“Darlingist Father,—Yesterday I picked a rose at Silverbel, the place that mother wants us to have when you com bak rich. Here’s the rose for you. Pwaps it will be withered, father, but its hart will be alive. Kiss it and think of Sibyl. It’s hart is like my hart, and my hart thinks of you morning, noon, and night, evry night, father, and evry morning, and allways, allways during the hole of the day. It’s most portant, father, that you should come back rich. It’s most solum nesesarey. I do so hope the mine will be full up to the brim with gold, for if it is a lot of people here will be made happy. Have you found the mine yet, father, and is it ful to the brim of gold? You don’t know how portant it is. It’s cos of Mr. and Mrs. Holman, father, and their dusty broken toys, and cos of nursie and her spectakles, and cos of one who wants to marry another one, and I mustn’t tell names, and cos of the big-wigs, father. Oh, it is portant.“Your lovin“Sibyl.”
“Darlingist Father,—Yesterday I picked a rose at Silverbel, the place that mother wants us to have when you com bak rich. Here’s the rose for you. Pwaps it will be withered, father, but its hart will be alive. Kiss it and think of Sibyl. It’s hart is like my hart, and my hart thinks of you morning, noon, and night, evry night, father, and evry morning, and allways, allways during the hole of the day. It’s most portant, father, that you should come back rich. It’s most solum nesesarey. I do so hope the mine will be full up to the brim with gold, for if it is a lot of people here will be made happy. Have you found the mine yet, father, and is it ful to the brim of gold? You don’t know how portant it is. It’s cos of Mr. and Mrs. Holman, father, and their dusty broken toys, and cos of nursie and her spectakles, and cos of one who wants to marry another one, and I mustn’t tell names, and cos of the big-wigs, father. Oh, it is portant.
“Your lovin“Sibyl.”
“He’ll understand,” thought Sibyl; “he’s wonderful for seeing right through a thing, and he’ll quite know what I mean by the ‘heart of the rose,’” and she kissed the rose passionately and put it inside the letter, and nurse directed the letter for her, and it was dropped into the pillar-box that same night.
The letter was not read by the one it was intended for until—but that refers to another part of the story.
The next day was a glorious one, and Lady Helen, Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Ogilvie, and Sibyl all met at Victoria Station in time to catch the 11.20 train to Richmond, the nearest station to Silverbel. There a carriage was to meet them, to take them to the house. They were to lunch at a small inn close by, and afterwards have a row on the river; altogether a very delightful day was planned.
It was now the heart of a glorious summer—such a summer as does not often visit England. The sky was cloudless; the sun shone, but the great heat was tempered by a soft, delicious breeze.
Sibyl, all in white, with a white shady hat making her little face even more lovely than usual, stood by her mother’s side, close to a first-class carriage, to await the arrival of the other two.
Lady Helen and Rochester were seen walking slowly down the platform. Sibyl gave one of her gleeful shouts, and ran to meet them.
“Here you both is!” she said, and she looked full up at Lady Helen, with such a charming glance of mingled affection and understanding, that Lady Helen blushed, in spite of herself.
Lady Helen Douglas was a very nice-looking girl, not exactly pretty, but her gray eyes were capable of many shades of emotion. They were large, and full of intelligence. Her complexion was almost colorless. She had a slim, graceful figure. Her jet-black hair, which she wore softly coiled round her head, was also thick and beautiful. Sibyl used to like to touch that hair, and loved very much to nestle up close to the graceful figure, and take shy peeps into the depths of the eyes which seemed to hold secrets.
“You do look nice,” said Sibyl, speaking in a semi-whisper, but in a tone of great ecstasy, “and so does Mr. Rochester. Do you know, I always call him nice Mr. Rochester. Watson is so interested in him.”
“Who is Watson?” asked Lady Helen.
“Don’t you know, he is our footman. He is very nice, too; he is full of impulses, and they are all good. I expect the reason he is so awfully interested indearMr. Rochester is because they are both having love affairs. You know, Watson has a girl, too, he is awfully fond of; I ’spect they’ll marry when father comes back with all the gold. You don’t know how fond I am of Watson; he’s a very great, special friend of mine. Now here’s the carriage. Let’s all get in. Aren’t you both glad you’recoming, and coming together, both of youtogether, to visit Silverbel. It’s a ’licious place; there are all kinds of little private walks and shrubberies, and seats for two under trees. Two that want to be alone can be alone at Silverbel. Now let’s all get into the carriage.”
Poor Rochester and Lady Helen at that moment thought Sibyl almost anenfant terrible. However, there was no help for it. She would have her say, and her words were bright and her interest of the keenest. It mattered nothing at all to her that passers-by turned to look and smiled in an amused way.
Mrs. Ogilvie was in an excellent humor. All the way down she talked to Lady Helen of the bazaar which she had already arranged was to take place at Silverbel during the last week in August.
“I had meant to put it off until my husband returned,” she remarked finally, “but on reflection that seemed a pity, for he is scarcely likely to be back before the end of October, and by then it would be too late; and, besides, the poor dear Home for Incurables needs its funds, and why should it languish when we are all anxious, more than anxious, to be charitable? Mr. Acland, my lawyer, is going to pay a deposit on the price of the estate, so I can enter into possession almost immediately. I am going to get Morris & Liberty to furnish the place,and I shall send down servants next week. But about the bazaar. I mean it to be perfect in every way. The stalls are to be held by unmarried titled ladies. Your services, Lady Helen, must be secured immediately.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Sibyl, “you are to have a most beautiful stall, a flower stall: what do you say?”
“If I have a stall I will certainly choose a flower stall,” replied Lady Helen, and she smiled at Sibyl, and patted her hand.
They soon arrived at Richmond, and got into the carriage which was waiting for them, and drove to Silverbel. They had lunch at the inn as arranged, and then they wandered about the grounds, and presently Sibyl had her wish, for Rochester and Lady Helen strolled away from her mother and herself, and walked down a shady path to the right of the house.
“There they go!” cried the child.
“There who go, Sibyl?” asked Mrs. Ogilvie.
“The one who wants to marry the other,” replied Sibyl. “Hush, mother, we are not to know, we are to be quite blind. Aren’t you awfully incited?”
“You are a very silly, rude little girl,” replied the mother. “You must not make the sort of remarks you are always making to Mr. Rochester and Lady Helen. Such remarks are in very bad form. Now,don’t take even the slightest notice when they return.”
“Aren’t I to speak to them?” asked Sibyl, raising her eyes in wonder.
“Of course, but you are not to say anything special.”
“Oh, nothing special. Am I to talk about the weather?”
“No; don’t be such a little goose.”
“I always notice,” replied Sibyl, softly, “that whenquitestrangers meet, they talk about the weather. I thought that was why. Can’t I say anything more—more as if they were my very dear old friends? I thought they’d like it. I thought they’d like to know that there was one here who understanded all about it.”
“About it?”
“Their love, mother, their love for—for each other.”
“Who may the one be who is supposed to understand?”
“Me, mother,” said Sibyl.
Mrs. Ogilvie burst into a ringing laugh.
“You are a most ridiculous little girl,” she said. “Now, listen; you are not to take any notice when they come back. They are not engaged; perhaps they never will be. Anyhow, you will make yourself an intensely disagreeable child if you make suchremarks as you have already made. Do you understand?”
“You has put it plain, mother,” replied Sibyl. “I think I do. Now, let’s look at the flowers.”
“I have ordered the landlord of the inn to serve tea on the lawn,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie. “Is it not nice to feel that we are going to have tea on our own lawn, Sibyl?”
“It’s lovely!” replied Sibyl.
“I am devoted to the country,” continued the mother; “there is no place like the country for me.”
“So I think, too,” replied Sibyl. “I love the country. We’ll have all the very poorest people down here, won’t we, mother?”
“What do you mean?”
“All the people who want to be made happy; Mr. and Mrs. Holman, and the other faded old people in the almshouses that I went to see one time with Miss Winstead.”
“Now you are talking in your silly way again,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “You make me quite cross when you talk of that old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Holman.”
“But, mother, why aren’t they to be rich if we are to be rich? Do you know that Mrs. Holman is saving up her money to buy some of the gold out of father’s mine. She expects to get two hundred pounds instead of one. It’s very puzzling, and yetI seem to understand. Oh, here comes Mr. Landlord with the tea-things. How inciting!”
The table was spread, and cake, bread and butter, and fruit provided. Lady Helen and Rochester came back. They both looked a little conscious and a little afraid of Sibyl, but as she turned her back on them the moment they appeared, and pretended to be intensely busy picking a bouquet of flowers, they took their courage in their hands and came forward and joined in the general conversation.
Lady Helen elected to pour out tea, and was extremely cheerful, although she could not help reddening when Sibyl brought her a very large marguerite daisy, and asked her to pull off the petals and see whether the rhyme came right.
“What rhyme?” asked Lady Helen.
“I know it all, shall I say it to you?” cried Sibyl. She began to pull off the different petals, and to repeat in a childish sing-song voice:—
“One he loves, two he loves, three he loves they say,Four he loves with all his heart, five he casts away,Sixheloves, sevensheloves, eight they both love,Nine he comes, ten he tarries,Eleven he woos, twelve he marries.”
“One he loves, two he loves, three he loves they say,Four he loves with all his heart, five he casts away,Sixheloves, sevensheloves, eight they both love,Nine he comes, ten he tarries,Eleven he woos, twelve he marries.”
Sibyl repeated this nonsense with extreme gusto, and when the final petal on the large daisy proclaimed that “twelve he marries,” she flung the stalk at Rochester and laughed gaily.
“I knewyou’dhave luck,” she said. Then she caught her mother’s warning eye and colored painfully, thus making the situation, if possible, a little more awkward.
“Suppose we go for a row on the river this lovely afternoon,” said Lady Helen, starting up restlessly. She had talked of the coming bazaar, and had wandered through the rooms at Silverbel, and had listened to Mrs. Ogilvie’s suggestions with regard to furniture and different arrangements until she was almost tired of the subject.
Rochester sprang to his feet.
“I can easily get a boat,” he said; “I’ll go and consult with mine host.”
He sauntered across the grounds, and Sibyl, after a moment’s hesitation, followed him. A boat was soon procured, and they all found themselves on the shining silver Thames.
“Is that why our house is called Silverbel?” asked Sibyl. “Is it ’cos we can see the silver shine of the river, and ’cos it isbelle, French for beautiful?”
“Perhaps so,” answered the mother with a smile.
The evening came on, the heat of the day was over, the sun faded.
“What a pity we must go back to London,” said Sibyl. “I don’t think I ever had such a lovely day before.”
“We shall soon be back here,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “I shall see about furnishing next week at the latest, and we can come down whenever we are tired of town.”
“That will be lovely,” said Sibyl. “Oh, won’t my pony love cantering over the roads here!”
When they landed at the little quay just outside the inn, the landlord came down to meet them. He held a telegram in his hand.
“This came for you, madam, in your absence,” he said, and he gave the telegram to Mrs. Ogilvie. She tore it open. It was from her lawyer, Mr. Acland, and ran as follows:
“Ominous rumors with regard to Lombard Deeps have reached me. Better not go any further at present with the purchase of Silverbel.”
Mrs. Ogilvie’s face turned pale. She looked up and met the fixed stare of her little daughter and of Rochester. Lady Helen had turned away. She was leaning over the rails of the little garden and looking down into the swiftly flowing river.
Mrs. Ogilvie’s face grew hard. She crushed up the telegram in her hand.
“I hope there is nothing wrong?” asked Rochester.
“Nothing at all,” she replied. “Yes, we will come here next week. Sibyl, don’t stare in that rude way.”
The return journey was not as lively as that happy one in the morning.
Sibyl felt through her sensitive little frame that her mother was worried about something. Rochester also looked anxious. Lady Helen alone seemed unconscious anddistrait. When the child nestled up to her she put her arm round her waist.
“Are you sad about anything, darling Lady Helen?” whispered Sibyl.
“No, Sibyl; I am quite happy.”
“Then you are thinking very hard?”
“I often think.”
“I do so want you to be awfully happy.”
“I know you do, and I think I shall be.”
“Then that is right.Twelve he marries. Wasn’t it sweet of the marguerite daisy to give Mr. Rochester just the right petal at the end; wasn’t it luck?”
“Yes; but hush, don’t talk so loud.”
Mr. Rochester now changed his seat, and came opposite to where Lady Helen and the child had placed themselves. He did not talk to Lady Helen, but he looked at her several times. Presently he took one of Sibyl’s hands, and stroked it fondly.
“Does Lady Helen tell you beautiful stories too?” asked Sibyl, suddenly.
“No,” he answered; “she is quite naughty aboutthat. She never tells me the charming stories she tells you.”
“You ought to,” said Sibyl, looking at her earnestly; “it would do him good. It’s an awfully nice way, if you want to give a person a home truth, to put it into a story. Nurse told me about that, and I remembered it ever since. She used to put her home truths into proverbs when I was quite young, such as, ‘A burnt child dreads the fire,’ or ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure,’or——”
“Oh, that will do, Sibyl.” Lady Helen spoke; there was almost a piteous appeal in the words.
“Well,” said Sibyl, “perhaps it is better to put home truths into stories, not proverbs. It’s like having more sugar. The ‘home truth’ is the pill, and when it is sugared all over you can swallow it. You can’t swallow itwithoutthe sugar, can you? Nursie begins her stories like this: ‘Miss Sibyl, once upon a time I knew a little girl,’ and then she tells me all about a horrid girl, and I know the horrid girl is me. I am incited, of course, but very, very soon I get down to the pill. Now, I am sure, Mr. Rochester, there are some things you ought to be told, there are some things you do wrong, aren’t there, Mr. Rochester?”
“Oh, Sibyl, do stop that ceaseless chatter,” cried her mother from the other end of the carriage; “youtalk the most utter nonsense,” and Sibyl for once was effectually silenced.
The party broke up at Victoria Station, and Mrs. Ogilvie and her little daughter drove home. As soon as ever they arrived there Watson informed Mrs. Ogilvie that Mr. Acland was waiting to see her in the library.
“Tiresome man!” she muttered, but she went to see him at once. The electric light was on; the room reminded her uncomfortably of her husband. He spent a great deal of time in his library, more than a very happy married man would have done. She had often found him there with a perplexed brow, and a heart full of anxiety. She had found him there, too, in his rare moments of exultation and happiness. She would have preferred to see the lawyer in any room but this.
“Well,” she said, “why did you send me that ridiculous telegram?”
“You would not be surprised if you had read the article which appeared to-day inThe Financial Enquirer.”
“I have never heard ofThe Financial Enquirer.”
“But City men know it,” replied Mr. Acland, “and to a great extent it governs the market. It is one of our leading financial papers. The rumors it alludes to may be untrue, but they will influencethe subscriptions made by the public to the share capital. In fact, with so ominous an article coming from so first-rate a source, nothing but a splendid report from Ogilvie can save the mine.”
Mrs. Ogilvie drummed with her delicate taper fingers on the nearest table.
“How you puzzle a poor woman with your business terms,” she said. “What do I know about mines? When my husband left me he said that he would come back a rich man. He gave me his promise, he must keep his word.”
“He will naturally keep his word if he can, and if the mine is all that Lord Grayleigh anticipates everything will be right,” replied Acland. “There is no man more respected than Ogilvie in the City. His report as assayer will save the situation; that is, if it is first-rate. But if it is a medium report the capital will not be sufficiently subscribed to, and if the report happens to be bad the whole thing will fall through. We shall know soon now.”
“This is very disturbing,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “I have had a long, tiring day, and you give me a headache. When is my husband’s report likely to reach England?”
“Not for several weeks, of course. It ought to be here in about two months’ time, but we may have a cablegram almost any day. The public are just in awaiting attitude, they want to invest their money. If the mine turns out a good thing shares will be subscribed to any extent. Everything depends on Ogilvie’s report.”
“Won’t you stay and have some supper?” said Mrs. Ogilvie, carelessly. “I have said already that I do not understand these things.”
“I cannot stay, I came to see you because it is important. I want to know if you really wish to go on with the purchase of Silverbel. I am ready to pay a deposit for you of £2,000 on the price of the estate, which will, of course, clinch the purchase, and this deposit I have arranged to pay to-morrow, but under the circumstances would it not be best to delay? If your husband cannot give a good report of the mine he will not want to buy an expensive place like Silverbel. My advice to you, Mrs. Ogilvie, is to let Silverbel go. I happen to know at this moment of another purchaser who is only waiting to close if you decline. When your husband comes back rich you can easily buy another place.”
“No other place will suit me except Silverbel,” she answered.
“I strongly recommend you not to buy it now.”
“And I intend to have it. I am going down there to live next week. Of course, you arranged that I could go in at once after the deposit was paid?”
“Yes, on sufferance, subject to your completing the purchase in October.”
“Then pray don’t let the matter be disturbed again. I shall order furniture immediately. You are quite a raven, a croaker of bad news, Mr. Acland.”
Mr. Acland raised his hand in deprecation.
“I thought it only fair to tell you,” he answered, and the next moment he left the house. As he did so, he uttered a solitary remark:
“What a fool that woman is! I pity Ogilvie.”
It was the last week in July when Mrs. Ogilvie took possession of Silverbel. She had ordered furniture in her usual reckless fashion, going to the different shops where she knew she could obtain credit. The house, already beautiful, looked quite lovely when decorated by the skilful hands which arranged draperies and put furniture into the most advantageous positions.
Sibyl’s room, just over the front porch, was really worthy of her. It was a bower of whiteness and innocence. It had lattice windows which looked out on to the lovely grounds. Climbing roses peeped in through the narrow panes, and sent their sweet fragrance to greet the child when the windows were open and she put her head out.
Sibyl thought more than ever of her father as she took possession of the lovely room at Silverbel. What a beautiful world it was! and what a happy little girl she, Sibyl, thought herself in possessing such perfect parents. Her prayers became now passionate thanks. She had got so much that it seemed unkind to ask Lord Jesus for one thing more. Of course, He was making the mine full of gold,and He was making her father very, very rich, and everyone, everyone she knew was soon to be happy.
Lady Helen Douglas came to stay at Silverbel, and this seemed to give an added touch to the child’s sense of enjoyment, for Lady Helen had at last, in a shy half whisper, told the eager little listener that she did love Mr. Rochester, and, further, that they were only waiting to proclaim their engagement to the world until the happy time when Sibyl’s father came back.
“For Jim,” continued Lady Helen, “will take shares in the Lombard Deeps, and as soon as ever he does this we can afford to marry. But you must not speak of this, Sibyl. I have only confided in you because you have been our very good friend all along.”
Sibyl longed to write off at once to her father to hurry up matters with regard to the gold mine.
“Of course, it is full of gold, quite full,” thought the child; “but I hope father will write, or, better still, come home quickly and tell us all about it.”
She began to count the days now to her father’s return, and was altogether in such a happy mood that it was delightful to be in her presence or to see her joyful face.
Sibyl was nearly beside herself with delight at having exchanged her dull town life for this happycountry one. She quickly made friends with the poor people in the nearest village, who were all attracted by her bright ways and pretty face. Her mother also gave her a small part of the garden to do what she liked with, and when she was not digging industriously, or riding her pony, or talking to Lady Helen, or engaged in her lessons, she followed her mother about like a faithful little dog.
Mrs. Ogilvie was so pleased and contented with her purchase that she was wonderfully amiable. She often now sat in the long evenings with Sibyl by her side, and listened without impatience to the child’s rhapsodies about her father. Mrs. Ogilvie would also be glad when Philip returned. But just now her thought of all thoughts was centred on the bazaar. This bazaar was to clinch her position as a country lady. All the neighbors round were expected to attend, and already she was busy drawing up programmes of the coming festivities, and arranging with a great firm in London for the special marquee, which was to grace her lawn right down to the river’s edge.
The bazaar was expected to last for quite three days, and, during that time, a spirited band would play, and there would be various entertainments of all sorts and descriptions. Little boats, with colored flags and awnings, were to be in requisition on thebrink of the river, and people should pay heavily for the privilege of occupying these boats.
Mrs. Ogilvie clapped her hands almost childishly when this last brilliant idea came to her, and Sibyl thought that it was worthy of mother, and entered into the scheme with childish enthusiasm.
The third week in August was finally decided as the best week for the bazaar, and those friends who were not going abroad promised to stay at Silverbel for the occasion.
Some weeks after Mrs. Ogilvie had taken possession of Silverbel, Mr. Acland called to see her.
“We have had no cable yet from your husband,” he said, “and the rumors continue to be ominous. I wish with all my heart we could silence them. I, myself, believe in the Lombard Deeps, for Grayleigh is the last man to lend his name or become chairman of a company which has not brilliant prospects; but I can see that even he is a little anxious.”
“Oh, pray don’t croak,” was Mrs. Ogilvie’s response and then she once again likened Mr. Acland to the raven.
“You are a bird of ill-omen,” she said, shaking her finger playfully in his face.
He frowned as she addressed him; he could not see the witticism of her remark.
“When people are perfectly happy and knownothing whatever with regard to business, what is the good of coming and telling these dismalities?” she continued. “I am nothing but a poor little feminine creature, trying to do good, and to make myself happy in an innocent way. Why will you come and croak? I know Philip quite well enough to be certain that he would not have set foot on this expedition if he had not been satisfied in advance that the mine was a good one.”
“That is my own impression,” said Mr. Acland, thoughtfully; “but don’t forget you are expected to complete the purchase of Silverbel by the end of October.”
“Oh! Philip will be back before then,” answered Mrs. Ogilvie in a light and cheerful tone. “Any day now we may get a cablegram. Well, sweetheart, and what are you doing here?”
Sibyl had entered the room, and was leaning against the window frame.
“Any day we may expect what to happen, mother darling?” she asked.
“We may expect a cable from father to say he is coming back again.”
“Oh! do you think so? Oh, I am so happy!”
Sibyl skipped lightly out of the room. She ran across the sunny, radiant garden, and presently found herself in a sort of wilderness which she had appropriated,and where she played at all sorts of solitary games. In that wilderness she imagined herself at times a lonely traveler, at other times a merchant carrying goodly pearls, at other times a bandit engaged in feats of plunder. All possible scenes in history or imagination that she understood did the child try to enact in the wilderness. But she went there now with no intention of posing in any imaginary part. She went there because her heart was full.
“Oh, Lord Jesus, it is so beautiful of you,” she said, and she looked up as she spoke full at the blue sky. “I can scarcely believe that my ownest father will very soon be back again; it is quite too beautiful.”
A few days after this, and toward the end of the first week in August, Sibyl was one day playing as usual in the grounds when the sound of carriage wheels attracted her attention. She ran down to see who was arriving, and a shout of delight came from her when she saw Lord Grayleigh coming down the drive. He called the coachman to stop and put out his head.
“Jump into the carriage, Sib, I have not seen you for some time. When are you going to pay me another visit at Grayleigh Manor?”
“Oh, some time, but not at present,” replied Sibyl.“I am too happy with mother here to think of going away. Isn’t Silverbel sweet, Lord Grayleigh?”
“Charming,” replied Grayleigh. “Is your mother in, little woman?”
“I think so. She is very incited about the bazaar. Are you coming to the bazaar?”
“I don’t know, I will tell you presently.”
Sibyl laid her little hand in Lord Grayleigh’s. He gave it a squeeze, and she clasped it confidingly.
“Do you know that I am so monstrous happy I scarcely know what to do,” she said.
“Because you have got a pretty new place?”
“No, no, nothing of that sort. It’s ’cos father is coming back afore long! He will cable, whatever that means, and soon afterward he’ll come. I’m always thanking Lord Jesus about it. Isn’t it good of Him to send my ownest father back so soon?”
Lord Grayleigh made no answer, unless an uneasy movement of his feet signified a sense of discomfort. The carriage drew up at the porch and he alighted. Sibyl skipped out after him.
“Shall I find mother for you?” asked Sibyl, leading Lord Grayleigh across the lawn.—Page 208. Daddy’s Girl.“Shall I find mother for you?” asked Sibyl, leading Lord Grayleigh across the lawn.—Page208.Daddy’s Girl.
“Shall I find mother for you?” she said. “Oh, there she is on the lawn. Darlingest mother, she can think of nothing at present but the bazaar, when all the big-wigs are to be present. You’re a big-wig, aren’t you? I asked nurse what big-wigs were, and she said people with handles. Mother said theywere people in agood social position. I remember the words so well ’cos I couldn’t understand ’em, but when I asked Miss Winstead to ’splain, she said mother meant ladies and gentlemen, and when I asked her to tell me what ladies and gentlemen was, she said people who behaved nicely. Now isn’t it all very puzzling, ’cos the person who I think behaves nicest of all is our footman, Watson. He has lovely manners and splendid impulses; and perhaps the next nicest is dear Mrs. Holman, and she keeps a toy-shop in a back street. But when I asked mother if Watson and Mrs. Holman were big-wigs, she said I spoked awful nonsense. What do you think, Lord Grayleigh? Please do try to ’splain.”
Lord Grayleigh had laughed during Sibyl’s long speech. He now laid his hand on her arm.
“A big-wig is quite an ugly word,” he said, “but a lady or a gentleman, you will find them in all ranks of life.”
“You haven’t ’splained a bit,” said the little girl. “Mother wants big-wigs at her bazaar; you are one, so will you come?”
“I will answer that question after I have seen your mother.”
Lord Grayleigh crossed the lawn, and Sibyl, feeling dissatisfied, turned away.
“He doesn’t look quite happy,” she thought; “I’msorry he is coming to take up mother’s time. Mother promised, and it’s most ’portant, to ride with me this evening. It’s on account of poor Dan Scott it is so ’portant. Oh, I do hope she won’t forget. Perhaps Miss Winstead would come if mother can’t. I promised poor Dan a basket of apples, and also that I’d go and sit with him, and mother said he should cert’nly have the apples, and that she and I would ride over with them. He broke his arm a week ago, poor fellow! poor little Dan! I’ll go and find Miss Winstead. If mother can’t come, she must.”
Sibyl ran off in search of her governess, and Lord Grayleigh and Mrs. Ogilvie, in deep conversation, paced up and down the lawn.
“You didn’t hear by the last mail?” was Lord Grayleigh’s query.
“No, I have not heard for two mails. I cannot account for his silence.”
“He is probably up country,” was Lord Grayleigh’s answer. “I thought before cabling that I would come and inquire of you.”
“I have not heard,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie. “Of course things are all right, and Philip was never much of a correspondent. It probably means, Lord Grayleigh, that he has completed his report, and is coming back. I shall be glad, for I want him to behere some time before October, in order to see about paying the rest of the money for our new place. What do you think of Silverbel?”
“Oh, quite charming,” said Lord Grayleigh, in that kind of tone which clearly implied that he was not thinking about his answer.
“I am anxious, of course, to complete the purchase,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie.
“Indeed!” Lord Grayleigh raised his brows.
“Mr. Acland lent me two thousand pounds to pay the deposit,” continued the lady, “but we must complete by the end of October. When my husband comes back rich, he will be able to do so. He will come back rich, won’t he?” Here she looked up appealingly at Lord Grayleigh.
“He will come back rich, or we shall have the deluge,” he replied, oracularly. “Don’t be uneasy. As you have not heard I shall cable. I shall wire to Brisbane, which I fancy is his headquarters.”
“Perhaps,” answered Mrs. Ogilvie, in an abstracted tone. “By the way, if you are going back to town, may I make use of your carriage? There are several things I want to order for my bazaar. It is to be in about a fortnight now. You will remember that you are one of the patrons.”
“Certainly,” he answered; “at what date is the bazaar to be held?”
She named the arranged date, and he entered it in a gold-mounted engagement book.
“I shall stay in town to-night,” continued Mrs. Ogilvie. “Just wait for me a moment, and I will get on my hat.”
Soon afterward the two were driving back to the railway station. Mrs. Ogilvie had forgotten all about her engagement to Sibyl. Sibyl saw her go off with a feeling of deep disappointment, for Miss Winstead had a headache, and declined to ride with the little girl. Dan Scott must wait in vain for his apples. But should he wait? Sibyl wondered.
She went down in a discontented way to a distant part of the grounds. She was not feeling at all happy now. It was all very well to have a heart bubbling over with good-nature and kindly impulses; but when those impulses were flung back on herself, then the little girl felt that latent naughtiness which was certainly an integral part of her character. She saw Dan Scott’s old grandfather digging weeds in the back garden. Dan Scott was one of the gardener’s boys. He was a bright, cheery-faced little fellow, with sloe-black eyes and tight-curling hair, and a winsome smile and white teeth. Sibyl had made friends with him at once, and when he ceased to appear on the scenes a week back, she was full of consternation, for Dan hadfallen from a tree, and broken his arm rather badly. He had been feverish also, and could not come to attend to his usual work. His old grandfather had at first rated the lad for having got into this trouble, but then he had pitied him.
Sibyl the day before had promised old Scott that she and her mother would ride to Dan’s cottage and present him with a basket of early apples. There were some ripening now on the trees, long in shape, golden in color, and full of delicious juice.
Sibyl had investigated these apples on her own account, and pronounced them very good, and had thought that a basket of the fruit would delight Dan. She had spoken to her mother on the subject, and her mother, in the height of good-humor, had promised that the apples should be gathered, and the little girl and she would ride down a lovely country lane to Dan’s cottage. They were to start about six o’clock, would ride under the shade of some spreading beech trees, and come back in the cool of the evening.
The whole plan was delightful, and Sibyl had been thinking about it all day. Now her mother had gone off to town, and most clearly had forgotten her promise to the child.
“Well, Missy,” said old Scott as he dug his spadedeep down into the soil; “don’t stand just there, Missy, you’ll get the earth all over you.”
Sibyl moved to a respectful distance.
“How is Dan?” she asked, after a pause.
“A-wrastling with his pain,” answered Scott, a frown coming between his brows.
“Is he expecting me and mother with the beautiful apples?” asked Sibyl, in a somewhat anxious tone.
“Is he expecting you, Missy?” answered the old man, raising his beetling brows and fixing his black eyes on the child. “Is he a-counting the hours? Do ducks swim, Missy, and do little sick boys a-smothered up in bed in small close rooms want apples and little ladies to visit ’em or not? You said you’d go, Missy, and Dan he’s counting the minutes.”
“Of course I’ll go,” replied Sibyl, but she looked anxious anddistrait. Then she added, “I will go if I possibly can.”
“I didn’t know there was any doubt about it, Missy, and I tell you Dan is counting the minutes. Last thing he said afore I went out this morning was, ‘I’ll see little Missy to-day, and she is to bring me a basket of apples.’ Seems to me he thinks a sight more of you than the fruit.”
Sibyl turned pale as Scott continued to speak in an impressive voice.
“Dear, dear, it is quite dreadful,” she said, “I could cry about it, I could really, truly.”
“But why, Missy? What’s up? I don’t like to see a little lady like you a-fretting.”
“Mr. Scott, I’m awfully, awfully sorry; I am terribly afraid I can’t go.”
Old Scott ceased to delve the ground. He leant on the top of his spade and looked full at the child. His sunken eyes seemed to burn into hers.
“You promised you’d go,” he said then slowly.
“I did, I certainly did, but mother was to have gone with me, and she has had to go to town about the bazaar. I suppose you couldn’t take back the apples with you when you go home to-night, Mr. Scott?”
“I could not,” answered the old man. He began to dig with lusty and, in the child’s opinion, almost venomous vigor.
“Besides,” he added, “it wouldn’t be the same. It’s you he wants to see as much as the fruit. If I was a little lady I’d keep my word to the poor. It’s a dangerous thing to break your word to the poor; there’s God’s curse on them as do.”
Sibyl seemed to shrink into herself. She looked up at the sky.
“Lord Jesus wouldn’t curse a little girl like me, a little girl who loves Him,” she thought;but, all the same, the old man’s words seemed to chill her.
“I’ll do my very best,” she said, and she went slowly across the garden. Old Scott called after her:
“I wouldn’t disappoint the little lad if I was you, Missy. He’s a-counting of the minutes.”
A clock in the stable yard struck five. Old Scott continued to watch Sibyl as she walked away.
“I could take the apples,” he said to himself; “I could if I had a mind to, but I don’t see why the quality shouldn’t keep their word, and I’m due to speak at the Mission Hall this evening. Little Miss should know afore she makes promises. She’s a rare fine little ’un, though, for all that. I never see a straighter face, eyes that could look through you. Dear little Missy! Dan thinks a precious sight of her. I expect somehow she’ll take him the apples.”
So old Scott went on murmuring to himself, sometimes breaking off to sing a song, and Sibyl returned to the house.
She walked slowly, her eyes fixed on the ground. She was thinking harder than she had ever thought before in the whole course of her short life. When she reached the parting of the ways which led in one direction to the sunny, pretty front entrance, and in the other to the stables, she paused again to consider.
Miss Winstead was standing in the new schoolroom window. It was a lovely room, furnished with just as much taste as Sibyl’s own bedroom. Miss Winstead put her head out, and called the child.
“Tea is ready, you had better come in. What are you doing there?”
“Is your head any better?” asked Sibyl, a ghost of a hope stealing into her voice.
“No, I am sorry to say it is much worse. I am going to my room to lie down. Nurse will give you your tea.”
Sibyl did not make any answer. Miss Winstead, supposing that she was going into the house, went to her own room. She locked her door, lay down on her bed, and applied aromatic vinegar to her forehead.
Sibyl turned in the direction of the stables.
“It don’t matter about my tea,” she said to herself. “Nursie will think I am with Miss Winstead, and Miss Winstead will think I am with nurse; it’s all right. I wonder if Ben would ride mother’s horse with me; but the first thing is to get the apples.”
The thought of what she was about to do, and how she would coax Ben, the stable boy, to ride with her cheered her a little.
“It’s awful to neglect the poor,” she said to herself. “Old Scott was very solemn. He’s a good man, is Scott, he’s a very religious man, he knows his Bible beautiful. He does everything by the Psalms; it’s wonderful what he finds in them—the weather and everything else. I asked him before the storm came yesterday if we was going to have rain, and he said ‘Read your Psalms and you’ll know. Don’t the Psalms for the day say “the Lord of glory thundereth”?’ and he looked at a black cloud that was coming up in the sky, and sure enough we had a big thunderstorm. It’s wonderful what a religious man is old Scott, and what a lot he knows. He wouldn’t say a thing if it wasn’t true. I suppose God does curse those who neglect the poor. I shouldn’t like to be cursed, and I did promise, and Danwillbe waiting and watching. A little girlwhom Jesus loves ought to keep her promise. Well, anyhow, I’ll get the apples ready.”
Sibyl rushed into the house by a side entrance, secured a basket and entered the orchard. There she made a careful and wise selection. She filled the basket with the golden green fruit, and arranged it artistically with apple-leaves.
“This will tempt dear little Dan,” she said to herself. There were a few greengages just beginning to come to perfection on a tree near. Sibyl picked several to add to her pile of tempting fruit, and then she went in the direction of the stables. Ben was nowhere about. She called his name, he did not answer. He was generally to be found in the yard at this hour. It was more than provoking.
“Ben! Ben! Ben!” called the child. Her clear voice sounded through the empty air. There came a gentle whinny in response.
“Oh, my darling Nameless Pony!” she thought. She burst open the stable door, and the next instant stood in the loose box beside the pony. The creature knew her and loved her. He pushed out his head and begged for a caress. Sibyl selected the smallest apple from the basket and gave it to her pony. The nameless pony munched with right good will.
“I could ride him alone,” thought Sibyl; “it isonly two or three miles away, and I know the road, and mother, though she may be angry when she hears, will soon forgive me. Mother never keeps angry very long—that is one of the beautiful things about her. I do really think I will go by my lone self. I made a promise. Mother made a promise too, but then she forgets. I really do think I’ll go. It’s too awful to remember your promise to the poor, and then to break it. I wonder if I could saddle pony? Pony, darling, will you stay very quiet while I try to put your saddle on? I have seen Ben do it so often, and one day I coaxed him to let me help him.”
Just then a voice at the stable door said—
“Hullo! I say!” and Sibyl, starting violently, turned her head and saw a rough-headed lad of the name of Johnson, who sometimes assisted old Scott in the garden. Sibyl was not very fond of Johnson. She took an interest in him, of course, as she did in all human beings, but he was not fascinating like little Dan Scott, and he had not a religious way with him like old Scott; nevertheless, she was glad to see him now.
“Oh, Johnson,” she said eagerly, “I want you to do something for me so badly. If you will do it I will give you an apple.”
“What is it, Miss?” asked Johnson.
“Will you saddle my pony for me? You can, can’t you?”
“I guess I can,” answered Johnson. He spoke laconically.
“Want to ride?” he said. “Who’s a-goin’ with yer?”
“No one, I am going alone.”
Johnson made no remark. He looked at the basket of apples.
“I say,” he cried, “them’s good, I like apples.”
“You shall have two, Johnson; oh, and I have a penny in my pocket as well. Now please saddle the pony very fast, for I want to be off.”
Johnson did not see anything remarkable in Sibyl’s intended ride. He knew nothing about little Missy. As far as his knowledge went it was quite the habit for little ladies to ride by themselves. Of course he would get the pony ready for her, so he lifted down the pretty new side-saddle from its place on the wall, and arranged it on the forest pony’s back. The pony turned his large gentle eyes, and looked from Johnson to the child.
“It don’t matter about putting on my habit,” said Sibyl. “It will take such a lot of time, I can go just as I am, can’t I, Johnson?”
“If you like, Miss,” answered Johnson.
“I think I will, really, Johnson,” said Sibyl in thatconfiding way which fascinated all mankind, and made rough-headed Johnson her slave for ever.
“I might be caught, you know, if I went back to the house.”
“Oh, is that it?” answered Johnson.
“Yes, that’s it; they don’t understand. No one understands in the house how ’portant it is for me to go. I have to take the apples to Dan Scott. I promised, you know, and it would not be right to break my promise, would it, Johnson?”
Johnson scratched his head.
“I guess not!” he said.
“If I don’t take them, he’ll fret and fret,” said Sibyl; “and he’ll never trust me again; and the curse of God is on them that neglect the poor. Isn’t it so, Johnson? You understand, don’t you?”
“A bit, perhaps, Missy.”
“Well, I am very much obliged to you,” said the little girl. “Here’s two apples, real beauties, and here’s my new penny. Now, please lead pony out, and help me to mount him.”
Johnson did so. The hoofs of the forest pony clattered loudly on the cobble stones of the yard. Johnson led the pony to the entrance of a green lane which ran at the back of Silverbel. Here the little girl mounted. She jumped lightly into her seat. She was like a feather on the back of theforest pony. Johnson arranged her skirts according to her satisfaction, and, with her long legs dangling, her head erect, and the reins in her hands, she started forward. The basket was securely fastened; and the pony, well pleased at having a little exercise, for he had been in his stable for nearly two days, started off at a gentle canter.
Sibyl soon left Silverbel behind her. She cantered down the pretty country road, enjoying herself vastly.
“I am so glad I did it,” she thought; “it was brave of me. I will tell my ownest father when he comes back. I’ll tell him there was no one to go with me, and I had to do it in order to keep my promise, and he’ll understand. I’ll have to tell darling mother, too, to-night. She’ll be angry, for mother thinks it is good for me to bear the yoke in my youth, and she’ll be vexed with me for going alone, but I know she’ll forgive me afterward. Perhaps she’ll say afterward, ‘I’m sorry I forgot, but you did right, Sibyl, you did right.’ I am doing right, aren’t I, Lord Jesus?” and again she raised her eyes, confident and happy, to the evening sky.
The heat of the day was going over; it was now long past six o’clock. Presently she reached the small cottage where the sick boy lived. She there reined in her pony, and called aloud:
“Are you in, Mrs. Scott?”
A peevish-looking old woman wearing a bedgown, and with a cap with a large frill falling round her face, appeared in the rose-covered porch of the tiny cottage.
“Ah! it’s you, Missy, at last,” she said, and she trotted down as well as her lameness would let her to the gate. “Has you brought the apples?” she cried. “You are very late, Missy. Oh, I’m obligated, of course, and I thank you heartily, Miss. Will you wait for the basket, or shall I send it by Scott to-morrow?”
“You can send it to-morrow, please,” answered Sibyl.
“And you ain’t a-coming in? The lad’s expecting you.”
“I am afraid I cannot, not to-night. Mother wasn’t able to come with me. Tell Dan that I brought him his apples, and I’ll come and see him to-morrow if I possibly can. Tell him I won’t make him an out-and-out promise, ’cos if you make a promise to the poor and don’t keep it, Lord Jesus is angry, and you get cursed. I don’t quite know what cursed means, do you, Mrs. Scott?”