"Father was dreadfully frightened," Roger said, "and the fishermen were awfully grave, for you know the tide will rise much higher yet. It would have been all right if Polly had not hurt her foot, for she could have climbed the cliff as well as I did, though, of course, she would have made a fuss. It was very kind of you to stay with her, Edgar. Don't you think so?" he asked of Cousin Becky.
"Very kind and very brave," she answered promptly. "I am sure every one must think so."
Cousin Becky was right, for it was unanimously agreed that Edgar was the hero of the occasion. His heart swelled with pleasure when his uncle spoke of his pluck, and his aunt kissed him and thanked him gratefully for his consideration for her little girl.
"I couldn't have climbed any higher," Polly declared with a shudder as, later on, having had her ankle bathed and bandaged, she reclined upon the sofa in the sitting-room and was waited upon by Roger, who brought her her tea, "and Edgar wouldn't go even when I told him to and said I'd rather he did. I'm afraid that wasn't quite true, because I was so frightened at the thought of being alone, but I didn't want to be selfish. Oh, Roger, do you remember that we didn't wish him to come to Lynn? I'm sure I should have been drowned to-day if hadn't been for him. He made me climb up to that ledge of rock, and if I hadn't—"
"Don't talk of it any more," Roger broke in. "It was awfully fine of Edgar to behave as he did. I'm glad I forgave him for the way he treated me about the Calais Noble," he added, "for he's made up for everything now."
"I shall tell him what you say," Polly returned. And she kept her word, thereby giving her cousin the keenest pleasure he had experienced for many a day.
The sprain to the little girl's ankle did not prove a severe one; but, much to her dismay—for she soon tired of playing the role of an interesting invalid—it tied her to the sofa for several days, and she begrudged the time thus wasted indoors. Therefore, when one evening Cousin Becky made a suggestion that she and the young people should remain at the Mill House until the middle of September, whilst Mr. and Mrs. Trent and Louisa returned to Beaworthy at the date which had previously been arranged, Polly's delight was boundless. "Jabez and Sarah Triggs will look after our comforts," Cousin Becky said when Mrs. Trent began to demur, "and if I want further help I can get it from the village. It seems a pity to take the children home just at present."
"But will it not appear as though we are presuming on your friend's good-nature?" began Mrs. Trent doubtfully; then, catching the humorous expression in Cousin Becky's dark eyes, she paused and looked at her inquiringly.
There was a brief silence, during which everyone gazed curiously at the old lady, who had grown rosy red and seemed more than a little confused.
"I can answer for my friend," she said at length. "She will not think you in the least presumptuous."
"She must be a dear old thing!" exclaimed Polly. "I should like to see her and tell her what I think of her."
"So should I," agreed Roger.
"I am not certain we have not all seen her," Mr. Trent said in a deliberate tone. "I am not certain that we do not know her very well." Then, as Cousin Becky started and looked at him quickly, he continued: "Isn't it time for the good fairy to reveal herself? Surely she might show herself in her true colours now?"
"Oh, Martin, you have guessed?" cried the old lady.
"I have suspected you ever since we came to the Mill House," he replied gravely. "I have heard you spoken of in the village as the owner of this place, and Jabez always mentioned you as though you were his employer. I have never asked any questions; and Sarah, being deaf, has been unable to converse with any of us, or doubtless we should have learnt the truth from her. You are the mistress of the Mill House, Cousin Becky, and we are really your guests; we have no one to thank but you."
"Yes," Cousin Becky acknowledged, "that is so. My secret has been a harmless one, and I have enjoyed keeping it. No wonder you all look puzzled!" She laughed as she met the bewildered glances of Mrs. Trent and the young people. "Let me explain. You took it for granted I was poor, and I did not undeceive you, for your sympathy was very sweet to me, and I was very lonely and sad. One may be rich in pocket and very poor in other ways. If you had known me to be well off, you would not have invited me to visit you or offered me a share of your home, and I should have been the loser then. You have known me hitherto as 'poor Cousin Becky,' but you will not love me the less now, will you, because you know I am not poor? You will let me keep the places in your hearts which I believe I have won; and, because you have given to me, you will not deny me the happiness of giving to you?"
"You are not poor," murmured Mrs. Trent in bewilderment, "and the Mill House is yours, and we never guessed it—at least, it seems Martin did! Oh, Cousin Becky, it appears incredible you could keep this secret to yourself! How blind we must all have been!"
"Then it is you who are our good fairy," said Polly, putting her arms around the old lady's neck and hugging her in a transport of affection and delight. "Oh, how glad I am! How wonderful it all is, like a real fairy tale, isn't it? Oh, boys, aren't you surprised? I am, and so very, very pleased!" And she hugged her again.
"You'll let the children stay at the Mill House with me, won't you?" Cousin Becky asked as soon as Polly would allow her to speak. Then, as Mr. and Mrs. Trent both gave assent, she added, "I feel sure Janie will let Edgar remain, too and when you see her, Mary, as you will be sure to do on your return to Beaworthy, you can explain matters to her."
"Won't she be astonished to hear Cousin Becky's not poor, Edgar?" whispered Roger to his cousin.
"Rather," was the emphatic answer, "but I am sure she will be very glad."
EDGAR had spoken truly when he had said that his mother would be very glad to hear that Cousin Becky was not poor; but her first sensation on hearing the news, which she learnt from her sister-in-law's lips, was one of the deepest humiliation. By her timely assistance during Edgar's illness, Cousin Becky had won Mrs. Marsh's lasting gratitude; and the mistress of the Rookery had determined to see a great deal more of the old lady in the future, and had meant to be very kind to her in return for kindnesses received.
"The Mill House belongs to Cousin Becky and she is really very well off!" she cried, after Mrs. Trent had succeeded in making her understand the disconcerting truth. "Why, I never heard anything so extraordinary Never!"
"It appears Cousin Becky had considerable property left to her about ten years ago by a relation of her mother's," Mrs. Trent explained. "She never thought of mentioning that when she wrote about coming to Beaworthy, and we all took it for granted that she was badly off. On her arrival, she saw at once the mistake we had made; but I don't think we have any right to blame her for keeping her true position a secret from us. She did not deceive us; as a matter-of-fact, she never mentioned her affairs at all."
"I always wondered why she did not tell you her exact position," Mrs. Marsh admitted; "but, of course, she had a right to keep her business to herself. It is very kind of her to have the children at the Mill House, and I am pleased to let Edgar stay. By-the-by, I suppose she will not return here?"
"It is her intention to do so. She wishes to continue living with us. I think she has become attached to us all, and we are certainly very fond of her."
"You were always her champions," Mrs. Marsh replied, with a somewhat regretful sigh; "and I so feared she would prove a burden to you! I thought it very unwise of Martin to have her here, and I was vexed with you all for making so much of her. Ah, well, I learnt to value Cousin Becky at her true worth when she came to us in our trouble and nursed our boy in his sickness. You have no idea, Mary, how good she was to him; and he confessed to her what he had feared to confess to his father or me, all about the Calais Noble, and—and—"
"We won't say anything more about that," Mrs. Trent interrupted gently as her companion hesitated and looked distressed. "It was a painful business; but Roger and Edgar are good friends now, and we won't revert to the past. How do you think your brother is looking?"
"Capital," Mrs. Marsh answered heartily, "and as for you, Mary, you are actually quite rosy and not nearly so painfully thin as you were a month ago. Norfolk air has done wonders for you."
When Cousin Becky and the children returned to Beaworthy, in September, they all brought a fund of health and good spirits as well as the happiest memories of a pleasant holiday with them. Edgar, who had left home wan and thin, was "as plump as a partridge and as brown as a gypsy," so his father declared at the dinner-table on the night of his arrival when the little boy dined with his parents and entertained them with accounts of his doings at Lynn. They had heard all about his experience with Polly when she had sprained her ankle, so he did not dwell on that story but, on chancing to mention it, his father remarked: "I was glad to hear my son did not play the coward," and he met the gaze of his mother's eyes full of a tender, loving light, and his heart thrilled with happiness, whilst he determined never, if he could possibly help it, to do anything to grieve his parents or make them ashamed of him again. That night, ere he went to bed, he sought and found the cigarettes, which he had secreted so many months before at the bottom of a drawer in the set of drawers in his bedroom. Whilst at the Mill House, he had often wondered if they would be discovered in his absence, and what would be thought of him for having hidden them, for he had forgotten to get rid of them before leaving home. It was a weight off his mind to be able to destroy them now; so he tore them to pieces, which he flung out of the window. That done, he went to bed happy, glad to be at home once more, and grateful to his parents for having made no reference to the past.
Within a week of the return of Cousin Becky and the young people to Beaworthy the Grammar School reopened and work-a-day life recommenced for Roger and Edgar; whilst Polly, much to her satisfaction, found that she, too, was to be sent to school.
"I believe it's Cousin Becky's doing," the little girl said confidentially to her brother. "And, do you know," she continued in her most impressive manner, "I'm almost certain it was Cousin Becky who used to send Sarah Glubb those postal orders when her husband was in the hospital. I asked her about it yesterday, and she laughed and told me not to be inquisitive, but I'm sure I'm right."
"I daresay you are," Roger replied. "How amused she must have been to hear us discussing who Sarah's good fairy could be! It must be nice to be rich, Polly, to be able to do people good turns like that."
"Aunt Janie said father would rue the day when he took the charge of an old woman who never had the least claim upon him," remarked Polly, who had recollected the exact words her aunt had used, and had often pondered over them; "but she was wrong. She didn't know Cousin Becky properly then or she would not have said it. Mother says Cousin Becky has been a real blessing to us, and—"
"And I'm sure she was a blessing to Aunt Janie when Edgar was ill," broke in Roger eagerly.
"Yes, that was when Aunt Janie found out what Cousin Becky was really like," nodded Polly.
Better days were coming for the Trent family; that is to say, days when good fortune was to shine upon them once more. Shortly before Christmas, Mr. Trent returned home one evening with the news that the head clerk in the clay office was retiring, and Mr. Marsh had offered him the post, which was a responsible one with a very good salary attached to it; and early in the new year he took a pretty house in the suburbs of the town, whither, in due course, he removed his family. Of course, this new abode was in no wise to be compared with the Rookery in any way, but to the Trents it seemed quite a palatial residence after the house in Princess Street, and it possessed a small garden which was a source of endless pleasure to Polly, who, always a lover of flowers, took up gardening with a will, and retained an especially sunny spot for her own cultivation.
One Saturday afternoon, in spring time, the little girl was occupied in her favourite recreation when Mrs. Marsh's carriage drew up at the garden gate, and Mrs. Marsh herself descended from it. Polly went immediately to meet her, and returned her kiss cordially, for there was a better understanding between the two than there had been formerly.
"I'm not going to stay," Mrs. Marsh said as she slipped a small package into her niece's hand. "Take that, my dear, and give it to Roger, will you?"
"He's not at home, Aunt Janie," Polly replied; "but I'll give it to him the moment he comes in."
"It's a present from his uncle and me for his birthday, to-morrow," Mrs. Marsh explained. "I hope he will like it. No, I can't stay to come in, thank you. Give my love to your mother and Cousin Becky." And she went back to her carriage and was driven away.
Naturally Polly was all impatience till her brother returned, when he promptly opened the package, and revealed to sight a handsome silver watch, similar to Edgar's, which he had always greatly admired. His amazement and delight were unbounded, and he could not understand why his aunt and uncle had remembered his birthday this year, when they had never done so before; but his parents rightly conjectured that Mr. and Mrs. Marsh had awaited an opportunity to make him this present as a slight amends for the unjust suspicion which had been entertained of him.
Roger and his cousin were the best of friends with each other now; and if Edgar was ever tempted to turn away from the path of truth, the thought of the Calais Noble and all the trouble it had caused returned to his mind to warn him that deception brings nothing but unhappiness in its train. Certainly his father was stricter with him than he had been of old, but he was not less kind; and if his mother was still over-indulgent, he no longer tried to take advantage of her affection to gain his own selfish ends as he had once been in the habit of doing.
There remains little else to be told. A few more words about Cousin Becky and her champions, and then my story is at an end. Cousin Becky still continues to make her home with those who so hospitably opened their doors to her when they believed her to be as poor as themselves and she is still the owner of the Mill House, which she often lends to those of her acquaintances who, otherwise, would not be able to afford holidays, and sometimes she visits it herself. She is on excellent terms with all her relations at Beaworthy, and is always a welcome guest at the Rookery now; but the warmest, tenderest spot in the old lady's heart, next to that occupied by her dead brother's children, is reserved for those who loved "poor Cousin Becky" and proved themselves her champions without thought of reward.
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