The winter was not going to set in just yet after all. That bright, clear, cold Sunday was followed by a week or two of milder but very disagreeable weather—almost constant rain and very few glimpses indeed of blue sky or sunshine. Miss Mouse arrived every morning muffled up almost to her eyes to keep her dry in the pony-cart, and most afternoons the close carriage was sent from Caryll to fetch her.
There was no question of the boys going to the vicarage across the moor, and even by the road, which dried quickly, every time they walked home they could not help getting very muddy and splashed, and they could not have their own pony cart as much as usual, as their mother's pony was laid up, and old Bobbin had extra work on this account.
On the first half-holiday of this rainy weather the three elder boys went off after dinner and did notcome in till tea-time, in consequence of which Pat woke next morning with a bad cold, and Archie with a slight one. So orders were issued that there were to be no more expeditions or long walks till the wet days were over—indeed, Pat had to stay indoors altogether for nearly a week, as he had a delicate throat, which was apt to get very sore when he caught cold.
'And if you go out, Justin,' said his mother, 'you must be in early, and not hang about with damp things on.'
She knew that a 'whole half-holiday,' as the boys called it, in the house would be a terrible trouble to Justin, and even worse for other people, and as he was very strong and had never had a cold in his life, there was not much fear of his getting any harm.
'All right, mamma,' he replied. 'I'll take care of myself. I don't want to get soaked, it's so uncomfortable— I can amuse myself about the out-houses. But mayn't Archie come with me?'
This was on the first Wednesday.
No—Mrs. Hervey shook her head—Archie must not go out again to-day, as the walk to Whitcrow in the morning had been a wet one. But if Saturday was finer he might go out with Justin as usual.
'I really think Justin is improving,' she thoughtto herself with satisfaction, 'he gives in so much more readily, instead of arguing and discussing.'
The truth was that Justin was very much afraid of a talk with his father, which would probably have put him under orders to keep away from Bob Crag altogether, and this would not have suited Master Justin at all, now that the ferrets had arrived and were comfortably installed at the Moor Cottage.
So for one or two half-holidays Justin went off on his own account, returning home in good time, and as no complaints reached Mr. Hervey about him, I suppose his father took for granted that everything was right. Very likely, for Mr. Hervey was rather absent-minded at times; he thought that hehadwarned Justin, forgetting that it had been Archie and not his eldest brother to whom he had spoken of Bob that Saturday evening.
After a time the weather 'took up again,' as the country folk say. Pat's cold got better, and then came a Wednesday morning on which Rosamond asked and received leave to spend the afternoon with the big boys, her aunt saying she herself would drive over to fetch her, as she had not seen her sister, Mrs. Hervey, for some days.
There was no discussion between the four childrenas to where the afternoon should be spent. Almost without a word they all turned in the direction of the moor.
'Justin will be off with Bob and the ferrets, of course,' said Pat to Rosamond. 'So you and I can have a jolly time with old Nance and make her tell us some more stories.'
'And Archie?' inquired the little girl.
'Oh, he can do whichever he likes,' said Pat. 'I daresay he'll stay with us. He's been once or twice with Jus while my throat was bad, you know, but I don't think he cared about it much.'
And so it proved. When they got to the Crags', Bob, as well as his grandmother, was on the look-out for them, old Nance's face lighting up with pleasure.
'Are you glad to see us again?' asked Archie. 'I hope you've got some stories for us. If you know so much about fairy things, Nance, why don't you manage to get us nice fine days for our half-holidays?'
The old woman smiled.
'It's a fine day for me when I see your faces, Master Archie,' she replied, 'and that you know well enough. But to be sure the weather has been contrary the last week or two. Come in, come in, missie dear—there's some of my little cakes allready. Won't you come in too, Master Justin, before you go off with Bob? I've been fearing you might have got cold when you were here last week; it was such a very wet day.'
'No fear,' said Justin amiably. 'Bob and I aren't made of sugar or salt, are we, Bob? I'll come in for a minute, thank you, Nance, but we mustn't be long, or we'll have no fun. It gets so soon dark now, and papa's vexed if we don't all go home together.'
'To be sure,' said the old woman, 'and quite right too. You'll never find me wanting you to do anything your dear papa and mamma wouldn't like, my dears.'
So saying she led the way into her quaint little kitchen, all tidied up and bright as the children always found it—the cakes and a large jug of milk set out as before on a small table near the pleasantly glowing fire.
'Are you coming with Bob and me, Archie?' Justin inquired. 'Pat's a donkey—no use asking him.'
Pat took this uncomplimentary speech very calmly. Archie hesitated.
'Come along,' said Justin, 'that's to say if you're coming,' for having made away with at least threeof the tempting little cakes, he was now in a hurry to be off.
'Don't go, Archie,' said Rosamond, speaking low, so that the elder boys could not hear, and her words decided Archie.
'I'd rather stay here, thank you, Jus,' he said. 'You've got Bob, so you don't really need me.'
'You are a softy,' said Justin as he ran off, but Archie, backed by Pat and Rosamond, did not care.
'Now, Nance,' said Pat, when most of the cakes and milk were disposed of, 'we're ready for your stories.'
The old woman had drawn a stool to the fire and was sitting there facing it, the reflection casting a pleasant glow on her sunburnt cheeks and keen bright eyes. She was always a nice-looking old woman, but just now she really looked quite pretty.
'How fond you are of the fire, Nance,' said Archie; 'do you have one all the year round?'
'Mostly so, Master Archie,' she replied. 'You see old folk like me grow chilly. It's not often I feel too hot, even in the midsummer days. And here on the moorside there's always a breeze more or less. Yes, I love my bit o' fire, Master Archie—you're about right there, but all the same I'd ratherface cold than be choked in a town and have no fresh air, like some poor things have to bear their lives.'
'Nance,' said Miss Mouse suddenly; she had been sitting silent watching Bob's granny, 'it's so funny, it seems to me that when you stretch out your hands to the flames they give a little jump towards you and then dance up the chimney ever so much higher than before. Are you a sort of a fairy, dear Nance?'
Pat glanced at the little girl half uneasily. He knew that some of the people about called Mrs. Crag a witch, and 'uncanny,' and words like that, just because she was a stranger and different in her ways and looks from her present neighbours, and he was afraid that Nance's feelings might be hurt by little Rosamond's question.
But it was not so—on the contrary the old woman seemed pleased, and smiled brightly.
'You must have a bit of the fairy knowing yourself, missie dear, to have noticed it,' she said. 'I've been told I get it from my grandmother, who had fairy ways, there's no denying. And no harm in them either, if one doesn't think too much of them, or fancy oneself more than one is. But I've always had a kind of luck, hand-in-hand with troubles, fortroubles I've had, and many of them, in my long life. More than once when I've thought they'd be too much for me there's come a turn I had little hope of. Maybe the good people aren't gone so far as we think, after all,' and old Nance smiled at the idea.
'Tell us some story of your good luck,' said Pat suddenly. 'It's always so nice to hear a story from the person it really happened to.'
Nance considered. Then she suddenly slipped her hand inside the front of her bodice and drew out a tiny little chain; it was only a steel chain, but very finely worked, so that it looked more like a silver thread, and on it hung a tiny coin with a hole in it through which a ring had been passed. She held it out for the children to see.
'Oh what a weeny, weeny little sixpenny, or threepenny—which is it?' exclaimed Rosamond.
'It's neither, missie dear,' the old woman replied. 'It's a lucky penny, and if you like I'll tell you the story of how I came by it.'
'Oh do, do,' said all three together; Archie adding, 'Did you really get it from the fairies, Nance?'
'You shall hear,' she replied, smiling, and then they all settled themselves to listen.
'When I was a little girl,' she began, 'you'll remember, my dears, that my home was on the edge of a moor, something like this, but wilder and far larger and farther away from any village or town—railways I needn't speak of, for such a thing hadn't even been dreamt of in these long-ago days,' and the far-away look came into the old woman's eyes as she stopped speaking for a moment.
'Is it a hundred years ago since you were a little girl?' asked Miss Mouse.
Nance smiled again.
'Not quite,' she replied, 'though none so far off it either. But long ago as it is, I remember that first part of my life so well, so clear and distinct it seems sometimes that I could fancy it much nearer than things that happened a few years back only. I was an orphan, like my poor Bob now, and I lived with my granny, same as Bob lives along wi' me. 'My granny had come of——' here Nance hesitated, but went on again—'after all there's no shame in it,' she said—'she'd come of gipsy-folk, and when her husband died—he was a steady, settled sort of man, a gardener at some big house, but he died young—she was that lonely and lost-like, she went back to her own people with her little son, and he marriedamong them, so I'm three parts gipsy, you may say. Both father and mother of mine died too—there's many that dies young among our people, and some that lives on and on till you'd think death had forgotten them, and that was the way with my granny. But she wasn't so very old when the feel took her that she'd like to settle down again, she'd got into the habit of a home of her own while her husband lived. So one time when the vans were passing near by where had been her little place, she takes a sudden thought that she'd like to see the fam'ly again, and what did she do but she carried me in her arms and walked some miles to the big house. The Squire was dead, but his lady was living in the Dower House hard by, and the young Squire—none so young by now—was at the hall with his wife and children. And they were pleased to see her and kindly sorry for her troubles, and the Squire said she should have a cottage if there was one to be had, if she'd settle down near them. For my grandmother, for all her gipsying, was a clever, useful woman, as good as a doctor for the cures and comforts she could make with her knowledge of herbs and wild growing things, and where she once gave her faithfulness she'd never draw it back again.So it was fixed that she should make her home there again, though her own folk were none best pleased to lose her.
'At first we lived in two rooms in the village, but granny felt choked like, and she found a bit of a place on the moorside which had once been used for the gentry to eat their lunch in when they were out shooting, and the Squire was very kind and did it up for us quite tidy, and there we lived, though it was sometimes harder than any one knew; for all we had was what granny made by odd days' work here and there, and by selling her dried herbs and drinks she made of them. But as I got bigger the quality at the big house were very kind to me—it was seldom granny needed to buy clothes for me, and the housekeeper taught me nice ways about a house, so that when the time came I was ready for a good service. That's neither here nor there, though, that came afterwards; the time I got my lucky penny I was still a slip of a child, nine or ten at most.
''Twas haymaking—a beautiful dry haymaking, hot and sunny, I remember well. Granny was out with the best of them, hard at work early and late. I went to school in the village, but there wasn't much schooling that week or two. 'Twasn't so strictas now—an hour or two in the morning and then we'd be told we might all run home, to help while the splendid weather lasted. Grandmother worked for the Squire; I was always sure to find her about the fields and have my bite of dinner with her, and then the little ladies and gentlemen would have me play with them at whattheycalled "haymaking," though it was a funny kind enough—more tossing and tumbling and laughing and shouting than any help to the haymakers. But we did enjoy it.
'Well there came an afternoon that my granny was off working in a field a good bit farther away than usual. She told me in the morning not to go after her, for she didn't care for me to walk so far in the hot sun—she was very careful of me, poor dear—and she'd asked the housekeeper if I might have a bit of dinner at the big house, seeing that the young ladies and gentlemen wanted me to make hay with them in what they called their own field, a paddock just outside the kitchen garden. And there I found them, and a rare good play we had that afternoon, finishing up with a nice treat of cakes and milk when we were too tired and hot to play any more.'
'Were the cakes like those you make for us?' asked Rosamond.
Nance nodded, well pleased.
'You've guessed it, missie,' she said. 'They're the very same. 'Twas there I learnt to make them. And then I was starting to go home when I heard a cry from Miss Hetty, the youngest and sweetest, to my thinking, of all the young ladies. "My ring, oh my ring, with the blue stone," she called out. "My birthday ring! I've lost it. I pulled it off and was trying if it would swing on a blade of grass—oh, do help me to find it—my dear little ring."
'Poor Miss Hetty—she'd only had the ring since her birthday the week before, when her mamma had given it her, telling her to be sure not to lose it, for it was one that had been a long time in the family. So no wonder she was vexed about it. How we did hunt for it—we searched and we searched where we had been playing, though feeling all the time there was scarce any use looking for so small a thing in such a place. And Miss Hetty cried till her eyes were all swollen at the thought of having to go home to tell her mamma. And when I went back to my granny and told her about it, it was all I could do not to cry too.
'Granny had her own thoughts about most things.
'"Go to bed, lovey," she said, "and I'll wish awish for you into your pillow and see what'll come of it."
'And sure enough the next morning I'd a strange dream to tell her.
'ALL OF A SUDDEN HE STOOD STRAIGHT UP AND BEGAN THROWING THINGS AT ME FOR ME TO CATCH—IT WAS THE LITTLE SUNS!''ALL OF A SUDDEN HE STOOD STRAIGHT UP AND BEGAN THROWING THINGS AT ME FOR ME TO CATCH—IT WAS THE LITTLE SUNS!'
'"Granny," I said, "this was the dream that came out of my pillow. I thought I was standing on the moor watching the sun set, and I kept looking at it and the beautiful colours in the sky till my eyes seemed to be full of them, and whichever way I turned there was little suns dancing about—on the ground and everywhere. And then I caught sight of an odd-looking figure stooping down as if looking for something. It was a little old hunch-backed man, and I knew without being told that he was one of the good people. All of a sudden he stood straight up and began throwing things at me for me to catch—it was the little suns! They came flying towards me, red and yellow and all colours, but like soap-bubbles they melted before I could catch them, till at last, to my great delight, I did catch one and held it tight in my hand, when it felt firm and hard, like a round coin.
'"'I've got it,' I cried, and the old man laughed.
'"'Keep it,' he said, 'it's not everybody that catches a lucky penny. And maybe it'll help you to getback missie's ring for her,' and with that I awoke. But oh, granny," I went on, "it can't be all a dream, for look here," and I held out my hand to her, "Ihavegot something—see I've got a real little piece of money."
'And that very coin is the one I've worn round my neck for all these many, many years.'
'Whatdidyour granny say?' asked the children breathlessly.
'Not very much,' Nance went on, 'she smiled and told me I was a lucky girl, and I must think on what I'd been told by the old man in my dream. And so I did. Before the sun was any height in the sky, long before the young ladies at the big house would be stirring, I was up at the paddock again searching for the ring. And granny told me what to do. I was to put the lucky penny as near as I could guess in the very centre of the field and then to walk round it in widening circles, always looking carefully downwards while I said this rhyme to the good people—
Here's my lucky penny, take it an ye will,But give me back the treasure hidden by you still.
All this I did, and——'
'What? do say quick,' cried the children.
'Before I had made many circles I saw something glittering, and stooping down there it was—the tiny ring with the blue stone, sparkling in the morning sunshine. You can fancy how pleased I was, and how I hurried up to the house with the good news for Miss Hetty, who had just awakened. The ring was really hanging on a blade of grass, just as she said. Oh, shewasdelighted!'
'And how did you get the silver penny back again?' asked Pat. 'You couldn't have looked for it, for you see you had promised it to the fairies, hadn't you?'
'Yes, of course, and one must always keep to their bargain with the fairies,' said Nance. 'No, I didn't look for it, but late that evening when granny was closing the shutters, she called me to look at something sparkling in the moonlight on the window-sill. It was my lucky penny. And from that day to this I've never been without it, and many a time it's seemed to give me fresh courage and spirit in the midst of troubles, and one thing is true—all my life through I've never been brought to such a pass as to have to part with it, though now and then the need has come very near. But something's always turnedup just in the nick of time to save it; I've always pulled through, though I had an ailing husband for many a year, and the father of poor Bob there, my only son, was cut down in the prime of life, he and his young wife, leaving me another young boy to bring up when I was more fit myself to be sleeping quiet and peaceful in the old churchyard.'
And old Nance wiped away a gentle tear or two that were struggling down her brown cheeks.
Little Rosamond stole her hand into Nance's.
'You've got friends now, haven't you? And I'm sure Uncle Ted or Mr. Hervey would help you about Bob any time if you needed help.'
'Yes, missie dear, I've much to be thankful for, and I hope and trust poor Bob'll take to steady ways like his father and grandfather before him, though there's times I worry about him a bit—he's a loving boy, but he's got the gipsy restlessness in him too.'
Nance's story had taken longer to tell than might seem the case. For she had stopped now and then, and the children had asked questions and made remarks. So they were all a little startled when, glancing out of doors, they saw how fast the daylight was fading and the twilight creeping on.
'We must be going,' said Pat, starting up, 'and there's Justin not back, and if he's late we'llallbe scolded. Papa has made a regular rule that we're all to come in together.'
Nance looked anxious.
'Bob's that feather-brained,' she said, for she never liked to blame the Hervey boys. 'But you'd best start, my dearies, and I'll whistle. It'll bring them back if they're anywhere near, and I don't fancy they're farther off than one of the farms straight across from here. And will it be nextholiday you'll come for some more of old Nance's little cakes and long tongue?'
'Not next half-holiday,' said Miss Mouse with some regret,' for Auntie Mattie is going to take me to—the town—where there are shops, you know—there's something I want to buy,veryparticular.'
'Ah, well, you'll always be welcome—welcome as the flowers in May whenever you do come,' said their old friend, and she stood at the door whistling, a curious clear whistle which carried far, as the three set off for home.
'I do hope Justin will overtake us,' said Miss Mouse. 'It would be such a pity if your papa was vexed, for then he might say we mustn't go to old Nance's any more. Wasn't it queer about the lucky penny? Do you think the fairy man really brought it back or that it was a sort of little trick of her granny's?'
'I don't know,' said Pat. 'I was wondering about it, but I wouldn't have liked to say to her that perhaps it was a trick.'
'I'll tell you what,' said Archie, with the tone of one who has quite settled the question, 'Ibelieve the grandmother herself was partly a fairy—gipsies are a little like fairies, you know.'
Neither Pat nor Rosamond laughed at this, for in their hearts they had a feeling that Nance herself had something—I won't say 'uncanny,' for the old woman was too sweet and kind for that word quite to suit her—but something not quite like other people about her. But none of the three would have hinted at anything of the kind before Justin—he would only have made fun of it. And there was no time to say more, for almost as Archie left off speaking, they heard rapid footsteps behind them, and then a whistle and then Justin's voice, calling to them to stop till he came up to them.
'It's a good thing you've come,' said Pat. 'I don't know what we could have said to papa—he'd have been sure to ask why we hadn't kept all together. What have you done with Bob?'
'He's looking after the ferrets, of course,' said Justin. 'We were only at Bream's farm, and Bob heard Nance's whistle. We did have a jolly good rat-hunt,' and he was beginning a description, when the others stopped him.
'Archie and I don't want to hear about it,' said Pat, 'and I'm sure Miss Mouse doesn't.'
'She has a fellow-feeling for rats perhaps,' said Justin, laughing at what he thought his own wit.
'No girl would like horrid things like ratting,' said Pat, 'and if papa knew——' he stopped short.
'Doesn't Mr. Hervey know that you've got ferrets?' asked Rosamond.
'I don't suppose he's ever thought about it,' said Justin; 'he's never said we weren't to have them. It's our own money—the only thing was that mamma doesn't like them kept at home.'
'Oh then,' said Miss Mouse, 'you've managed to pay them, have you?'
'Notallthe money,' said Justin, hesitating a little,' and indeed Bob was saying to-day we'll have to be thinking about it. He's had rather to keep out of the way of the place where he got them, for fear of the people bothering.'
'You won't let poor Bob get into any trouble, will you?' said Rosamond anxiously.
'Of course not,' said Justin; 'all the same it was he that made the bargain, and he knew we hadn't got all the money ready. Of course I don'twanthim to get into any bother.'
'You'd better take care,' said Archie, 'papa was saying that Bob's getting spoken against a good deal, though he didn't exactly say how. I don't believe the least bit that he's a naughty boy, but it wouldbe too bad to let him get into a scrape for us—or for you, rather, Justin.'
'It's no more for me than for you,' said Justin. 'You're a turncoat, as I've told you, Archie. You were just as pleased about the ferrets as I was, at the beginning.'
Archie did not reply; and it certainly would not have been a good time to begin a quarrel—ifeverthere is a good time for a bad thing?—for they were just at home by now, and Hec and Ger met them on their way in with the news that Aunt Mattie had come for Miss Mouse and that schoolroom tea was quite ready. Rosamond had to hurry over her tea, as Mrs. Caryll did not think it worth while to 'put up,' and yet it was too chilly to keep the horse standing long.
'You shall have a little extra supper to-night, dear, to make up,' she said. 'You shall come in to pudding with Uncle Ted and me, instead of only to dessert.'
'Thank you, auntie,' said the little girl. 'I wasn't very hungry at tea-time, for I had two cakes at old Nance's and some beautiful milk.'
Mrs. Caryll turned round in some surprise—they were in the brougham on their way home—'Cakesand milk at old Nance's,' she repeated. 'I didn't know the boys were allowed to go there. Why have you never told me about it before, or is this the first time you have been?'
'Oh no,' Miss Mouse replied, for she had no thought of concealment or deception, beyond her wish not to chatter about the Hervey children's affairs unnecessarily—what Justin called 'tell-taleing'—'oh no, auntie. I think it's the third time we've been there. The boys often go—old Nance is very good and kind, and she tells us such pretty stories.'
Mrs. Caryll felt a little perplexed. It seemed curious that Rosamond should never have spoken of these visits before—and yet—it was so impossible to think of the little girl as anything but frank and truthful that her aunt did not even like to repeat her question as to why she had kept silence about the cottage on the moor. It would seem like doubting Rosamond. So for a moment or two Aunt Mattie sat thinking without speaking.
She had not long to wait.
'Auntie,' said Rosamond, in a puzzled tone, 'it wasn't wrong of me not to tell you before about our going to see Nance, was it? It was only that Justinexplained to me that boys are different from girls—they don't like every little thing they do to be told over at home, and I have seen for myself that Miss Ward is rather fussy. Justin and Pat call it "tell-taleing," so I thought I just wouldn't talk about themunlessthey did anything naughty, and even then I wouldn't have told without tellingthemI was going to tell, though I'm sure they wouldn't do anything naughty, not Pat and Archie, anyway. And I really don't see much of Jus—he doesn't care for stories, and he goes off with Bob and the ferrets.'
'Ferrets,' repeated Mrs. Caryll, 'have they got ferrets?'
'Yes,' Rosamond replied. 'I've not seen them, but I know they've got them. And they don't keep them at Moor Edge, because Mrs. Hervey doesn't like them. It isn't tell-taleing of me to have told you about them, is it, auntie?' she asked anxiously.
Mrs. Caryll felt distressed at the little girl's rather troubled tone.
'Of course not, dearie,' she said lightly. 'You may trust me not to make mischief. I quite see that it has been a little difficult for you.'
In her own mind she decided, however, that she would take measures to find out quietly, withoutinvolving little Rosamond, something more as to these very independent doings of her nephews, especially Justin.
'They had no right to take her to the Crags' cottage without special and distinct leave,' she thought to herself, 'though I feel pretty sure no harm would come to them through old Nance.'
For Aunt Mattie had often seen and talked to the old woman, and had a high opinion of her, though she thought it a pity that Nance kept on such distant terms with her neighbours, and she feared too that his grandmother was not quite strict enough with Bob, as there was no doubt that the prejudice against the boy's wild, untameable ways was doing him harm, and would do him still more harm in the future unless it could be got rid of.
'I will talk it over with Ted,' she said to herself. 'He always sees ways out of difficulties. Now it would be the very making of the boy if we could find a place for him in our stables under Peterson.'
Peterson was Mr. Caryll's coachman, and a very superior man, for he had travelled with his master at one time—not like Griffiths at Moor Edge, who, though most trustworthy in every way, had never been very many miles distant from home in his life,and was full of all the prejudices and even superstitions of that part of the country.
But Aunt Mattie kept all these thoughts in her own mind, and after a minute or two's silence she began to talk to Rosamond about other things, as she did not want the little girl to trouble herself about what she had told or not told of the boys' affairs.
'Next Saturday,' said Mrs. Caryll, 'I shall have to drive to Weadmere—there is a better toyshop there than at Crowley. Would you like to go with me and try if we can get a ball for little Ger like yours? And you have never been at Weadmere, I think—it would be a little change for you.'
Rosamond's face brightened up at once.
'Oh, thank you, auntie,' she said; 'yes, I should like very much to go and to see the toyshop, because, you know, there'll soon be Christmas presents to think about, and it would be a very good thing to find out in plenty of time where I could get them best. I did tell the boys I didn't think I could spend next half-holiday with them, because I was sure you wouldn't forget about the ball for Ger, auntie. I've got the money quite ready.'
She was again her own bright womanly little self,eager and delighted in the thought of doing something or anything for others.
'And I'm getting on nicely with my savings for Christmas,' she chattered on happily; 'you know, auntie, I don't wear out nearly so many gloves here as when I was with mamma in London and Paris, so I really can save a lot.'
'All right, darling,' said her aunt, 'we shall go to Weadmere on Saturday and you shall have a good look round. It is wise to prepare in plenty of time, for I shall be sending a box to your mother very soon, and the Christmas presents can go in it. By the bye, how is the lamp-mat you are making for her getting on?'
'Oh, quite well,' Miss Mouse replied. 'Miss Ward lets me do a little every day while we're reading aloud. It'll be finished very soon.'
'That's a good thing,' said Mrs. Caryll, and by her tone Rosamond felt satisfied that her aunt was quite pleased with her, and it was a very contented and light-hearted Miss Mouse who fell asleep that evening at Caryll after her usual pleasant half-hour or so with her uncle and aunt before bed-time.
Mrs. Caryll did not forget to talk over things with her husband when they were alone, and helistened attentively, as he knew Aunt Mattie was too sensible to imagine or exaggerate such matters, and he was really interested in the Hervey boys.
'Yes,' he said, 'it might be, as you say, the making of Bob Crag to get him into some good steady place where there would be no prejudice against him, and yet where he would be looked after with some strictness. I don't myself believe there's any harm in him. To tell you the truth,' and here he hesitated a little—'to tell you the truth I feel more anxious about Justin. There is a touch of the bully in him that I don't like, and— I don't feel sure that he is always quite straightforward and truthful.'
'That would be worse than anything,' said Aunt Mattie, rather sadly. 'I have tried to draw him and Pat more together, and I think Pathasbeen more companionable. But I don't feel happy about Justin, either. I don't like his trying to stop little Rosamond's innocent chatter—it is a pity to put it into a child's head that therecanbe such a thing as "tell-taleing" when children are simple and obedient.'
'Yes,' said her husband, 'I agree with you. I will think it over, and perhaps I may manage to havesome talk with Justin one of these days. He will soon be going away to school, and if he has been getting out of good habits at home in any way, it will not be a strengthening preparation for the new trials and temptations of school life.'
And as Mrs. Caryll knew that she could depend upon Uncle Ted always to do more rather than less of anything he promised, she too went to bed that night with an easier mind, little thinking that a shock was on its way to startle selfish Justin far more than any words, however serious and earnest, of his uncle's.
On Saturday afternoon, as it was a fairly good day, though cold and not without signs of snow not very far away, Mrs. Caryll and Rosamond set off, as had been planned, for Weadmere, the other little town for shopping in the neighbourhood. It was rather a larger place than Crowley, though not so prettily placed, but Rosamond enjoyed the drive in a new direction, and was eager to pay a visit to the 'toy-and-fancy-shop,' as it was called.
In those days a half-holiday once a week for shop-keepers was not as generally the rule as it is now, but at Weadmere it had for long been the custom to close on Thursday afternoons. And Saturday wasquite a lively day in the little town, as the country folk came in to make their purchases for the following week. So Rosamond found it very amusing; even at the draper's, where she went in with her aunt—and a draper's is not usually counted an interesting kind of shop by children—she was much entertained by watching and listening to the conversation of the farmers' wives and others over their purchases. The way they tugged at merino, and rubbed calico between their fingers to see that there was not too much 'dressing' in it, made her feel as if it would be very difficult indeed to be sure of a 'genuine article,' as the shopman called all his stuffs in turn.
At this shop and at the toyshop, where, to her great delight, Rosamond found just the kind and size of ball she had set her heart on for little Gervais, the proprietor made one of his boys go out to hold the pony. But after this Mrs. Caryll had to drive to a less busy part of the town, to order some wire baskets to hang ferns in, at a working tinsmith's. And here there was no odd boy in the shop. She did not like to leave Rosamond alone outside, as she was afraid of the pony starting, but just as she was looking about her what to do, she caught sight of a littlefellow sauntering down the street, and called out to him. He ran up at once.
'Will you hold the pony for a few minutes?' she was saying, when Rosamond interrupted her.
'It's Bob, auntie,' she said, 'Bob Crag. Of course he'll hold Tony, and may I stay out? I'm quite warm, and I've got the parcels all nicely packed under the rug.'
'Very well,' replied Mrs. Caryll, for she knew the tinsmith's would not be interesting to her little niece, and with a friendly nod to Bob, who was tugging at his cap, she went into the shop, or workroom, for it was scarcely like a shop.
Miss Mouse was quite excited at meeting Bob.
'How funny for you to be here,' she said. 'Have you come to do some messages for your grandmother?'
'No thank you, miss,' said the boy, meaning to be very polite. 'Granny buys all she wants at Crowley; no, I didn't come here for no messages of hers.'
Something in the sound of his voice made the little girl look at him more closely, and she saw that he had been crying, though he turned away quickly and began fiddling at the pony's harness as an excusefor hiding his face. But Miss Mouse was not going to be put off like that.
'BOB,' SHE SAID, HE PRETENDED NOT TO HEAR HER.'BOB,' SHE SAID, HE PRETENDED NOT TO HEAR HER.
'Bob,' she said. He pretended not to hear her.
'Bob,' again more loudly and determinedly this time.
'Beg pardon, miss, did you speak?' said the boy.
'Yes, Bob, I did, and you heard me. You were only pretending not to, because you didn't want me to see that there's something the matter with you. Look at me, Bob,' and he dared not disobey. When Rosamond spoke in that queenly way she was very awe-inspiring.
'I see,' she said, 'you have been crying, Bob. Now what is the matter? Have you been doing anything naughty, or what is it?'
He brushed his coat sleeve across his eyes, and tried to choke down a sob.
'No, miss,' he managed at last to get out; 'leastways I never meant to do anything wrong— I never did, for certain sure, I never did. And I dursn't tell you, miss, for fear of worser trouble— I really dursn't, unless——' he looked up, his eyes brimming over—his sweet, pathetic dark eyes; and Rosamond's tender heart grew very sore.
'Unless what?' she said.
''Twouldn't be right to say it, I don't think,' he replied hesitatingly; ''twas only if you'd not mind promising not to tell—it'd make such a trouble up to Moor Edge. I dursn't try to see Master Justin, and I don't believe he can do aught to put it right. But poor granny, she'd be that worrited, and I know she's a bit short just now.'
'Short of what? What do you mean?' asked the little girl.
'Short of money, miss, to be sure,' replied Bob. 'I dursn't ask her for it—it'd put her about so, and she'd worry terrible about it all.'
'But I don't understand what it is,' said Rosamond. 'I do wish you'd explain quickly.' Then, as a sudden idea flashed into her mind—'Oh,' she exclaimed, 'can it be about the ferrets? Have you got into trouble about them? If you have, it's all Justin's fault, and he should get you out of it.'
Again Bob brushed his sleeve across his eyes.
'He's done all he could, he has indeed, miss,' he said. 'It's them I bought the creatures from that's making all the trouble—there's stories about, you see, again' me—that I've been ferreting for rabbits—and that'd bestealing; and the man who sold them to me says he'll have me up for it if I don't pay all that'sstill owing very first thing to-morrow morning. And he's put on to the price—he has for sure, though he says he hasn't. It's six shilling still to pay, and how or where I'm to get it, goodness only knows,' and here Bob's feelings entirely overcame him, and he burst into tears.
Miss Mouse had hard work to keep back her own—she could not bear to see the change in the poor boy, who had always before seemed so full of life and spirits. And she knew that all he had done and risked had been out of his unselfish devotion to Justin. Half unconsciously her hand went into her pocket, where, safely nestling, was her little purse; but she did not draw it out, for she remembered that it only contained sixpence. Miss Mouse was a careful little person; she kept her money in a tiny cash-box, and only took out what she needed to use. The ball for Gervais had cost a shilling, and she had brought eighteenpence with her.
'Six shillings,' she repeated, 'it's a lot of money!'
'That it is,' said Bob, with despair in his voice.
Miss Mouse considered. She had been hoping to have ten shillings for her Christmas presents. There was still to come her December pocket-money, out of which she was expected to buy her gloves, and inthe country, as she had told Aunt Mattie, gloves last much longer, so that she was not far off her goal. But six shillings! That would leave her at most only four. It was something very like a sob that the little maiden choked down before she spoke again.
'Bob,' she said, 'I'll— I'll lend it you—or give it you, for I don't see how you can ever pay it me back, unless—unless Justin does,' and, to tell the truth, she had small hopes of Justin. He was selfish and thoughtless.
Bob looked up at her with brimming over eyes.
'Miss— O miss!' was all he could say.
'Yes,' she repeated, 'I'll give it you. I couldn't bear you to get into trouble, or for poor Nance to be unhappy. She's been so good to us. I haven't got the money with me. We must plan how you can fetch it, for I suppose you must have it to-night?'
'Or to-morrow morning, miss, so early that I couldn't disturb you. Yes, to-night would be best, and Iwillpay it you back, miss, first earnings as ever I get. You'll see—but—but won't your folk—beg pardon—won't the lady and gentleman at Caryll Place be angry with you, miss?'
Rosamond considered.
'No,' she replied, 'it's my very own money. But don't trouble about that part of it, Bob. I'll take care not to get you into any fresh trouble, nor,' with a little smile, 'myself either.'
And in her own mind Miss Mouse decided that once she was sure poor Bob was safe, she would tell Aunt Mattie 'all about it.' 'I don't think that would be a wrong kind of tell-taleing,' she decided. 'It wouldn't be right not to tell, for Justin shouldn't have risked poor Bob's getting into trouble. I'll tell auntieeverything, and then she'll know how to do without making Justin angry with Bob.'
And when Mrs. Caryll came out of the tinsmith's Bob was standing quietly by the pony's head—he had quite left off crying. She thanked him with a pleasant nod and smile, and hoped she had not kept him waiting too long.
'I didn't give him anything for holding Tony,' she said to Rosamond. 'I think perhaps it would have hurt his feelings.'
'Oh, I'm sure he'd rather do it for nothing, auntie,' answered the little girl.
But she said no more about Bob. She meant to do right, and she thought she was doing right, butyet it gave her a rather unhappy feeling not to be able at once to tell her aunt the whole story.
She had planned with Bob to meet him that very evening with the money, so she was glad that Mrs. Caryll, finding it a little later than she thought, drove home at a good pace.
Uncle Ted was on the look-out for them when they got home.
'It's cold, isn't it?' he said. 'Still I don't think we shall have snow just yet,' and he glanced up at the sky. 'I want you, as soon as you can spare me a few minutes, Mattie, to look over these letters we were speaking about.'
'I shall be down directly,' said Mrs. Caryll. 'Run off, Rosamond dear, and get ready for your tea. It is pretty sure to be ready for you.'
And so it was. Everything seemed to fit in for the little girl's plans. The maid who waited on her was not in Rosamond's own room when she went upstairs, so Miss Mouse contented herself with taking off her hat and jacket, keeping on her boots to be ready for her expedition to meet Bob. She also got out a fur-lined cloak, which had been putaway as too shabby for anything but a wrap, and a little close-fitting fur cap to match. These she carried downstairs and hid them in a corner of the sofa in the small breakfast-room which was considered her own quarters. And safe in her pocket nestled her oldest purse—Miss Mouse liked to have 'best' and 'common' among nearly all her possessions—containing the exact sum, six shillings, which she had promised Bob.
She ate her tea quickly; her little heart was beating faster than usual with excitement, some fear, and a good deal of real regret at having to part with her precious savings, though, on the other hand, there was a feeling of great pleasure at being able to get poor Bob out of trouble, and to save his kind old grandmother the distress of mind she would certainly have felt.
For, as I have said before, Miss Mouse was a very sensible little girl. She quite understood that any trouble of the kind would have done special harm to poor Nance and her grandson, on account of the prejudice already felt against them.
Her heart began to beat still more quickly when she found herself out of doors, and though she was so warmly wrapped up, a queer cold feelingran down her back, and her arms seemed all shivery.
'I'll take a good run,' she thought. 'That will make me feel better, and I've scarcely walked or run at all to-day.'
So it did. She was a strong little girl in many ways, and accustomed to plenty of exercise, and the keen fresh air soon made her glow all over, as she ran along the smooth, hard road.
Bob had fixed on a certain corner as the best meeting-place. This was the end of a short lane, which led on to the moor at a point Rosamond had never come out at. But it was easy to find, and a short distance farther on, by following one of the small paths in a line with the lane, the boy had explained to her that she would soon come to a sort of dip in the ground, where there was a thick clump of shrubs.
'And there, missie, if I don't meet you before, you'll be certain sure to see me a-comin' over from the other side, as fast as I can get along. It won't be dark by then—and p'raps it'll be a moonlight night, unless the clouds thicken up for snow.'
It did seem, all the same, rather gloomy in the lane—'because of the trees and the hedges,' thoughtMiss Mouse—and certainly when she got to the end and came out on the moor, it looked a little lighter.
She stood still and looked about her, drawing a deep breath. But she felt a little disappointed; the moor here seemed quite different from up at Moor Edge—it was so much lower, more like a rough field.
'I don't care for it a bit down here,' she thought. 'And then it's so much, much farther to get to, than at the boys'. Why, there you run almost straight out of the garden on to the dear real moor. I quite know the way Archie and the others feel about it.'
She trotted on—straight on, as Bob had directed, and before very long she came to the little hollow with the clump of bushes in the centre which he had described. But there was no Bob there, and at first her heart went down a little—supposing he had not been able to come, supposing the people he owed the money to had refused after all to wait till to-morrow morning, and had done something dreadful—put him in prison, perhaps, for Miss Mouse's ideas as to what might or might not be done to people, poor boys especially, who owedmoney, were very vague, or gone to frighten old Nance—oh dear, dear, what a pity it was, thought the little girl, that she had not taken her purse and all her riches with her to Weadmere that afternoon. Then she might have given Bob the six shillings at once, and not run any risk of delay, or have needed to come out to meet him in the—yes, it was almost getting to be the dark—and Rosamond gave a little shiver. But at that moment a welcome sound fell on her ears—the sound of rapidly running feet. She heard the boy before she saw him, but he it was. A small dark figure, darker than the dusky ground, soon became visible, running as fast as he could, and, as soon as he caught sight of her, calling out breathlessly, 'O miss, O miss, have you been waiting long?' and as soon as he came nearer, out poured a torrent of explanations as to how they had kept him waiting and waiting for the things he had been at Weadmere to fetch for the 'missus' at the farm where he worked.
'Well, never mind now,' said sensible Miss Mouse, 'I've got the money all right. Here it is, Bob, just exactly six shillings. I did it up into a little packet inside my purse, but you can count it if you like.'
'No, no, thank you, miss,' said the boy. 'I'm sure it's all right, and as like's not if we undid it, it'd drop out, and we'd have hard work to find it again in this brushwood. No, it's sure to be all right—and I'll never be able to thank you enough, that I won't, not if I live to be as old as gran herself.'
He was intensely grateful, there was no mistake about that, and already the little girl felt rewarded for the sacrifice she had made. Bob was evidently anxious too to get off, as he was still carrying the packages he had been to fetch, having come by this very roundabout way from the town, and he was anxious, too, to get 'miss' home, for fear of her being 'scolded' through what she had so kindly done for him.
They turned to go.
'I wish you could come home with me, Bob,' said Rosamond, 'it does look so dark. I don't mind here or on the road. It's the bit of lane that's so dark.'
Bob looked about and considered.
'I'm afraid I just dursn't go round by your place, miss,' he said. 'I must run all the way or the missus'll be terrible put out, though——'
'No, no,' interrupted the little lady. 'I wouldn't let you. Why, it would be worse than owing the money for the ferrets if you got scolded and lost your place perhaps——'
'I have it,' exclaimed the boy. 'If you don't mind comin' out a bit farther up the road, you needn't have no lane at all. And I daresay it'll be quicker in the end, for you'd almost have tofeelyour way along the lane by now—it is a very dark bit, I know. And I can run with you till I put you on the straight path to the road.'
'Oh yes,' said Rosamond gladly, 'I'd far rather do that. Come along quick then, Bob.'
He set off, running, though not nearly as fast as before, in front of her, looking back every moment or two to see if she was following all right. Neither spoke, as Rosamond did not want to waste either her own or her companion's breath.
'I shall have to run as fast as ever I can when I get on to the smooth road,' she thought.
So for upwards of a quarter of a mile the two trotted on in silence, till Bob pulled up.
'Miss,' he said, 'this is where I have to turn.' As a matter of fact he had been out of his way till now. 'If you go straight on, you can't miss now.See,' and he pointed before him in the gloom, 'the hedge stops a bit farther on, and there's a clear piece of grass on to the road.'
'Ye-es,' said Miss Mouse, peering before her, 'I think I see.'
'Anyway you'll see it all right as soon as you come to it, and you go straight till then.'
'Yes, yes,' said Rosamond, anxious to see him off. 'Take care of the money, Bob, and the first time we go to see your grandmother I shall expect to hear from you that it's all right. Now, run off as fast as you can and I will too.'
He started at a good pace, and as Miss Mouse trotted in the opposite direction, from time to time she looked over her shoulder, till the ever-lessening black speck that she knew to be Bob had altogether melted into the gloom. Bob's eyes were keener than hers; as he ran, he too kept glancing backwards to watch the little figure of the child towards whom his wild but true heart was bursting with gratitude. He distinguished her for some distance, and when he lost sight of her it seemed to be rather suddenly, and for a moment or two, hurried though he was, he stood still with a slight misgiving.
'I saw her half a minute ago,' he thought. 'Shemust have set to running very fast. I hope nothing's wrong. She can't have fallen and hurt herself,' and at the mere idea he had to put force on himself not to rush back again to see. 'Oh no, it can't be that—why, if she'd hurt herself, she'd have called out and I'd have heard her. It's got so still—and oh, my, it's cold. I shouldn't wonder if it started snowing before morning.'
And off set Bob again, with a lighter heart than if he had yielded to his impulse and run back, setting his 'missus's' scolding at defiance, to see that no misadventure had happened to his generous little lady.