scholar he certainly was; but no mere book-worm or dreamy idealist.
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His appearance so took me by surprise that I hardly knew what to say, and blushed and stammered as I tried to welcome him, while his eyes searched my face as if they could read all that was passing in my mind. The evening had set in wet, but he did not seem to mind the rain in the least.
"A little water will not hurt me," he said, as Jack helped him off with his overcoat, "but I must confess I am rather sensitive to cold. That is the effect of a residence in India; but I shall soon get over it."
"And you are not afraid of the rigours of country life?" aunt said.
"Oh, no; I was brought up in the country, and I love it!" he answered heartily.
Then aunt took him upstairs to his room, and I was left alone with Jack, who looked rather out of humour.
"How different from the dry-as-dust old professor we expected!" I said to him. "He looks quite young."
"He says he is thirty-two," replied Jack. "I don't call that exactly juvenile."
"It may not seem so to eighteen," I responded loftily.
"I shall be nineteen in July," said Jack hastily, "and you are only a few months older, so there, Nan."
"I am aware of the fact," I said calmly, "and I consider myself quite old enough. We were not discussing my age but Professor Faulkner's."
"He does not like to be called Professor Faulkner," said Jack. "He told me so."
"Did he?" I said. "That is rather sensible of him. He seems very nice."
"Oh, of course, you'll think him so," said Jack impatiently. "Girls are always taken with a fellow who gives himself airs like that."
"Airs like what?" I asked, but Jack vouchsafed no reply, and aunt coming downstairs the next moment, he at once said that he must be off. She detained him while she told him about the Americans, a piece of news which seemed to cheer him somewhat. Then she reminded him that he and his father were to dine with us on the following evening, and he departed.
"Oh, auntie, how different from what we expected!" I said, as soon as we were alone in the drawing-room. "He is not in the least like the Vicar."
"Very different from what you expected," she retorted. "He is so pleased with his room, Nan. He says he feels that he has come to a haven of rest."
"How nice of him!" I said. "You like him, do you not, Auntie?"
"Yes," she said decidedly. "I feel sure that we shall find him easy to get on with, and I am not often mistaken in first impressions."
Our guest did not join us till the dinner-gong sounded. When he entered the dining-room I was glad that I had taken pains with my toilet, for he was carefully dressed, and a little cluster of my primroses adorned his dinner-jacket. He saw my eyes rest on them, and said with a smile:
"You cannot think how pleased I was to find some primroses in my room. It is years since I plucked an English primrose."
"You will be able to do so here," said my aunt; "they are coming out in our woods, and will be plentiful in a week or two."
"I am so glad to hear it," he said simply. "They will be a delight to me."
"Then you are not like the immortal Peter Bell?" I said, speaking my thought almost involuntarily.
"By no means," he said, smiling, "since all the joys of my childhood seem to live again for me when I see a primrose."
We got on marvellously well together on that first evening. Aunt and I found him such an interesting companion that we almost forgot how recent our acquaintance was. He talked a good deal about his life in India, and it was evident that he had relinquished his work there with great reluctance. He had met with sundry adventures there, too, of which he spoke in the simplest fashion, but which showed me he was a man of fine courage and a good sportsman. I thought that Jack would like him better when he came to know more about him.
He made very light of the health failure which had brought him home. It was the result of the warm, moist climate of the place of his sojourn. He had got the better of the feverish attacks which had prostrated him. What he lacked now was nervous strength, and that he believed the fresh air and repose of the country would soon restore.
When he said this, Aunt Patty explained that I too was suffering from nervous exhaustion, and, rather to my vexation, told the story of my disappointment. But as I met his look of perfect comprehension and sympathy, I felt that I did not mind in the least.
"Ah, Miss Nan, don't I know what that meant for you!" he said. It was strange how from the first he fell into the way of addressing me as "Miss Nan," just as if he had known me all my life. And stranger still it was that, though I was rather wont to stand on my dignity, I felt no inclination to resent his thus dispensing with ceremony.
"It did seem hard at first," I murmured, "but now I don't mind."
"I know," he said. "It went sorely against the grain with me when I found that I must resign my post at the college, and go back to England. My students were very dear to me, and I hoped that I was impressing some of them for good. But there was no alternative—if I would go on living. So you and I have the same duty before us at present—to lay up a fresh store of energy."
"I have found it an easy duty so far," I said cheerfully.
"Indeed, in this fair home, with the spring unfolding about us, and all the lovely summer to come, it promises to be a delightful one," was his ready response.
So a bond of mutual comprehension was at once established between me and Alan Faulkner.
Aunt Patty got on with him equally well, and I could see by the way in which he listened to her and deferred to her that he felt the attraction of her unaffected goodness and kindness.
Nor was the Vicar less pleased when he made the acquaintance of our guest on the following evening. He found an affinity with the Professor at once, and showed a desire to monopolise his attention; but whenever, as we sat at the table, their talk threatened to become too abstruse, Mr. Faulkner would seek, by some explanatory word, to draw me and aunt into it, or would try to divert it into a more ordinary channel. How deep they plunged, or how far back in human history they went after we left them to themselves, I cannot say. Their conversation soon wearied Jack, for within five minutes, he joined us in the drawing-room.
Jack was in rather a perverse mood.
"I suppose that is the sort of chap the governor would like me to be," he growled, "able to jaw on learned subjects in that conceited fashion."
"Then I am afraid he will be disappointed," I said severely; "for even if you succeed in passing your exam, you will never be in the least like Mr. Faulkner."
"I am exceedingly glad to hear it!" he said with a disagreeable laugh.
It was so odd of Jack to take such a dislike to the Professor. I never saw the least trace of conceit in his bearing, and he showed the utmost consideration for Jack. I was vexed with the boy for being so unreasonable; but it was of no use my saying anything—he only grew worse.
For my part the more I saw of Alan Faulkner, the better I liked him. I was glad we had time to get well acquainted with him before any other guests arrived. For aunt's sake I was, of course, glad, but otherwise I could have regretted that the Americans were coming on the morrow.
MR. JOSIAH DICKS and his daughter arrived on the following day, just as we were about to sit down to luncheon. They drove in a fly from Chelmsford and brought with them a goodly array of trunks and valises, though they presently explained that this represented but a fraction of their luggage.
He was a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man, and had the yellow, parchment-like complexion with which I had credited Professor Faulkner; but his restless movements and keen, alert glances showed him to be very much alive. His forehead was bald, save for a wisp of hair which stood up on it in such a manner as to give him somewhat the appearance of a cockatoo. His daughter was a tall, slight, smart-looking girl. Her face was rather pasty in its colouring; but the sharp, piquant features were not devoid of charm. She wore a most remarkable hat, with so many wings sticking out of it that one shuddered to think how many small birds had been slaughtered for the gratification of her vanity. I could not admire it, yet it was of a style that suited her. She was a striking figure as she entered the house wearing a long, drab travelling coat with gilt buttons, and a magnificent boa of Russian sable, with a muff of the same fur, depending from her neck by a gold chain.
"So this is 'Gay Bowers!'" she said in a high, thin voice with the unmistakable enunciation of an American as she looked about her, frankly observant, "and really it is as pretty as its name. I call this old hall perfectly lovely."
"It's real antique, this," said her father, speaking with a still more striking accent, "that staircase now—"
But here my aunt's advance cut short his words.
"Mr. Dicks, I believe?" she said.
"Right you are, ma'am," he replied; "you see Josiah Dicks of Indianapolis, and this is my daughter, Pollie—or, as she prefers to be called, Paulina. We've come, as I wrote you we should, and I hope you can take us in."
"I have some vacant rooms which I shall be happy to show you," said Aunt Patty, "but we were just going to lunch; will you not sit down with us, and we can discuss business matters later."
"I guess that will suit us excellently, eh! What say you, Pollie?" was his response. "The fact is, we left our hotel soon after ten, and the fresh country air on the way hither has given a decided edge to our appetites."
I took Miss Dicks to my room to refresh herself after the journey. She sniffed with her pretty little nose as we went up the staircase, and said, "How deliciously fresh it smells here! I hate the smell of London, don't you? Are there many people staying in the house?"
"Why, no," I said, rather embarrassed by the question. "You see it is a new thing for us to have boarders at 'Gay Bowers,' and at present there are only ourselves and Mr. Faulkner."
She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, to be sure, and I thought there would be twenty at least! I looked forward to music and dancing in the evening!"
I felt inclined to laugh too, but I answered gravely, "Then I am afraid our home will hardly suit you, for it is small, as you see, and we could never accommodate more than half the number you name."
"I see," she said with a little pout. "Well, I must make the best of it now, I suppose. I like the look of the lady, Mrs.—what is her name?"
"Mrs. Lucas," I said; "she is my aunt."
"Oh!" Thereupon she turned and looked at me from head to foot with a thoroughness which let slip no detail of my appearance. My colour rose, yet I gave her credit for intending no insolence by her cool survey.
A moment later, as she removed her hat with her eyes on the mirror, I took the opportunity to observe her more closely. Her hair was a pale brown and fairly plentiful. It presented an arrangement of poufs and combs, and tortoiseshell ornaments, which was quite novel to me. I found it more extraordinary than beautiful, though when I got used to the style I saw that it suited her.
The travellers had acquired the art of quickly making themselves at home. As we took our luncheon they spoke and acted as if "Gay Bowers" belonged to them. More than once I saw Aunt Patty flush with resentment at what she evidently considered an impertinence. But she had the good sense to hide her annoyance.
Cook, knowing that strangers were expected, had risen to the occasion and sent up some very dainty dishes. Josiah Dicks did ample justice to her excellent pastry, although he assured us he was a martyr to dyspepsia.
When luncheon was over, aunt offered to show our visitors the rooms she could give them. As they followed her from the room, Miss Dicks turned and said to me in a very audible undertone, "How very good-looking he is!" She jerked her head towards the window where Alan Faulkner stood playing with Sweep. It was extraordinary how that dog had taken to him. Ever since my arrival I had sought in vain to coax her into accompanying me on my walks. She had always preferred to wander alone about uncle's favourite haunts, or to crouch disconsolately on the mat outside his former sanctum; but now she was ready to follow Mr. Faulkner anywhere.
"Oh, hush!" I responded in a whisper to Miss Dicks's remark. "He may hear you."
"Would it matter if he did?" she returned coolly. "Men like to be told that they are good-looking."
"That may be," I replied; "but it is a taste I should not care to gratify."
She laughed.
"Pollie Dicks," called her father from the staircase, "are you coming to choose your room?"
"He means to stay," she said to me with a sagacious nod, "and I've no objection."
When she came downstairs a little later, Aunt Patty told me that Miss Dicks had chosen the room on the left of mine. It was a large room, commanding the front of the house. Her father had had to content himself with a smaller room at the back.
"He seems much pleased with the place," said my aunt, "but his daughter is evidently afraid of finding it dull."
"Do you like them, auntie?" I asked.
An odd smile crossed her face.
"They are mortals," she said. "I don't quite know what to make of them, but I mean to like them, Nan. I cannot afford to quarrel with my bread and butter."
"Still, I do think that they might have behaved a little more like 'guests' at luncheon," I said. "Mr. Dicks asked for 'crackers' just as if he were in an hotel."
"I must confess that I felt rather riled for a moment," said my aunt; "but I am sure he did not mean to annoy me. They are evidently used to hotel life, and they cannot guess, nor do I wish that they should, how it feels to me to receive strangers thus into my home. My common-sense tells me that I must not allow myself to be over-sensitive. I only hope Mr. Faulkner will like them."
"He seems to like them," I said.
Indeed I had been astonished to see the friendly interest in the newcomers which he displayed, and the readiness with which he talked to them.
The following day was Easter Sunday, and for once the weather was all that one could wish it to be upon that day. It was not exactly warm, but the sun shone brightly, and there was a delicious, indescribable feeling of spring in the air. The trees were budding, and the hedges breaking into leaf. Every day now showed some fresh sign of spring's advance.
We all went to church in the morning. Mr. Dicks was struck with the venerable beauty of our church, but he was severe in his criticism of the service and the sermon. He had no patience with the defects of our choir, and certainly their singing was very rural. He was anxious to impress us with the superior order of things to be found in America.
Jack joined us after the service, and we all, with the exception of my aunt, took a short walk before luncheon. Mr. Dicks explained that he was not fond of walking, but that his doctor had advised him to walk several miles every day. His daughter frankly said that she hated it, and certainly the smart pointed shoes she wore appeared ill adapted to our country roads. I saw Mr. Faulkner looking at them, and wondered whether he were admiring, or merely struck, as I was, with their unsuitability.
"Pollie is fond of cycling," said Mr. Dicks, looking at me. "Do you cycle?"
"I can," I said, "but unfortunately I have no bicycle of my own. I use my sister's sometimes when I am at home."
"That is a pity," he said. "Pollie's machine will be sent down to-morrow. It would be nice if you could ride with her."
"Do you cycle?" asked Miss Dicks, turning to Mr. Faulkner.
"I have not ridden since I came back from India," he said.
"Did you ride there?" she asked.
"Yes; I often rode with my students," he said. "In the province where I was living the roads were as smooth and level as a billiard-table, so that riding was delightful."
"Then I don't wonder that you have not ridden since," Jack said.
"Are the roads very bad about here?" she asked, glancing at him. "You ride, of course?"
"They are not so bad," he replied, "but I don't say they would compare favourably with a billiard-table."
"You will ride with me, won't you?" she said to him with a fascinating smile.
"With pleasure," he responded, adding loyally, "and we'll hire a machine at Chelmsford, so that Miss Nan can accompany us."
"And you will come, too, will you not?" she said, turning towards Professor Faulkner.
I did not hear his reply, for at that moment Mr. Dicks addressed a question to me; but it struck me that she was rather a forward young woman.
Two days later a consignment of trunks arrived for Miss Dicks. She had already displayed such a variety of pretty and fashionable changes of attire that I wondered how many more clothes she had. Judging by the size of her trunks she might have had a different gown for each day of the year.
She appeared delighted to receive her luggage, and spent the greater part of the next day in her room, engaged in unpacking the boxes. Late in the afternoon I was going upstairs when I heard a voice calling, "Nan, Nan!" Glancing upwards, I saw Miss Dicks standing at the door of her room. I had not given her permission to address me by my Christian name, and it would not have occurred to me to call her "Pollie." But this was only another instance of the inimitable coolness with which she made herself at home with us all. I could only conclude that her free and easy bearing was typically American, and endeavour to reconcile myself to it with as good a grace as possible.
"Do come here, Nan, and look at my things," she cried as she saw me.
As I entered her room I exclaimed at the sight it presented. Bed, sofa, table, chairs, and even the floor were littered with all kinds of choice and pretty things, making the place look like a bazaar. There were mosaics and marbles from Italy, Roman lamps, conchas, cameos, exquisite bits of Venetian glass, corals and tortoise-shells from Naples, silk blankets from Como, and olive-wood boxes from Bellagio. But it is vain to attempt to name all the things that met my eyes. I think there were specimens of the arts and manufactures of every place which she and her father had visited.
"Oh, how lovely!" I exclaimed. "But what will you do with all these things? Are you going to open a shop?"
"Not exactly," she said with a laugh. "I am going to take them back to America with me. Some are for myself, and some for my friends. Father wanted me not to unpack them till we got them home, but I felt that I must look and see if they were all safe."
For the next half-hour I had nothing to do but admire. There were little boxes packed with small and rare ornaments, which she opened one by one to show me the contents. I felt sure now that Josiah Dicks must be a millionaire. It was a delight to me to see so many pretty things, and their possessor seemed to enjoy my appreciation of them.
"Aunt Maria begged me to buy everything I wanted. She said, 'Now don't come home and say "I wish I had bought this, that, or the other." Get all that pleases you while you are there,'" Miss Dicks explained.
"You seem to have obeyed her most thoroughly," I remarked. "Does your aunt live with you at home?"
"Yes, I have no mother, you know," she said. "She died when I was a child. She nursed my little brother through scarlet fever. He died, and then she took it and died."
She told me this in the most matter-of-fact way; but somehow I felt differently towards her after she said that. I was feeling rather envious of the girl who had carte blanche to spend money so lavishly, and wondering what Olive and Peggy would say when they heard of it, but now I felt that, though we girls had so few of the things that money could buy, yet, as long as we had father and mother and one another, we were richer than Paulina Dicks.
When I had looked at everything, she startled me by saying:
"Now I want you to choose something for yourself."
My colour rose as I replied by saying hurriedly:
"Oh, no, I cannot do that!"
"Why not?" she asked, surveying me with frank surprise. "When you see that I have such heaps of things? I can never make use of them all myself." But I still decidedly declined.
"Take this coral necklace," she said. "You were admiring it, and it would look pretty on the black frock you wear of an evening. Why, what is the matter with you? Are you proud? I believe you are, for you never call me by my name, although I call you 'Nan.'"
"I will call you whatever you please," I said, "but I cannot accept any of your pretty things, for you did not buy them for me."
"No, because I did not know you when I bought them; but I meant to give a good many away. Oh, very well, Miss Darracott, I see you do not mean to be friendly with Paulina Dicks!"
So in the end I had to yield, and accepted a little brooch of Florentine mosaic, which I have to this day. And I promised that I would call her Paulina.
"Paulina Adelaide is my name," she said. "No one calls me Pollie except my father. And one other person," she added, as an afterthought.
Presently she asked me if I thought Mrs. Lucas would like to see her collection of pretty things. I said I was sure that she would, and ran to call my aunt. When aunt came, Paulina exhibited everything afresh, and described in an amusing fashion how she had made some of her purchases. The dressing-bell rang ere aunt had seen everything. Then their owner plaintively observed that she did not know how she should get them all into their boxes again. Unpacking was much easier than packing, she feared. Thereupon aunt and I pledged ourselves to help her after dinner, with the result that we were busy in her room till nearly midnight.
Paulina came to the dinner-table wearing a set of quaint cameo ornaments, which excited Mr. Faulkner's attention. It appeared that he knew something of cameos. He had passed through Italy on his way home from India, and he and the Americans were soon comparing their experiences of Vesuvius, Sorrento, and Capri, or discussing the sights of Rome.
I listened in silence, feeling out of it all and rather discontented as I compared Paulina's exquisitely-made Parisian frock with my own homely white blouse. I must have looked bored when suddenly I became aware that Alan Faulkner was observing me with a keen, penetrating glance that seemed to read my very thoughts.
"We are wearying Miss Nan with our traveller's talk," he said. "She has yet to learn the fascination of Italy. But the time will come, Miss Nan."
"Never!" I said almost bitterly. "I see not the least chance of such good fortune for me, and therefore I will not let my mind dwell on the delights of travel!"
The look of wonder and regret with which Alan Faulkner regarded me made me instantly ashamed of the morose manner in which I had responded to his kindly remark. I heartily wished that I could recall my words, or remove the impression they had created.
"Whatever he may think of Pollie Dicks," I said to myself as we rose from the table, "he cannot help seeing that she is more good-natured than I am."
"IS Miss Nan here?" asked Mr. Dicks, opening the door of the drawing-room, where I had been pouring out tea for Aunt Patty and such of her guests as liked the fragrant beverage. Josiah Dicks never drank tea; his daughter took it with a slice of lemon in Russian fashion.
"Yes, I am here," I responded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Dicks?"
"Just come this way, young lady, that is all," he said. "I have something to show you."
As I rose and went towards him, I saw a look of amusement on Alan Faulkner's face. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other as I passed him. He and I got a little quiet fun sometimes out of the Americans. I could not help thinking that he wanted to come too and see whatever Mr. Dicks had to show me.
It was a lovely day towards the end of April, the first really warm day we had had. The hall door was open. Signing to me to follow him, Josiah Dicks led the way to the back of the house, where was the tool-house in which Pollie's bicycle was kept. She had already taken one or two rides with Jack Upsher, but there had been some little difficulty in hiring a bicycle for me, and I had not yet had a ride with her.
As I approached the tool-house I saw Paulina within, flushed with sundry exertions. She had just removed the last wrapping from a brand-new machine.
"What!" I exclaimed. "Another bicycle! What can you want with two?" Her beautiful machine had already moved me to admiration, if not to envy, and here she was with another first-class one!
"Pollie does not want two, but I guess you can do with one," said Mr. Dicks. "This is yours, Miss Nan."
I think I was never so taken aback in my life. I did not know what to say. It seemed impossible that I could accept so valuable a gift from one who was almost a stranger; yet I could see that both Josiah Dicks and his daughter would be dreadfully hurt if I refused it. I knew too that he did not like the idea of Paulina's riding about the country alone, and that this was his way of securing a companion for her. I tried to say that I would regard it as a loan; but that would not do. I had to accept it. I had heard mother say that it sometimes takes more grace to receive a gift than to bestow one, and I felt the truth of the words now. I fear I expressed my thanks very awkwardly, yet I was truly grateful in spite of my overwhelming sense of obligation.
"You must try it," cried Paulina eagerly. "Let us take it round to the front of the house, and I'll mount you."
In a few minutes I was riding up and down the short drive before the house. Mr. Faulkner caught sight of me from the drawing-room window, and he and aunt came out to see what it meant. Aunt Patty was as much astonished as I was by Josiah Dicks's munificence; but she had more presence of mind and thanked him very warmly for his kindness to me.
"That's all right," he said; "you've no need to thank me. It's just as it should be. I like to see young people enjoy themselves. They'll never be young but once."
Meanwhile Mr. Faulkner had been quietly examining my machine, and he told me, in an aside, that it had all the latest improvements, and was one of the best he had ever seen.
Certainly I found it an easy one to ride, and after a little practice I began to feel as if it were part of myself. It was too late for us to do much that day; but Paulina got out her machine, and we rode as far as the village. As we passed the Vicarage we caught sight of Jack in the garden. He shouted as he saw me spinning by, and I had to halt and show him my delightful gift. He seemed almost as pleased as I was. We arranged forthwith to ride with him on the following afternoon. After dinner, I managed to get away by myself for a time, and wrote a long letter to mother, for I felt that I must tell her about my present.
It would not be easy to say how much enjoyment I derived from Mr. Dicks's gift. As long as the weather continued fair, Paulina and I rode every day. Jack accompanied us as often as he could, and was sorely tempted to curtail the time he devoted to his studies. Then one morning, Mr. Faulkner went to London by an early train, and when he came back in the evening he brought a bicycle with him. After that he too was often our companion. If we rode out a party of four, Jack always elected to ride beside me, while Paulina seemed equally bent on securing Mr. Faulkner as her escort, so that I had little opportunity of talking with him. This vexed me somewhat, for Alan Faulkner had generally interesting things to tell one, whereas Jack's never-ceasing flow of small talk was apt to become a trifle wearisome. We had some delightful rides and visited most of the picturesque villages or fine old churches within twenty miles of "Gay Bowers." But after Miss Cottrell came to stay with us, I was less free to scour the country.
Colonel Hyde and Miss Cottrell arrived about the same time, when spring was merging into summer, and we fondly hoped that cold winds were over. There was no other connection between these two individuals. The Colonel was an old friend of Mr. Upsher's. He was Jack's godfather, and being a widower and childless, the chief attraction "Gay Bowers" had for him was that it was so near Greentree Vicarage.
Miss Cottrell might have been fifty. She informed Aunt Patty that she was thirty-nine, and my aunt charitably believed her, though she certainly looked much older. She was fond of the country, and her coming was simply the result of seeing our advertisement. She furnished aunt with references to persons of good social standing, yet somehow she always struck us as not being exactly a gentlewoman. She said she had been a governess for many years, a fact which perhaps accounted for her worn and faded appearance, but had taught only in the "best families." As she occasionally let fall an "h" or made a slip in grammar, we came to the conclusion that the "best families" known to her had not a high standard of education. She was fond of talking of a certain Lady Mowbray, with whom she had lived in closest intimacy for many years. "Dear Lady Mowbray" was quoted on every possible occasion, till we grew rather weary of her name, and longed to suggest that she should be left to rest in her grave in peace. We knew she was dead, for Miss Cottrell had spoken of the "handsome legacy" which this friend had left her. This sum of money, together with some property she had inherited from an uncle, had rendered it unnecessary for her longer to "take a situation," a consummation for which she seemed devoutly thankful.
Yet Miss Cottrell was by no means of an indolent nature. She prided herself on her active habits, and was especially fond of gardening. Her love for this pursuit brought her into collision with old Hobbes, our gardener. He could not forgive her for presuming to instruct him on certain points, and when she offered to help him, he well-nigh resigned his post. In order to secure peace between them, aunt had to make over to her a tiny plot of ground, where she could grow what she liked, and make what experiments she pleased, Hobbes being strictly forbidden to interfere with it. The scorn with which he regarded her attempts at horticulture was sublime.
Unfortunately, though fond of exercise, Miss Cottrell did not care for solitary walks, and I often felt it incumbent on me to be her companion. Her society was far from agreeable to me. It was wonderful how little we had in common. Although she had been a governess, she seemed absolutely without literary tastes, and even devoid of all ideas that were not petty and trivial. Every attempt to hold an intelligent conversation with her brought me face to face with a dead wall.
All she cared for was to dwell on personal details of her own life or the lives of others. She had an insatiable curiosity, and was for ever asking me questions concerning my aunt or her guests, or my own home life, which I could not or would not answer. Her love of gossip led her to visit daily the one small shop the village could boast, and marvellous were the tales she brought us from thence. She was ready to talk to any one and every one whom she might encounter. She was fond of visiting the cottagers, and they appreciated her visits, for she listened attentively to the most garrulous, and told them what to do for their rheumatism or cramp, and how to treat the ailments of their children. I must say she was very kind-hearted; her good nature and her love of flowers were her redeeming qualities.
She professed to admire the Vicar's preaching, and she often found cause to visit the Vicarage. She paid both the Vicar and his friend the Colonel more attention than they could appreciate. And the worst of it was that she was slower to take a hint than any one I had ever known. How Aunt Patty bore with her irritating ways I cannot tell. Miss Cottrell certainly put a severe strain upon the politeness and forbearance of her hostess. She was not a bad sort of woman, but only insufferably vulgar, tactless and ill-bred.
Paulina made fun of her, yet neither she nor her father seemed to object to Miss Cottrell's cross-questioning, or to shun her society; but Colonel Hyde and Professor Faulkner would make their escape from the drawing-room whenever it was possible, if that lady entered it. Aunt confessed to me that she longed to dismiss this unwelcome guest, but had no sufficient excuse.
She had not been with us very long when Josiah Dicks had an attack of illness. Miss Cottrell, having wrung from me the statement that I believed him to be a millionaire, evinced the utmost interest in the American. She annoyed me very much by saying that she could see that Professor Faulkner was looking after his money by courting Paulina. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It was, of course, possible that Alan Faulkner might be attracted by Paulina, but he was not the man to woo her for the sake of her father's wealth. But it was absurd of me to mind what such a one as Miss Cottrell said.
Though he was very far from well, Mr. Dicks would not stay in his room, but hung about the house looking the colour of one of the sovereigns he spent so lavishly. Miss Cottrell was full of sympathy for him. She suggested various remedies, which he tried one after another, while he rejected Aunt Patty's sensible advice that he should send for a medical man from Chelmsford.
Miss Cottrell's solicitude contrasted oddly with Paulina's apparent indifference. When she came downstairs the next morning she was wearing a hat, and carried a coat over her arm, and she said quite calmly as she took her place at the breakfast-table:
"Poppa says he is worse. He has been in awful pain all night, and has not slept a wink. He thinks he is dying."
"My dear," ejaculated Aunt Patty, "I am distressed to hear it. And are you going for the doctor?"
"Oh, no," said Paulina, opening her eyes widely. "He isn't dying, you know. I am going to London."
"On his account—to get him medicine perhaps?" suggested my aunt anxiously.
Paulina glanced across the table with amusement in her eyes.
"I am going to London to have a new gown fitted," she said, "and to do some shopping."
"But, my dear Miss Dicks, what will your father do without you? Is it well that you should leave him alone all day when he is suffering so?"
My aunt looked amazed as she put these queries.
"Oh, he says now that he will see a doctor," Paulina replied. "I can call and tell him to come if he lives near the station. I should do Poppa no good by staying at home. He has had these attacks before, and they will take their course. I knew he would be ill when I saw him eating that salmon."
"But would you not like to see the doctor yourself?" aunt said. "Cannot you put off going to London for a day or two?"
"That would inconvenience Madame Hortense," Paulina said gravely. "No, I had better keep my appointment. I know you will look after Poppa, Mrs. Lucas, and you will help her, will you not, Miss Cottrell?"
"Indeed, I shall be happy to do anything I can for him," said that spinster with indubitable sincerity. "I have had to do with sick people before now."
Having thus easily rid herself of responsibility, Paulina was soon off on her bicycle for Chelmsford. She found time to call at the doctor's, for he arrived at "Gay Bowers" a little later. He did not think seriously of his patient, but said he needed care. Aunt and Miss Cottrell were busy for some time carrying out the doctor's instructions. Aunt Patty told me afterwards that Miss Cottrell was most useful in a sickroom. All her little vanities and affectations vanished in the presence of a need which she could relieve, and she showed herself a sensible, capable, helpful woman.
When Paulina got back in the evening she found her father no longer in pain, and sound asleep.
"Say, didn't I tell you he would soon be better? He always thinks he is going to die when he gets these attacks."
"I must say that when I saw him this morning, I felt very uneasy," replied my aunt.
"Ah, you do not know him as well as I do," was her rejoinder. "I never let these attacks alarm me. See now, I called at the post-office, and found this letter for you."
The letter proved to be from my Aunt Clara, and interested me considerably. She wrote to ask if aunt could find room in her house for my cousin Agneta. Manchester did not suit her. She was out of health, suffering from general depression, and needed a thorough change. "I thought it would be nice for her to stay in your house while Annie is there," she wrote; "they are about the same age, and will enjoy being together."
I received this proposal with mingled emotions. I hardly knew my cousin, and was by no means sure that I should enjoy having her at "Gay Bowers." Her upbringing had been so different from mine, that I fancied we should have little in common. Aunt Clara had never before shown any desire that her children should become acquainted with her sister's family. I wondered that she should now deem it "nice" that I and Agneta should meet.
"There is one thing to be said about it, Nan," remarked my aunt. "I have no room to give her; if she comes she must share yours."
As soon as I heard that, I was certain that I did not wish Agneta to come. I hated the idea of having to share my pleasant room with another girl, and the fact that the girl in question was my cousin did not reconcile me to it. It seemed essential to my happiness that I should have some place, however small, for my very own, to which I could retreat when I wanted to possess my soul in peace.
"Oh, auntie," I said, "could you not tell Miss Cottrell that you will not longer have room for her?"
"Impossible, Nan; I could not treat her so unhandsomely, especially since she has been so kind and helpful with poor Mr. Dicks. Never mind, dear; you shall not share your room with your cousin if you would rather not."
"Oh, I do not mind if there is no other way," I felt constrained to say; but I did mind very much, and when Aunt Patty said that she would write to Mrs. Redmayne, and explain that this was the only arrangement she could make, I devoutly hoped that Aunt Clara would object to Agneta's sharing a room with me.