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Mary seemed to grow stronger every step.
A look of infinite content settled upon the invalid's face as she lay back on her pillows after this experiment. "My back don't ache a bit now," she said; "and when I have rested a little while, you will help me to sit up in the chair, won't you?"
"Not to-day, dear; I would not attempt too much at once. To-morrow if you feel strong enough, and have slept well, you shall try to sit in the chair, but you see if you do too much, your mother may think I am leading you into mischief."
"Yes, that she would," laughed Mary, "and that is why I must keep it all a secret. I have heard her tell father I should not put my foot to the ground until the two years was up, and really I think I should die, if I had to lie here two years longer doing nothing."
"But why don't you do something? You read of course—"
There was a gentle shake of the head on the pillow. "Mother does not like me to read much," she said. "You see the doctors said I must be kept very quiet, and I suppose it was needful at first. But I am sure I am getting better, faster than the doctors thought I should, and I get so dreadfully tired lying here that I believe I am beginning to be really ill, and shall get really worse, if I can't move about and do something soon. There dear, now I have told you all my secret, and I hope you will help me."
"Yes, that I will," said Elsie. "But don't you think you could tell your father all about it, he might be able to help you better than I can."
But Mary shook her head. "You see I am the only child, and they love me too well," she said. "You ought to be very thankful that you have brothers. I wish I had," she added, with a sigh.
"But if they love you so much," began Elsie.
"They love me more than you or I can understand," answered the invalid, solemnly.
"I know just what would happen if I spoke to father; a troubled look would come into his face and he would say, 'We must speak to mother about it; she knows best.'
"And then when he told her, she would say, 'The child is fretting because she is left alone so much; we will get another teacher for the needlework, and then I can stay at home with her in the afternoon.'
"Now I don't want that; she is the dearest mother that ever was, but when she sits with me, she always makes me think I am ill, though she does not say a word about it. And then I have a bad night, and I do feel ill the next day. It is funny, but this has happened so often, that I dare not let mother know just how I feel, for fear she should want to stay at home with me, and make me worse."
"But she would let you read some books if I brought them, and, oh! Could you dress a doll for a bazaar?" said Elsie, quickly.
"I think I could, if you would show me how to do it, and cut out the clothes," said Mary. "I should not be so dull if I had things like that to do," she added. "That is what I want,—something to do for other people, and not take all the love and care for myself, without doing anything for anybody else."
"Well, it would be a real help to me and to my friend, if you could dress this doll for us. The bazaar is in aid of the penny dinners for poor children in London; so you may feel sure that you are helping to feed some hungry child while you are doing it. Mother will cut out the frock and other clothes, and I will bring you everything ready fixed."
"Oh! I can fix it, mother has let me help her sometimes to place the work for the girls at school, but she won't bring it home to do now, because I always want to help her. She is afraid I shall get tired, when it would do me good to feel tired sometimes."
So the girls talked on, until it was nearly time for Mrs. Murray to come back from school, and then Elsie went home, taking the shawl and slippers with her, and not even telling her mother what she had wanted them for.
She went again the next afternoon, feeling somewhat anxious lest she should find Mary worse from the previous day's exertions, in which case she had made up her mind that she would not help her to walk again, although she might offend Mary, and sever the friendship that promised to bring so much sweetness and change into her life.
But to her great satisfaction, Mary declared that she was feeling better, and certainly she was looking better, Elsie thought.
"Mother says she thinks now it may do me good to have a young friend to see me sometimes," said Mary, laughing with glee. "Have you brought the slippers?" she asked, eagerly.
Elsie produced the slippers, and Mary had provided a shawl for this afternoon's expedition, so the two girls, laughing and chatting, went round the house again, Mary sitting in every kitchen chair for a minute, just to feel what it was like as she said.
Elsie let her have her way in this, but when she thought she had been walking long enough, she insisted upon her lying down to rest before she sat up again in the easy-chair by the window.
She was sitting there comfortably wrapped in the shawl, when her mother came back from school. In a moment, Mrs. Murray had taken alarm; "Oh, my dear, you must not do that," she said, looking reproachfully at Elsie, who was just going home.
"Mother, I made her do it," said Mary, quickly, "and I feel better for her coming. Good-bye, Elsie, and come to-morrow if you possibly can."
It was Mary's way of dismissing her friend before her mother could reproach her for what she had done, and she spoke with so much energy, that Mrs. Murray could only look at her in silence, until the click of the garden gate warned her, that if she wanted to lay any charge upon Elsie, as to what she might or might not do, she would have to wait and see her the following afternoon.
But it so happened that Elsie could not leave home early the next day; Mrs. Winn had some work come in, and so Elsie was obliged to wash and dress baby and take him with her, and so Mrs. Murray was compelled to go to school before she got there.
Baby was a fresh source of amusement to the invalid, for he could run about now and prattle in a fashion that was highly amusing to Mary. She was willing to lie on the couch-to-day, because baby could stand close to her, when he had overcome his shyness, and amuse her with his quaint chatter. And Mrs. Murray finding her still on the couch when she came home, felt more satisfied with Elsie.
Thus the days and weeks went on, and by degrees Mrs. Murray was won over to let Mary read the books that Elsie brought, and do a little sewing for the doll's clothes. She could not but admit, that as the summer advanced, Mary seemed better and altogether stronger, and she said it was because her father took her into the garden sometimes.
Mary admitted this, but she wanted Elsie to have her share in the improvement acknowledged, and she tried hard to persuade her father one day to let her walk a few steps, wishing to give him an agreeable surprise as to her ability to walk.
But Mr. Murray almost shuddered at the proposal. "My dear, your mother would not hear of it," he said; "you are getting a little better we can all see, and we must let well alone. Your mother would think you were fretting again if you asked such a thing, and she says Elsie Winn has cured you of that a good deal."
Mary had been on the point of telling her father once or twice that she could walk, and felt all the better for walking round the house every day. But after this talk, the girls agreed that they must keep their secret a little longer, and find out some other plan for divulging it.
Elsie had convinced Mary that it would never do to give her mother the surprise she intended, for to go and meet her coming from school would probably give her such a shock, that she would not recover from the effects of it for some days, even if she was not seriously ill through it.
Things were in this condition, when Elsie went to stay for a week or two with Mrs. Perceval, and before she came home, she had told the secret to that lady, hoping she would be able to find a way out of the difficulty for them, as Mr. Perceval was Mary's doctor now.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
DURING Elsie's stay with Mrs. Perceval, she contrived to tell her all about the friendship that had sprung up between herself and Mary, and that lady was quite glad to hear of it. But she did not know what to say of the secret walks about the house, which Mary had been indulging in for some time past.
"I must talk to the doctor about it, and hear what he says, for it was scarcely a wise thing to do, I am afraid."
"But you will not let Mrs. Murray know about it, will you?" said Elsie, pleadingly. "If it had been my own secret, I should have told my mother long ago, or if Mrs. Murray was not frightened about everything for Mary; I mean, if she was brave and wise, as my mother is, there would not have been any need for it to be a secret," said Elsie, by way of explanation.
"I will tell the doctor all about it, and he will manage everything so as not to shock Mrs. Murray or get Mary into trouble; and I hope no harm has been done by your rash experiment."
When the doctor heard the story from his wife, he laughed. "This explains a good deal that had puzzled me about Miss Mary the last few weeks. But leave it to me, I am going to Fairfield to-morrow, and I shall find out this secret, you may rely upon it."
So the next morning, he walked into the schoolmaster's house, and to Mrs. Murray's great astonishment, he said, "Now, Mary, you have been looking so much better the last week or two, I want to see if you cannot walk a few steps, at least."
"Oh, doctor but how about the two years she was to lie on her back? They are not at an end yet," said Mrs. Murray, in a tone of alarm.
"Perhaps not; but she may have improved more rapidly than was thought possible when the doctors decreed two years for her on the couch; certainly she has been much better the last few weeks," he said.
"She has slept better, and her appetite has been better," admitted Mrs. Murray.
"And she has had a little more company, I hear," said Mr. Perceval, looking quizzically at Mary, who knew then that Elsie had told the secret, as she said she should.
"I could walk round the garden, if mother would let me," said Mary, desperately.
"We shall see about that afterwards. Let me see, now, how you can walk across the room with my help," and the doctor put his hand under her arm.
"Capital!" he exclaimed, as he led her back to the couch. "Now, Mrs. Murray, she may go for a little walk every day in the open air, say to the top of the garden and back, when it is fine; if not, then a walk up and down the room for a few minutes, and I will see her again in a day or two."
"Oh, thank you," exclaimed Mary; "and please tell Elsie about it, for she has helped me to get better," she added.
"I don't doubt it," said the doctor, taking his hat and gloves, and without waiting to hear all Mrs. Murray had to say against his advice being followed, he jumped into his gig and drove away.
"That girl has done my invalid at Fairfield a world of good," he said to Mrs. Perceval, when he got home.
"I am glad their experiment has done Mary no harm," replied the lady, "and it will be a great relief to Elsie to hear it too, for I was telling her this morning it would not be wise to go against doctor's orders in that way, as a general rule."
"Well no, perhaps, it wouldn't, but I believe Mary had so strong an impulse to walk again, that any doctor would have sanctioned it, if they had known of it; and certainly her mother would, if she had not grown so terribly nervous about the girl. Now, I hope when Elsie goes home, she will help her friend to walk out a little way, every day that it is fine, and Mary will soon be as well and strong as Elsie herself. By the way, she is looking a good deal better since she came here," added the doctor.
"Yes, she does. She needed a change I felt sure, she is so very anxious lest her brother should not get this scholarship for the horticultural college. She says he is very fond of gardening, so that it will be just the thing for him; and Fairfield will be able to hold up its head, as the first village in the neighbourhood that has been able to take advantage of the bequest which was left for these scholarships."
"Oh, I think the lad is pretty sure to get it," said the doctor. "I was talking to Cotton the other day, and he says the lad has been working splendidly all the summer, and Murray is going to have him at his house in the evening from now until November, that he may help him all he can; so that I think he will pull it off all right. This girl who is staying here won a scholarship for herself they tell me; it seems a pity she could not have had it."
"Yes, it does seem a pity," said the lady, "though she might not have been such a kind, thoughtful girl, if she had had more book learning. I am sure she has been quite a comfort to me these holidays, and added to everybody's enjoyment, as well as enjoying herself, I hope."
There was little question but that Elsie was enjoying the change of air, and scene, and society. And the thought that here a slice of bread and butter—more or less—would make no perceptible difference in the larder, gave zest to her appetite, and she enjoyed her food with double relish.
It was with mingled feelings of regret and relief that she went home, for she was afraid lest she should find her mother almost worn out with the extra care and trouble that would fall upon her while she was away; but she found her looking much the same as when she left her.
"Dear, dear mother, I am glad to come back to you," said Elsie, "though I have had a splendid holiday, and enjoyed myself so much."
"You are looking better, dear," said her mother, who really was glad to see Elsie back once more, for she had missed her sadly, both for the work she took off her shoulders, and the companionship that Elsie alone could give her now. Tom tried to do what he could, but he was not Elsie, he could not share his mother's burden; for he, like the children, must be sheltered from all trouble and anxiety, and provided for somehow, or he would not be able to give that undivided attention to his books and lessons, that was an absolute necessity, if he was not to disappoint everybody's hopes on his behalf.
Mrs. Winn was very grateful to the schoolmaster for asking Tom to spend his evenings with him now. Whether he guessed that there was not too much for him at home, she did not know, she hoped he did not. But that he took Tom home with him to tea two or three times a week was a relief to her, and that he went away directly after tea, until bedtime, enabled her and Elsie to practice several little economies, without Tom's knowledge, that would have troubled him, if he had known of them. This was likewise a satisfaction to her.
So the summer passed away, and the wet dreary month of November came in, the month that was to decide Tom's fate, and about which Elsie grew nervously anxious as the time went on.
She knew now that this examination was a more difficult one than her own had been, for during her visits to Mary she heard various items of news that Mary had gleaned from her father, and Tom himself. Elsie did not venture to tell her mother of this, lest she should make her more despondent than she was.
But it was a great burden to the girl to think that her brother might fail after all, and through no fault of his own this time, for Mr. Murray had told her that Tom had got on wonderfully since he had made up his mind to try for this scholarship. If he failed it would be an honourable failure, for which he could not be blamed, as the examination was very difficult for a mere boy such as Tom was.
Tom, too, had his own private worry just now, and it was one he saw no way of getting over at present. He did not know until the end of October that the examination would be held at the horticultural college, and would occupy the greater part of a week, and during this time he would be expected to provide his own board and lodging in the town. How this additional expense was to be met, he did not know.
Mr. Cotton had mentioned the matter one day when he called at the school, and advised Tom to go over to the neighbourhood of the college before the day of examination, and look-out for lodgings.
"I think I might do that through a friend," said Tom. And there the matter had ended, so far as the clergyman was concerned; but to Tom it was a serious question, as to how he was to pay for the lodgings when they were found.
At last he thought he would write, and confide his trouble to his old friend. And, as he hoped, this brought Jack over on the following Saturday.
"Look here, old fellow," he said, "I have heard that this blessed examination will last a week, and you'll have to look-out for a lodging, unless you will put your pride in your pocket, and come and stay with me. My mother will do the best she can to make you comfortable, because of that rabbit hutch; but we are working people, you know, and rough it a bit sometimes."
Mrs. Winn looked anxiously at Tom, for it was the first time she had heard of the examination lasting a week, and she said, rather sharply, "Did you know of this, Tom?"
"Not until last week, mother. Mr. Cotton told me then that I should have to look-out for a lodging, and I thought if Jack should happen to come over, I would ask him about it."
"Bless you, I don't believe you would get a lodging for love or money nearer the college than we are. They tell me lots of chaps come for this, and it'll be a rare honour for Tom and the school, and all the lot of you, if he gets this scholarship. But he must have a place to live in while he is there, so why shouldn't you let me have a share in the honour, as well as the rest of you. We're a bit roughish as I said, but my father's getting on: he's in business for himself. Got a board as big as that wall. 'John Bond, Carpenter and Builder,' writ on it, as large as you please. So you see, Mrs. Winn, you need not mind him coming to us," concluded Jack.
Mrs. Winn did not know what to think, or what to say. She did not like being indebted to strangers for Tom's accommodation, and yet what could she do, she had no means to spare for this, and she seemed almost bewildered as to what she ought to do.
"We are very much obliged to you for your kind invitation," she said, "but I am afraid it will be giving your mother a great deal of trouble."
"Not a bit of it," said Jack. "Let me see, the examination begins next Monday week, I shall come over next Saturday and fetch Tom, so mind he is all ready, Mrs. Winn, for we shall have to start early, because I want to show Tom about the town a bit."
Mrs. Winn had no better plan to offer in opposition to this, and so the matter was settled, and a great weight of anxiety was lifted from Tom's mind, for now he was able to devote his whole attention to his lessons during this last week.
Betsy Gunn had heard about this college, and was determined to have some hand in sending Tom there if she could, and so she came in after Jack had gone, and gave him some practical lessons in grafting and pruning, which she said would be sure to come in useful.
Tom had learned to like the gossiping old woman, or he would not have paid any attention to what she had to show him. But as it was, he watched how she used her knife, and then tried to imitate her method in a way that quite delighted the woman.
He little thought, as he went on practising Betsy's lesson, how much would depend upon his compliant civility to the old woman, and how large a share Betsy Gunn would have in securing his success.
Jack fetched him the following Saturday, and he took with him quite a pile of books, which he studied every spare minute, between one examination and the other. But each in turn proved so difficult, that he almost lost heart after the first day, and it was not until the examination in practical gardening came on, that he began to hope again.
Part of what he had to do was in practical pruning and grafting, and he remembered Betsy's lesson so well, that for this he was awarded full marks, and attracted the notice of the examiner, who reported in most favourable terms on his skill and dexterity in using the pruning knife.
He knew he had done well in this examination, and went home on the Friday somewhat cheered; but still feeling very far from confident that he had passed.
Elsie saw him coming, and went out to the gate to meet him, and to hear the news. But he shook his head sadly, and walked so slowly, as though he had left all hope behind him, that a chill feeling of despair crept over the girl, and she shivered as though the cold had struck her inwardly.
"Oh, Tom, what is it?" she asked, when her brother reached the gate.
"I cannot tell yet, of course; but I am afraid to hope, Elsie. You see the examination was much stiffer than I expected it would be, and I had so little time to work up for it. I did all I could of the papers set, but I know I have not done well in some. The best I did was the one Betsy Gunn coached me in."
"Oh, Tom," gasped Elsie, holding on to the gate for support.
Tom put his arm round her and led her indoors. But either it was the cold, or the shock of his depressing news, or both together, added to the privation she was enduring, that quite overcame her, for she had no sooner sat down on the chair than she fainted, and would have fallen upon the floor, if her mother had not caught her in her arms.
"She is overtired, I am afraid, Tom; help me to carry her up to her own room, and she shall go to bed at once."
Mrs. Winn chafed her hands, while Tom filled a bottle with hot water to put to her feet; but alas, there was not much in the way of restoratives they could give her, except a cup of tea, and Tom made this while his mother helped Elsie to undress.
When she had had her tea, and was somewhat revived, Tom went to tell Mr. Murray that he feared he had failed, and should not bring the honour to Fairfield Village School that he had hoped to do.
"Never mind, my lad; you have done your best, and no man can do more. If you have failed, it is an honourable failure, and you must try again next year, you will still be eligible as to age."
But Tom shook his head. "If I have failed, sir, I must go to work, and do something to help mother; I cannot stay at school another year. I am afraid Elsie is going to be ill now," he added.
"Is Elsie ill? Is that why she has not been to see me the last two days?" asked Mary, eagerly and anxiously.
"Very likely. I have only just come in, and my news seemed to upset her so much, that she sat down and fainted when we got into the kitchen."
"Oh, poor Elsie; she will be disappointed if you have failed, Tom," said Mary. "Mother, do let me go and see her," she added.
But Mrs. Murray would not hear of it. She would call and ask Mrs. Winn how she was in the evening; and if it was fine, she should perhaps go round and see her the next day, but that was all she would concede.
"Stay and have some tea with us," said Mr. Murray. "You look as though you would be ill yourself, if you did not have something soon. Did you have comfortable lodgings, my lad?"
"Oh yes; I went to stay with a school-fellow, and he took good care of me. Everybody has been very kind."
And then they caught sight of Betsy Gunn standing at the gate, waiting to hear how he had fared.
"Come in a minute, Miss Gunn," said the schoolmaster, politely.
"I'm afraid it's no go Betsy," said Tom. "But if I should be lucky enough to scrape through at the tail end of the rest, I shall have to thank you for that place."
Betsy's brow darkened. "Do you mean to say Betsy would push you down to the last place?" she said.
"No, no; but if he gets a place at all, it will be you he will have to thank for it," said the schoolmaster, laughing.
Betsy looked from one to the other to see if they were making fun of her, as most of the village lads did.
But Tom said quickly, "It's true enough, Betsy. They set me to do some pruning and grafting, and I did it the way you showed me, while some of the fellows made a dreadful muddle of it. I did that part of the exam. well, I know, for the examiner told me so; that, you see, I may scramble through, thanks to your lesson."
Betsy nodded and went away. She had heard enough to satisfy her; the great gardeners at the college couldn't beat her dad's way of grafting, and she was content.
"I only hope this part of the examination will prove a help to you," said Mr. Murray. "It was wise of you, Tom, to accept her help, and learn all she could teach you, for I know nothing about pruning and grafting beyond what the books teach. But now sit down and have some tea; we cannot let you go until we have heard all about the papers that were set you."
So, between eating and talking, Tom did not get home until nearly eight o'clock. The children had gone to bed, but he was surprised to see his mother sitting up, with scarcely a spark of fire in the grate.
This part of the family economy, he had not been aware of until now, but he remembered to have seen it before, and he could only say,—
"Oh, mother, has it come to this, that you must sit without a fire?"
"Never mind, dear, let us get to bed now; I am tired, and so are you." And she kissed and bade him good-night as she drew him upstairs.
TOM'S SCHOLARSHIP.
"MOTHER, mother, I have got it! I have won the scholarship after all."
Tom burst in with the news about a week after the examination, and announced it to the empty room first, for his mother was upstairs with Elsie. She was still very poorly, but managed to come down and do what she could to help about the house, but by the afternoon was so tired that she had to go and lie down again. And Mrs. Winn had just gone up to tell her it was nearly tea time, and Tom would be home soon, when Tom announced himself and his success in true schoolboy fashion, without thinking of the effect it might have upon his sister.
The immediate result was all that Tom could desire. She came running downstairs before he could get up to them, and threw herself into his arms, shouting, "Oh, Tom! Tom! I am so glad, I am so glad."
And for a minute, he clasped her in his arms, and kissed her, in the fullness of his joy and relief. But instead of being content with this, Elsie clung to him more tightly, laughing and crying by turns, until Mrs. Winn came down and led her to a chair, when she became even worse, until Tom grew quite alarmed, for she was soon in hysterics of laughter and tears.
"Mother, whatever is the matter with her? She seemed all right when she came downstairs," said Tom, in a tone of alarm.
"Yes, yes; she was so glad, of course, at the good news, for we have had so little lately, but the suddenness of this has been too much for her. I am afraid she is very weak, or she would have borne it better," his mother added.
"But why should she be so weak?" asked Tom. "Of course, I know she has not been very well lately, and the disappointment, when I said I was afraid I had failed, upset her; but I thought the good news that has just come would make her well again."
"Yes, dear, it will, I daresay, when she can quite understand it, but the suddenness of it has upset her for the time."
"What is the matter?" asked another voice, at this point, and looking round, they saw Mary had come in by the back gate, which Tom had left open. "What is the matter with Elsie?" she asked, in some alarm. "I have just heard from mother that Tom has won the scholarship, and came to tell Elsie."
"Tom has told us, and it was such a sudden joy to Elsie, that it was more than she could bear," said the widow.
Elsie was more quiet now, but lay back in the chair looking very white and exhausted, though she managed to smile when Mary went and took her hand. "I am so glad," she feebly whispered.
"Mrs. Winn, she must be very ill to be so faint as this, just because of hearing good news suddenly," said Mary, for Elsie had closed her eyes, and looked almost lifeless, as she lay back in the chair.
"Yes, she is very poorly, I know," replied Mrs. Winn, and she did not look much better than Elsie herself as she spoke, for what would become of them if Elsie was really going to be ill? She put the thought away from her as too terrible for contemplation. "It is only a bad cold hanging about her, I hope," she added, as Mary stood and looked at the helpless girl. She tried to rouse her, but it was of no use.
Elsie only shivered as if cold to her bones, and at last Tom and Mrs. Winn carried her upstairs again, and her mother resorted to the same remedies that had been used when she had the first shock.
Meanwhile Mary said, "Tom, I want you to go with me to look-out for Dr. Perceval. He will be in the village, I expect, this afternoon, and my father would like to see him on business, and I want to see him too; but I should not be able to walk so fast as you can."
"No, indeed, that is not to be expected," said Tom. "It is wonderful that you can walk as well as you can."
"Ah, I should not, if it had not been for Elsie," answered Mary. "There, don't stop to talk about it now, Tom, but run on to the corner and stop Dr. Perceval, if you see him coming, or tell him to come and meet me here."
Tom was only just in time to catch the doctor as he drove past in his gig, and he went at once to meet Mary. She was still near the cottage, and when she saw him she said, "You are wanted here, doctor. Elsie is very ill; will you come and see her?"
"But Tom Winn said you wanted me."
"Yes, I want you to see Elsie, for I don't believe they know how bad she really is; and then my father would like to see you, I know, afterwards."
"Very well, I will go and see Elsie at once; but you must go home, for you are looking tired. Go home and lie down for the rest of the day, or the back will be bad again, and I know that would be a disappointment to everybody. I will call and let you know how your friend is, if you are an obedient girl," said the doctor, smiling.
"I will go home at once," said Mary, and the doctor went on to the cottage.
He found the back gate open, and went round to the kitchen entrance, and a survey of the room gave him a clue as to what was the matter upstairs. The tea things were set, and about a quarter of a loaf was on the table; Bobby and baby were standing close to it, and both were picking crumbs from it, and eating them with the greatest relish. There was a tiny scrap of fire in the grate, but the range was screwed up to its narrowest capacity, telling of such rigid economy that could not be far from actual starvation.
He knocked on the stairs, and called "Mrs. Winn," to let her know that he was there; for he was not sure from Mary's manner whether he had been sent for by the widow or not, and he did not want to give her a shock by walking up unannounced.
"I hear your daughter is very poorly. May I come up and see her?" he said, when he heard her footsteps on the stairs.
"Oh yes, certainly," said Mrs. Winn; and the next minute the doctor was at Elsie's bedside.
Standing in the cold little bedroom, looking down at the thin white face, the doctor was at his wit's end to know what to advise the poor mother to do. But at last he said, as cheerfully as he could, "I will send her some medicine as soon as I get back, and she had better stay in bed for a day or two until she gets stronger."
Then he beckoned Mrs. Winn to follow him downstairs, and he led the way to the parlour; for Tom and the children were in the kitchen, the little ones quarrelling as to who should stand in front of the handful of fire.
"Now, Mrs. Winn, what is to be done?" said the doctor, facing round and closing the door when the widow came in. She looked at him as if she did not understand what he meant. "You know it is not medicine that your little daughter needs, but food, and plenty of it. Now, you have made a brave struggle to get work here, I know, but Fairfield is not the best place in the world for a stranger, and I am afraid you have had a hard time of it; but now the question is, what are you going to do? Have you no friends who would be willing to help you a little, if it was only for a year or two, until Tom was able to earn some money? I hear he has won a scholarship."
The widow felt choked. All that the doctor said was true enough she knew, but she did not like to hear it put into such plain language.
"You do not think Elsie is very ill?" she managed to ask at last.
"Very ill!" repeated the doctor. "Why, you can see for yourself that she cannot live long if there is not a change in her condition very soon. Think now, Mrs. Winn, whether you have no friend or relative to whom you can apply. I tell you the girl's life depends upon it. She has borne her share of the struggle as long as she can, and borne it bravely. But her power of endurance is exhausted, for she is but a child after all; and so, if you do not wish to see her die of starvation, you should at once seek help from friends or relatives. Surely you or your husband must have somebody who would be willing to do something for you."
"I have a sister," gasped Mrs. Winn, "but I have not seen or heard from her for years. Her husband is a very proud man, and I offended both of them when I married."
"Well, that is over and done with now, and you are left a widow with these children dependent upon you. Surely, if your sister knew how you were placed, she would deem it her duty to do what she could to help you."
"Perhaps she would. I have never thought of asking her, for I never thought I should come to such a pass as this," and poor Mrs. Winn burst into tears, and sobbed hysterically.
"There, there, you must forgive me if I seemed to speak harshly. You must bear up, you know, or else we shall have the little maid fretting, and that would never do."
Mr. Perceval spoke as kindly and tenderly as possible; but Mrs. Winn was feeling weak and spent, and could not stay her tears now she once began to cry.
"Can you tell me your sister's name, and where, she lives, and I will send for her to come to you?"
But Mrs. Winn could only shake her head. "I must look for it," she murmured.
"Well, mind you have it ready for me by the time I come to-morrow. Now, put away all false pride in the matter, and try to think that your sister would be glad to help you, if she only knew that you were in such straits. For if we will not let our friends know that we are in need of their assistance, how are they to do their duty? Try to think of it this way, Mrs. Winn,—that by keeping your trouble to yourself, as you are doing, you are denying to your sister a right she possesses to be your helper; that is, of course, if she is likely to be in a position to help you."
"Oh, yes; her husband was a wealthy man. That was how the trouble began between us. She made what the world called a good match. Her husband had plenty of money when she married, while I—well—everybody said, I married beneath me, because my dear husband was only a clerk."
"Ah, well, there might have been faults on both sides, Mrs. Winn. Your friends might think you were wilfully rushing into poverty."
"That's what they said," interrupted the widow; "and that is why I have kept out of their way. I did not want them to know that we got a little poorer every year."
"Of course not; that was quite right. And while your husband lived, and could work for you, you did not need their help. But now, for your children's sake, it is your duty to overcome this angry feeling, and the pride that makes you wish to hide your poverty from those whose duty it is to help you. That is how you should look at it, Mrs. Winn. You have a brave little daughter, who did not shrink from doing her duty, when she knew what it was; though it must have been a hard pinch to give up that scholarship, and all it meant to her. Now she has done this, you should do your duty for her, and ask this wealthy sister to do hers. For if she has the means, she ought to help you, because you are her sister, and need it; and both ought to forgive and forget the past, with its pride and bitterness, and all that grew out of that, and the wilfulness too."
Mrs. Winn did not know herself how strong this pride and resentment was in her, until after the doctor had gone; and she went upstairs and unlocked her desk, to find a letter that had her sister's address. Then, as it seemed to her, the love and reverence she felt for her husband's memory, rose up to forbid her writing to one who never understood his worth, or spoke a kind word of him. And she almost resolved to tear up the letter, and put it out of her power, or Dr. Perceval's either, to let her sister know the straits to which she was reduced.
But just then Elsie called her from the next room, and she ran in to see what she wanted. "Oh, mother, I should like a cup of coffee and a piece of nice brown buttered toast," said the girl.
"Coffee and buttered toast, Elsie," said her mother.
"Yes, I am so tired of tea. You see we have to make it over and over again with the same tea leaves, that there is no taste in it."
Poor Elsie had eaten very little for the last week. She had refused everything they had offered her, and now this cry for coffee and brown buttered toast wrung her mother's heart.
"You shall have it, dear; you shall have it," she said. "I will get some for you very soon."
And she went downstairs and wrote a few lines to her sister, telling her that her husband was dead, and her children almost starving; and then Tom was sent with it to the post. She never dreamed but that she would receive a reply and some money in the course of a day or two, unless her sister came to her, which she might do.
But the next day passed, and the next, and there was no postman called at the cottage. In vain Mrs. Winn watched and waited by the window for him, and then at the gate. The postman went past without stopping; and when she asked if he had no letter for her, he said with a shake of the head, as though she was a child, "None to-day."
The doctor went from Mrs. Winn's to the schoolmaster's cottage to see Mary, and hear all about Tom's scholarship, for he had only heard the bare fact from Tom himself as he stopped the gig.
"I am very glad to hear it, very glad," said the doctor; "for now the lad will be no expense to his mother, and be in the way of learning a good business."
"Yes, and just the very one he likes best of all," said Mary. "It is a better scholarship than Elsie's, and Tom won't have to give it up as Elsie did."
"No, indeed, I hope not," said the doctor. "Now let us hear a little about yourself, Miss Mary," he added.
"She is getting on wonderfully well," said the schoolmaster; while Mrs. Murray said, in a quieter tone, "She certainly seems better in health than she has been for a long time."
"I can walk as far as Mrs. Winn's without feeling a bit tired," said Mary.
"Very well, let that be the limit of your walks for the present, and rest a bit there and have a chat with your friend before you come back; that is the best advice I can give you. I have told Elsie she must stay in bed a few days; but you can help her as she helped you, and by-and-bye we shall see what we shall see," added the doctor, for he had no doubt that help would speedily be sent to the widow from her wealthy sister. And he did not hear for some days that no answer came to the widow's letter.
CONCLUSION.
"MILNER, Dr. Staples wishes to see you in his study."
This was the message brought to Herbert one morning in the late autumn, just before they went into school.
"What is it, do you know?" said Herbert, stepping aside from the group of boys, who were all talking at once over some matter of great interest to them. "What is the row, do you know?" The messenger happened to be his particular chum.
"Well, I fancy it's about the lessons. You see, old fellow, they haven't been up to the mark lately. You haven't been exactly the pattern boy with the lessons this half; and it won't do, you know, for Staples to lose his pattern boy," he added, with a laugh.
But it was a good-natured laugh, and as he spoke, he drew his friend further away from the boys and their debate. "I should go at once," he added; "get it over as soon as you can, like a dose of medicine."
"Yes, I think I will. I have let things drift again, I am afraid," added Herbert, "so I shall get a wigging, and no mistake, this time!"
But either the doctor was not in a humour to give him "a wigging" just now, or Herbert's admission that he knew he had not given his full attention to his exercises lately, disarmed the master's anger. For instead of threatening all sorts of punishments if the lessons were not prepared better for the future, he talked, in a very fatherly fashion, of doing the duty that lay nearest to hand; and that in neglecting to prepare the lessons and exercises set by his teacher, he was not only defrauding himself of useful knowledge he had been sent there to gain, but would disappoint his mother, and set a bad example to some of his school-fellows. So, for all these reasons Dr. Staples said he hoped he should not have to complain; and Herbert promised that he would, in future, give more care and thought to the tasks set him to do.
He really felt thankful that Dr. Staples did not ask him what he was thinking of that his papers were so badly done. If he had asked this question, the lad would doubtless have looked very self-conscious, and the doctor would have thought that there was some mischief afoot among the boys, which Herbert had been warned not to tell. Certainly, the matter that occupied his mind could not be disclosed to the doctor.
He could not tell anyone about it, and his mother had forbidden him to write to her about it; and yet the thought pressed upon him continually, that this unknown aunt was in sore need of the money that had been left by his father for her benefit. If he could only have imparted his fears and anxieties to his mother, she would certainly have pushed her enquiries a step further, and discovered whether this Mrs. Winn he had heard about was indeed his aunt, and made sure that she was well provided for. Now it seemed that he must put away all thought of these unknown relatives, and leave them to their fate; for he was neglecting his nearest duty—his school duty; and so, as he walked away from the study to the large schoolroom, he determined to put away resolutely all thought of this Mrs. Winn, until he should return home at Christmas; and having made this resolution, he kept to it, and bent his whole energies to make up for the time he had wasted.
But the effort cost him something, and his friend noticed that before the end of the week, Herbert was looking tired and fagged.
This friend was a weekly boarder, who went home on Saturday afternoons and returned soon after breakfast on Mondays.
When he came the Monday following, he brought a note from his father for Dr. Staples, and then went at once in search of Herbert.
"I say old fellow, you don't look very bright this morning."
"Perhaps not; I have got a headache," answered Herbert, with a yawn.
"Well, my father will have to give you something for it, if it lasts all the week; for the mater says I am to take you home with me next Saturday. The gig will be here for us at two o'clock."
"But—but, Perceval, I don't know your people," said Herbert.
"What does that matter? We know each other; and I want you to see my tame rat, and old Growler, our watch-dog. Oh! There's heaps of things I want to show you; and as my father is a doctor, he may be able to give you something for the headache you have so often."
"Thank you; it is kind of you to think of me when you are away."
A day or two later, Dr. Staples told Herbert he had received an invitation from Dr. Perceval for Herbert to go home with his son on the Saturday, and stay until the Monday. "I am very glad to hear, Milner, that there has been a decided improvement in the way your lessons have been prepared since I spoke to you. If there had not been, I should have felt it my duty to decline this invitation for you. But as it is, I will see that you have the same opportunity of preparing Saturday lessons that Perceval has; and I have no doubt the change will do you good."
Herbert thanked Dr. Staples; but he was not sure that he cared very much to go home with his friend. He did not know Dr. or Mrs. Perceval; and there were some sisters, he knew; and Herbert was shy of sisters, even if they were ever so nice.
But he did not say this to his friend. Perceval seemed delighted at the thought of taking him home; and so, for his sake, he tried to feel pleased too, little dreaming what a great surprise awaited him in this stranger's home.
The gig came at two o'clock, with John the coachman to drive; and Edward Perceval asked all sorts of questions about his father and mother, and all the family of sisters, and the four-footed pets that were kept in the stable and outhouse, under John's care during the week.
Dr. Perceval was out visiting some of his patients when the boys arrived; but the afternoon passed quickly enough in visiting all the animals that the Percevals kept about the stable and barns. It was, in fact, a small farmyard, for every animal was a pet of somebody's, and by no means a common sort of cow, or goat, or dog, or horse, the children having invested them each and all with an individuality that made it a peculiar treasure, and quite a privilege, to be the owner of such a superior beast.
They teased and chaffed each other about their particular pets, in a way that perfectly amazed Herbert, although he could see it was all good-natured banter.
When the doctor came home and joined them in that most delightful of meals—high tea—they, one and all, turned to him and asked after this patient and that, as though these were another set of pets in which they were equally interested.
At last the doctor managed to say, "Poor Elsie Winn is very ill."
"Oh, papa, hasn't Mrs. Winn heard from her sister yet?"
And then, before anyone could speak, everybody's attention was drawn to their guest, and Edward came round to his side, and unfastened his necktie, as though he thought he was going to faint.
"'Elsie Winn,' did you say?" he managed to gasp.
"Yes; do you know an Elsie Winn? By the way, I believe Mrs. Winn said her sister's name was Milner," said Mrs. Perceval.
The party round the table stared with open eyes and mouths at Herbert, until their mother, out of pity for their guest, sent all of them from the room but Edward—he still stood by Herbert's chair, until he recovered himself sufficiently to be able to speak.
"I am not sure at all whether this Elsie Winn is my cousin," he said; "but my mother had a sister of that name, whom she has not seen for many years. I do not know her at all; but through a letter that came into our hands by accident, just before I came to school this term, we thought this sister might be alive; and my mother wrote to the lawyer, Mr. Capon, to make enquiries about her."
"If it is the same, she has written to your mother quite recently, but has received no answer; and to-day I found her almost in despair, for two of her children are ill now, chiefly from want of food."
"Oh, dear! And there is money in the bank that my father left, in case she should ever need it," exclaimed Herbert, almost wringing his hands at the thought of this unknown aunt being in such need. "The Elsie Winn I want to find won a scholarship, a year or so ago, and then gave it up because her father died."
"Why, that is our Elsie!" exclaimed Edward and his mother, in the same breath.
"And you know her? She lives close by here?" exclaimed Herbert, excitedly.
"Well, not exactly close by; she lives in the village of Fairfield, and that is nearly a mile and a half from here."
"But I can go and see her, and make sure that it is my aunt," said Herbert, rising from his seat, as though he would set off on his errand at once.
"Finish your tea, my lad, and then we will decide what is best to be done," said Dr. Perceval, glancing at his wife as he spoke.
They could both see that their guest was very anxious to ascertain whether the doctor's patient was his relative. And they both came to the same conclusion, that it would be best, to satisfy this curiosity with as little delay as possible.
So the doctor said, after a pause, "I should like to send a bottle of medicine to the little boy—the sooner he has it the better."
"And I want to speak to Mrs. Winn," said his wife.
"Then we can all go together," put in Edward. "How shall we go? Are you good for a three mile walk there and back, Milner?" said his friend.
"Six miles, if you like!" said Herbert, who was anxious to start at once, to solve the uncertainty as to whether this lady was his unknown aunt.
"If you walk, Ted, you will have to carry mother's medicine basket," said his father.
"Mother's medicine basket" was a joke in the family; for the doctor often asked for beef-tea and jelly to be made for his poorer patients, and this was generally taken by Mrs. Perceval in a basket that was more convenient than elegant; so that Edward might be excused for a shrug of the shoulders, at the suggestion of carrying mother's basket to Fairfield and back.
But Herbert was too anxious to see this unknown Mrs. Winn, and so he said, promptly enough, "I will carry the basket, if you will allow me, for I hope you will let me go and see this lady."
"Would you know her, do you think?" asked Mrs. Perceval.
For Mrs. Winn had told her that she had had no communication with her sister since she had been married.
Herbert shook his head dubiously. "I have never seen her," he said; "but if she is like my mother, I should know her at once."
"Very well; you and Edward shall take charge of Mrs. Perceval, and walk to Fairfield after tea; and I hope it may prove that this lady is your relative, for she stands in great need of a friend just now," said Dr. Perceval.
So mother's basket was packed with dainties, likely to tempt the appetite of an invalid, and the boys were ready to quarrel as to who should carry it, in spite of its weight and want of elegance; but they were willing to take it in turns before they had walked very far.
Mrs. Perceval told Herbert all she knew about the family who had come to Fairfield as strangers a few months before; and what a brave struggle Mrs. Winn had made to maintain her family, until her eldest was taken ill, and then she seemed to be quite crushed with the hopelessness of all the efforts she was likely to be able to make here.
"If she should prove to be your aunt, I am sure it will be quite a providence for the poor thing. For the letter she sent to her sister was returned a day or two ago, marked 'not known.'"
"Perhaps she did not know that we had moved away from London a long time ago," said Herbert.
"I don't think she has had any communication with her friends for years; and it was only at my husband's persuasion, and for the sake of her children, that she consented to write and let this sister know of her great distress."
"What shall you say, mother, when we get to the cottage? Shall you leave us outside, and go and tell Mrs. Winn a stranger had come to see her?" said practical Edward, for they were close to the village now.
Mrs. Perceval paused for a minute, to think what would be best; and she decided to take both lads with her. Edward was well-known, and she would introduce Herbert as his friend, and see whether there was any recognition on either side. And it must be confessed that the lady was a little disappointed, and so was Herbert, for he could see no trace of his mother in the worn, faded looking woman, who ushered them into the sitting room.
There he and Edward were left to themselves; and, before Mrs. Perceval came back, the question that had been like a nightmare to him for the last few weeks had been answered.
On the mantelpiece was a small miniature of a lady, and he recognised this as the companion to one his mother wore as a brooch, set with very fine pearls. This was in a cheap frame; and when the two ladies came into the room, he had it in his hand. "Pardon me," he said, looking at Mrs. Winn, "but was not this in a brooch once?"
"Yes, it is the portrait of my mother," said Mrs. Winn, staring at Herbert.
"And it is my grandmother!" said the boy, joyfully. "And so you must be my lost aunt Elsie, whom my mother has been trying to find!" As he spoke, Herbert went to meet her with outstretched hands, and kissed her, as though she had been his own mother, in his gladness at having found these unknown relatives at last.
Mrs. Winn was simply overpowered, and could not resist, although she had been prepared by Mrs. Perceval to find in this stranger her sister's son. Still, that any son of Herbert Milner could welcome her so gladly, in spite of her poverty, was something for which she was altogether unprepared. And when, a little later, she heard that the man she so greatly disliked had left her a sum of money in the bank, in case she should ever need it, she felt that she must have misjudged her sister's husband as well as her sister, and that he could not have been the hard, unfeeling man she had always thought him.
"I must see my cousin Elsie," Herbert said, when he and Mrs. Winn had exchanged various confidences. "You see, I might never have found you, if it had not been for Elsie giving up her scholarship, and that seemed such a plucky thing to do, that when mother told me about having a sister of that name, we made up our minds to try and find her, and sent to our lawyer about it; but I think lawyers are muffs very often. Old Capon has proved he is over this; for you see I have found you, aunt, and I don't mean to lose you again."
Herbert seemed likely to lose his head in his delight; and he had to be warned more than once that Elsie was ill and very weak, and that if he went upstairs to see her he must not talk much. Mrs. Perceval undertook to introduce him to the invalid, who had been told something of the wonderful news.
"This is the new cousin whom Edward brought home from school to-day," said the lady, leading the boy into the little bedroom, where Elsie sat propped up in bed to receive this stranger. The two relatives so strangely brought together, looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then Herbert bowed his head, and lifted Elsie's hand and kissed it, saying, "I am very glad to see you, Cousin Elsie, and I hope you will soon be quite well."
"Thank you," said Elsie, with the air of a little queen receiving the homage of a sworn knight; and Mrs. Perceval was amused to see the quiet way in which the two met, when they had been so afraid of excitement. Herbert held her hand tenderly in his, looking into her white face with such pity, that Mrs. Perceval, standing near, saw the tears rise to his eyes, and thought it best to hurry him away.
Downstairs he was introduced to his cousin Tom, and was a great deal more free with him. "So you are taking care of your mother and sister," he said; "and you want something to take care of in your pocket, too, I think," and the contents of his own pocket was quickly transferred to that of Tom.
And then he asked if he might come and see them all again the next day. "You see, I am at school with Perceval, and I have to go back with him early on Monday morning, so I don't know when I may see you again."
"You shall come home again with Edward next Saturday," said Mrs. Perceval.
But Herbert still pressed to be allowed to come the next day; and it was arranged that he should come early in the afternoon, and stay to tea, and Edward was to come for him in the evening.
When he got back, he asked Dr. Perceval how soon a letter could be despatched to his mother, for, of course, he wanted to tell her all about his strange meeting with his aunt and cousin.
It was rather an incoherent letter, and whether Mrs. Milner would have understood it is doubtful, if Mr. Perceval had not supplemented it by one from himself, giving that lady an account of the dire poverty into which her sister had been plunged through no fault of her own.
It is possible that if Herbert's letter had gone unsupported by that of Dr. Perceval, Mrs. Milner might have scolded him for poking and prying into things that did not concern him, as she had done before. But she had heard from some friends of this clever and kindly doctor, and knew that he was not only clever, but wealthy too; and, therefore, his letter brought a prompt and satisfactory reply at once.
She was satisfied, from her son's description of the miniature, although it had been removed from its original setting, that the Mrs. Winn described in his letter was her sister; and she enclosed a ten pound note for immediate needs, and also a letter for her sister, in which she promised to come and see her as soon as she could travel; for she was suffering from a bad cold just then, and would not be able to undertake the journey to Fairfield for a day or two.
This was just as well, perhaps, for it gave the long-estranged sisters time to correspond with each other, and so get over a little of the first strangeness of their meeting. By the end of the week, however, Herbert heard that his mother was to reach Fairfield on Saturday morning, and he would drive over to Dr. Perceval's with Edward, as had been arranged, and that he should meet his mother and aunt at Fairfield in the afternoon. When he got there he found that a considerable improvement had been effected all round. Elsie was able to come down to the sitting room, where a good fire was burning, and Herbert found his mother petting and making much of her niece.
A general glow of happiness and satisfaction seemed to pervade the cottage now, so that the lad could scarcely believe it was the same place he had entered only a week before, for then the chill desolation of the sitting room seemed to strike upon him most cruelly. The furniture was the same, the people the same; but yet how changed! For now hope pointed with rosy fingers to the future, whereas before, despair stared the widow in the face, and she saw nothing but the workhouse beyond the present starvation.
Help had come just in time to save her from utter collapse—had come, through each and all of the friends about her doing the duty that belonged especially to them—the duty that lay nearest to their hand!
If Mrs. Milner felt somewhat rebuked for her worldly-wise method of protecting herself, she made ample and practical amends for it, now that she had met her sister once more. They always had been dear friends, as well as sisters, in their early days, and so they became again.
Mrs. Winn moved away from Fairfield the following spring; for nothing would satisfy Herbert but that Elsie should go to a high school, and finish her education in the way she might have done, if she had not resigned the scholarship she had won.
Tom went to college when his mother left Fairfield, confident now that she would be cared for, and with his mind free to give all his attention to study, and to share with his friend Jack the few holidays allowed during term time.
In the future, there was no lack of means for Mrs. Winn, any more than there was for her sister. But it was agreed by all that this might have been very different, if it had not been for Elsie's scholarship, and the way she disposed of it.
THE END