"MY DEAR MOUSEY,""I have been writing to Cousin Robert to ask him to allow youto pay us a visit for a few weeks, as it is your holidays now,and your uncle and I both think it would do you good to havea change of air and scene. I need not tell you how glad we shallbe if Cousin Robert permits you to come, and how we are alllonging to see you once more. Dear Mousey, I went to look at yourmother and father's grave yesterday, and you will like to knowthat the grass is growing nicely on it, and that your uncle keepsit tidy.""I can picture you at Haughton better since your uncle was there,for he gave me a full account of everything on his return; but Iwant to see for myself how you are looking, and then I shall feelmore satisfied. The children send their love and say: 'Tell Mouseyto come as soon as ever she can!' Good-bye, my dear. Hoping to seeyou very shortly,""I remain,""Your affectionate aunt,""ELIZA DAWSON."
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,""I have been writing to Cousin Robert to ask him to allow youto pay us a visit for a few weeks, as it is your holidays now,and your uncle and I both think it would do you good to havea change of air and scene. I need not tell you how glad we shallbe if Cousin Robert permits you to come, and how we are alllonging to see you once more. Dear Mousey, I went to look at yourmother and father's grave yesterday, and you will like to knowthat the grass is growing nicely on it, and that your uncle keepsit tidy.""I can picture you at Haughton better since your uncle was there,for he gave me a full account of everything on his return; but Iwant to see for myself how you are looking, and then I shall feelmore satisfied. The children send their love and say: 'Tell Mouseyto come as soon as ever she can!' Good-bye, my dear. Hoping to seeyou very shortly,""I remain,""Your affectionate aunt,""ELIZA DAWSON."
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,""I have been writing to Cousin Robert to ask him to allow youto pay us a visit for a few weeks, as it is your holidays now,and your uncle and I both think it would do you good to havea change of air and scene. I need not tell you how glad we shallbe if Cousin Robert permits you to come, and how we are alllonging to see you once more. Dear Mousey, I went to look at yourmother and father's grave yesterday, and you will like to knowthat the grass is growing nicely on it, and that your uncle keepsit tidy.""I can picture you at Haughton better since your uncle was there,for he gave me a full account of everything on his return; but Iwant to see for myself how you are looking, and then I shall feelmore satisfied. The children send their love and say: 'Tell Mouseyto come as soon as ever she can!' Good-bye, my dear. Hoping to seeyou very shortly,""I remain,""Your affectionate aunt,""ELIZA DAWSON."
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,"
"I have been writing to Cousin Robert to ask him to allow you
to pay us a visit for a few weeks, as it is your holidays now,
and your uncle and I both think it would do you good to have
a change of air and scene. I need not tell you how glad we shall
be if Cousin Robert permits you to come, and how we are all
longing to see you once more. Dear Mousey, I went to look at your
mother and father's grave yesterday, and you will like to know
that the grass is growing nicely on it, and that your uncle keeps
it tidy."
"I can picture you at Haughton better since your uncle was there,
for he gave me a full account of everything on his return; but I
want to see for myself how you are looking, and then I shall feel
more satisfied. The children send their love and say: 'Tell Mousey
to come as soon as ever she can!' Good-bye, my dear. Hoping to see
you very shortly,"
"I remain,"
"Your affectionate aunt,"
"ELIZA DAWSON."
Mousey looked up from her letter to find Mr. Harding's eyes fixed upon her face.
"Well, child?" he questioned.
"Oh, Cousin Robert!" was all she could say.
"Do you wish to go?" he inquired.
Her animated countenance, flushed with excitement, gave the answer to his question. The old man sighed a trifle sadly.
"Perhaps you won't want to come back again?" he said, watching her intently.
"Oh, yes, I shall!" she replied. "Why, Cousin Robert, what makes you think that?"
There was such evident surprise in her face that his fear was disarmed, and he said kindly, almost tenderly—
"I don't want to lose you altogether. Of course, it's quite natural you should wish to visit your aunt and uncle, and I shall be very glad for you to do so."
"Do you mean I am to go?" Mousey cried.
"Certainly. I will write to your aunt to-morrow, and tell her when she may expect you."
"Oh, Cousin Robert, thank you, thank you! Oh, how good you are to me!" and the little girl threw herself impulsively into the old man's arms, and covered his face with kisses.
"There, there, child, that will do! You're half smothering me! Why, what have I done to be treated like this? There, run away, and tell Maria she must overlook your wardrobe to-morrow, and see what you want in the way of new clothes."
So Mousey rushed off to pour into Maria's ears the wonderful news that she was going to pay Aunt Eliza and Uncle Dick a visit. The holidays were not proving so dull and uneventful, after all.
"IT is Wednesday now; suppose we write and tell your I aunt to expect you next Monday?" suggested Mr. Harding to Mousey the following morning as he rose from the breakfast-table. "Will that give time in which to get the few new things she requires?" he added, turning to Maria, who had been summoned to clear the table.
"Yes, sir," she answered, "quite time, I should think. Being in black, she will not want many new garments—a couple of washing blouses and a new hat perhaps."
"Very well," the old man said; "you had better see about making the purchases at once. Cannot you go this morning? I shall be at home, and will keep house in your absence."
"I think I can spare the time this morning, sir. There is no dinner to cook, as I suppose we shall have the cold meat left from yesterday."
Mr. Harding nodded, and sitting down at his secretaire, took up his pen and commenced a letter to Mrs. Dawson, whilst Mousey went to help Maria about the housework.
The old man had not written many words before his attention was attracted by voices in the shop. Rising quickly, he glanced through the glass door, and perceived a dissipated-looking young man, whom he rightly guessed was Herbert Hambly, in conversation with John Monday, whose face was full of distress, whilst he appeared from his gestures to be trying to get rid of his companion. Mr. Harding turned the handle of the door very softly and entered the shop.
"You must go away," John Monday was saying; "if Mr. Harding catches you here there'll be no end of a row! He is in, I tell you!"
"Hulloa!" cried the old man, "what is the meaning of this? Who are you, eh?" he inquired sharply, fixing his piercing gaze on the young man, who shrank back abashed. "Are you here to help my assistant in wasting his time, pray?"
Herbert Hambly had not believed it when John Monday had told him that his master was within; he had thought the boy had merely made the statement to get rid of him; but though taken aback by Mr. Harding's sudden appearance, he quickly regained his self-command, and answered with great assurance—
"Not at all, sir! I called purely on a business matter. I wish to have a look at some tie-pins."
Mr. Harding brought forward a tray covered with an assortment of the ornaments mentioned, and laid it on the counter. Motioning to John Monday to stand aside, he took his place behind the counter. The young man turned over the pins in silence for a while, pretending to examine them carefully; then said he could not see one exactly like what he wanted.
"No, I imagined you would not," Mr. Harding remarked quietly, putting the tray on one side, and leaning across the counter to stare into the other's face as though he wished to remember his features. "Take my word for it, there's nothing in this shop that's likely to suit you— and, don't come again!"
"What do you mean?" began Herbert Hambly, assuming a blustering manner.
"I mean that I won't have you here, nor shall you have anything to do with my assistant. I know quite enough about you to be aware that your company is most undesirable; in fact, I think my best plan will be to ask the police to keep an eye on your movements."
Though this was only said in a threat, it had the desired effect of completely subduing the young man and knocking all the bravado out of him; casting a vindictive glance at John Monday, he beat a speedy retreat, and in another moment had slipped out of the shop and was hurrying down the street.
John Monday heaved a sigh of relief, whilst his master noted with surprise how white and shaken he appeared.
"What is wrong with you?" Mr. Harding asked. "What are you afraid of?"
"I told him to go, sir, and he wouldn't," John Monday muttered, ignoring his master's question. "It wasn't my fault," he added.
"Who said it was your fault?" demanded the old man in a snappish tone. "I never did!"
He returned to the parlour, and took up his pen again, feeling irritated at the boy's manner, which had seemed to him sulky. It was some minutes before he could collect his thoughts; but, finally, the letter accepting Mrs. Dawson's kind invitation was written, and he called to Mousey to come and hear what he had said to her Aunt Eliza.
"Will that do?" he inquired, after he had read the letter aloud.
"Yes, beautifully," she replied; "but please, Cousin Robert, will you tell her how much I am looking forward to see them all?"
So Mr. Harding added a postscript to that effect, and having sealed the envelope, gave her the letter to post herself.
The little girl was looking very bright. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes shone with happiness. The old man sighed, though he reflected that Aunt Eliza would not be able to say Haughton did not suit the child, for she had certainly greatly improved in appearance lately. "I wish your poor mother could see you, my dear," he exclaimed involuntarily.
"And I wish she could know how kind you are to me," Mousey cried, her eyes filling with tears, as they always did when she thought of her mother. "Perhaps she does know," she added quickly; "she always said God would take care of me when she was gone, and He has. I thought it very strange that you should want me to come and live with you, Cousin Robert, but I suppose God put it into your heart to be kind to me."
"I don't know that He did," Mr. Harding responded.
"Oh, but He must have! I'm afraid I'm very expensive," Mousey said, thinking of the new things she was to have. "I don't believe Aunt Eliza would mind a bit if I had no new clothes."
"Nonsense! What makes you say that? Have I ever begrudged you anything?" he demanded, frowning.
"No, no," she replied hurriedly. "I only thought—oh, Cousin Robert, you do so much for me, and there isn't anything I can do for you. I wish there was."
"Well, there is," he said, a smile softening his face. "You can spare me a corner of your heart, eh? You'll try to be glad to come back here because you like me a little, and not only on account of Mrs. Downing, of whom you're so fond, and the friends you've made at school, eh?"
"Of course I shall!" she answered promptly. "I do like you very much, Cousin Robert," she added earnestly.
"I shall miss you, child," he told her. "Here comes Maria, ready to start. Don't forget to post my letter."
As if it was in the least likely she would forget that! She laughed at the idea as she tripped along by Maria's side, and slipped the precious letter into the first pillar-box they passed on their way.
During the days which followed the little girl talked of nothing but her coming visit. She went to say good-bye to Mrs. Downing, Miss Longley, and the twins; and told them all about the delightful time she expected to have with Aunt Eliza, and Uncle Dick, and her cousins. John Monday was the only one who attempted to put a damper on her happiness by remarking that some people got the best of everything.
"Oh, John," cried Mousey regretfully, "I am so sorry you are not going to have a holiday too! It does seem hard," and she looked so sympathetic that he regretted his grumbling speech, and felt ashamed of himself.
At last the much-looked-forward-to Monday arrived. The town porter fetched away Mousey's box, and after saying good-bye to Maria and John Monday, the little girl started to walk to the station with Mr. Harding. On the way he asked her if she had her purse in her pocket ready to receive her ticket.
"Oh, yes," she replied, wondering what she would have done without Uncle Dick's present on this occasion.
"Mind you don't lose it; and remember not to put your head out of the carriage window when the train is in motion. Promise that."
She promised readily. The old man was rather nervous at the thought of her travelling alone, though the journey was only a short one; but she had no fears, and was full of importance at the idea. They had not long to wait at the station, for by the time Mr. Harding had seen Mousey's box labelled, and obtained her ticket, the train was on the point of starting. He found a corner seat for her in a comfortable compartment, and placed her under the care of the guard.
"Let me put your ticket in your purse for you," he said, after he had kissed her and had warned her not to lean against the door.
She gave him her little scarlet purse, and when he returned it, she slipped it into her pocket without glancing at its contents. A minute later the train started. The old man watched it out of sight, then left the station, and walked slowly homewards with a sense of loneliness so strong that he was surprised at himself, for he had not calculated how dear his little cousin had become to him.
Meanwhile, Mousey had taken her purse out of her pocket again, and on opening it had found that, besides her ticket, it held a shilling, two sixpenny-pieces, and several coppers. She was greatly touched at this fresh proof of Mr. Harding's affection and consideration for her; and during the whole of the journey, she was thinking how she would write and thank him, and what words she could use which would best express the feelings of gratitude swelling in her heart.
THE short journey seemed quite a long one to the little girl, so impatient was she to reach the end of it. As the train slowed into the familiar station she scanned the figures on the platform with eager, expectant eyes. After all, it was not Aunt Eliza but Uncle Dick who had come to meet her. There he was, a broad smile of welcome on his jovial countenance, and with a crimson carnation in the buttonhole of his coat, placed there in order to smarten himself up for the occasion.
"Well, Mousey, here you are at last! The train is three minutes late. How well you look, my dear! Eliza couldn't spare the time to come because it's Monday—washing day, as usual. We thought we wouldn't let the children know you were coming, so they've gone for a ramble in the woods; and won't they be surprised when they return and find you there! If they'd known, they'd all have wanted to be here to meet you."
Whilst he was entering into these explanations, he lifted Mousey from the carriage and kissed her again and again.
"Is everyone well, Uncle Dick?" she asked when he gave her an opportunity to speak.
"Quite well, and longing to see you, my dear. What luggage have you? One box? Very well. Come along."
Mr. Dawson led the way to the luggage van at the back of the train, Mousey following. She pointed out her box, which he raised to his shoulder without any effort; and having given up her ticket, they left the station.
"I suppose we shall walk, Uncle Dick?" Mousey said; "but you can't carry my box all the way."
"No, my dear; certainly not. And we're not going to walk. What do you say to that?" indicating a market-cart, with a little brown pony between the shafts. "A new purchase of mine," he proceeded, as he stowed away her box in the body of the cart; "you didn't know I possessed a carriage, did you?"
"Is it really yours, Uncle Dick?"
"Yes, really. I bought the whole turn-out only a few weeks since, as I had the opportunity of getting a good bargain; and I believe I shall make it pay by driving around to the better-class houses in the town, and selling vegetables at the doors. Now then."
He lifted Mousey up in front of the cart, and taking his place by her side, gathered up the reins, and chirruped to the pony, which immediately started off at a trot. The little girl's face was beaming with happiness, for a drive was a pleasure she had not expected.
"What is the pony called?" she inquired.
"Billy," was the response. "He's very quiet and good-tempered, and he goes well, doesn't he?"
"He does, indeed," Mousey answered; "but I'm afraid we must be rather a heavy weight for him."
"Well, I dare say I am a good weight," her uncle replied, laughing, "but I don't suppose you are very heavy. However, Billy is not overburdened. Did you leave your cousin well, Mousey?"
"Yes, Uncle Dick; but he says he will miss me very much."
"I have no doubt he will. How is the dissatisfied youth—John Monday, I mean?"
Mousey sighed, scarcely knowing what answer to make. The bright face clouded over, and she shook her head sorrowfully.
"Poor John Monday is very unhappy," she said, "and Cousin Robert has been very angry with him."
"Perhaps Mr. Harding is rather a difficult master to serve; but what has the boy done to arouse his anger?"
Mousey explained, whilst her uncle looked exceedingly grave. It hurt the good man to think that his gift to the boy had brought him trouble; he almost felt as though he had put temptation in his way; but then, he reflected, perhaps what had happened might prove a wholesome lesson to him.
"I sincerely trust the poor lad may be given strength to follow the new path he has chosen," he said, as Mousey finished her tale. "I am glad to hear he has found a friend in that Mr. Bradley."
They had left the town behind them by this time, and were in the country road which led direct to Mr. Dawson's home. Billy, trotting along at a fine pace, soon brought them to their journey's end.
A mist rose to Mousey's eyes as she caught sight of her aunt's figure in the doorway of the house, and she gave a little sob of delight as a pair of motherly arms lifted her down from her seat by Uncle Dick's side, and a tender kiss of welcome was pressed on her trembling lips.
"My dear child, how good it is to see you again!" cried Aunt Eliza, as she led her niece into the sitting-room, and, holding her at arm's length, looked at her with a kindly, critical glance. "Why, how you've grown! What, tears!"
"I can't help crying because I'm so happy," Mousey explained, with a little laugh, which, in spite of all her efforts, ended in a sob, "so very happy! Oh, you can't think how much I have missed you, and longed for a sight of you all these months!"
"But Cousin Robert has been kind to you, hasn't he?" Mrs. Dawson asked somewhat anxiously. "You have had everything you could possibly want at Haughton, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes!" Mousey returned; "but it's so nice to see you again, and to think that I am to stay here for a while."
"You shall remain with us till the end of the holidays if Cousin Robert is willing. I shall want you to tell me all about yourself, and your school life, and your friends by-and-by; but now, come and take off your hat before the children return."
Mousey followed her aunt upstairs. First, she begged to be allowed to take a peep at baby, who was having his afternoon nap in his little crib in his mother's bedroom, and pressed a gentle kiss on his rosy cheek; then her aunt led the way into the room which Mousey was to share with Lily, the eldest of her cousins, where her box was awaiting her, having been carried upstairs by Uncle Dick. After Mousey had bathed her face in cold water, and removed the traces of tears and dust, she unpacked her box, and showed her new clothes to her aunt, explaining how Maria had gone with her to purchase them, and how very kind she always was.
"It strikes me you have made many friends at Haughton already, my dear," her aunt said smilingly.
"Oh, yes, indeed!" the little girl agreed earnestly. "But Maria was my first friend there; she takes me to church with her on Sunday evenings. You know, Cousin Robert never goes."
"I was sorry to hear it," Mrs. Dawson said gravely. "It would have made me very unhappy if I had known that when you first went there; but it hasn't made any difference to you, has it, my dear? You remember your mother's teaching, do you not?"
"Yes, Aunt Eliza. Sometimes I read the Bible to Cousin Robert—that is, when he asks me."
Mrs. Dawson looked surprised at hearing this, but she asked no more questions then, and suggested that they should go downstairs.
Very shortly afterwards the children returned in hot haste, their father having met them and told them who had arrived. There followed o much kissing, and talking, and laughing, that Mousey felt quite bewildered; and the noise awakening baby, he began to cry, refusing to be comforted until his mother brought him down into the sitting-room.
"I don't suppose he remembers me," Mousey said after she had talked to him, and coaxed him to smile as he sat on Mrs. Dawson's lap, "for it's quite five months since he saw me, and that must seem a long time to a baby, I'm sure."
Whether baby remembered her or not, he was evidently pleased with his cousin's appearance, for he stretched out his chubby arms, and was supremely happy when Mousey shifted him from his mother's knees to her own.
Everyone made so much of Mousey that she felt almost glad of the parting which had brought about such a happy reunion. There were so many questions for her to answer that at last her aunt declared she was beginning to look quite weary, and begged the children to give her a little peace.
"I am not in the least tired," Mousey declared; and she spoke the truth, for she was far too excited to feel fatigued just then.
"I want Mousey to come around the gardens with me to see the improvements I've made since she was here," Uncle Dick said later on.
She was running to fetch her hat, when a sudden memory flashed across her mind, and she exclaimed repentantly—
"I had very nearly forgotten. Cousin Robert told me to be sure and ask you to send him a postcard to say I had arrived safely, Uncle Dick."
"I have already written to him, my dear," Mr. Dawson returned; "I thought he would expect to hear in the morning. You need not look so grave; no harm has been done by your forgetfulness."
"No, but I am sorry I forgot," Mousey responded in a somewhat subdued tone.
She fetched her hat, and made a tour of the gardens, noting every alteration which had been made. Then they paid a visit to Billy in the stable, and the little girl made friends with him, and patted his mealy nose.
At last the happy day came to an end, and the children all retired to rest. Mousey was really very tired, though she had not realised the fact until now. The minute after she had laid herself down by Lily's side her weariness overcame her; and when Mrs. Dawson looked into the room a short while later she found that both little girls were sleeping peacefully.
THE first letter Mousey wrote to Mr. Harding caused her a great deal of trouble. She was anxious that there should be no mistakes in the spelling, and that the writing should be particularly legible, for she had often heard her cousin say that children were not taught to write plainly nowadays as they had been when he was young, and she was fearful lest he should think her education had been neglected in that respect. So she spoilt many sheets of notepaper before she succeeded in inditing a letter which she thought would do; but at last one was satisfactorily finished. Mousey wondered if Mr. Harding would write in reply; but when several days passed without her getting an answer, she came to the conclusion that she was not going to hear from him, and was greatly disappointed.
Meanwhile, the little girl was having a most enjoyable time. Mr. Dawson was not particularly busy in his gardens, for during the days of early autumn there is not much outdoor work for nurserymen to do, except taking cuttings from summer plants, and collecting seeds for sowing the following year; so he often went with the children for long walks through the woods and meadows, where they gathered ferns and flowers, returning laden with their spoils. Sometimes Mr. Dawson would take Mousey for a drive in the market-cart, and allow her to have the place of honour, and hold the reins, whereupon Billy—the sly creature— would slacken his pace, knowing at once he was no longer in his master's capable hands.
One morning a letter arrived from Mr. Harding at last. Mousey's face lit up with pleasure as she scanned the opening lines; but she paled as she read what followed. This was Mr. Harding's communication:—
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,""I was glad to get your letter, more especially as I did notknow you meant to write, and it came as a surprise and anunexpected pleasure. It was most gratifying to me to notehow correctly you have learnt to spell, and how nicely youexpress what you have to say. Your writing, too, is mostlegible—a fact I was glad to note, for, as I dare say youhave often heard me remark, I have a great objection to anugly, scrawling handwriting.""Maria is very well. She sends her love and desires meto say she trusts you are spending an enjoyable time withyour relations.""I should have written to you before, but something has happenedwhich has upset me more than I can express. A few nights afteryou left, the house was burgled, the thief gaining admissionby climbing over the back wall and dropping into the yard;after which he cut a pane of glass with a diamond out of theparlour window, thus enabling himself to put in his arm,undo the fastening of the window, and effect an entranceeasily enough. He forced the lock of my secretaire, andransacked all the drawers. Fortunately, I had only afew pounds there, so the burglar had not a very large haul,and I have no doubt was greatly disappointed. When Maria gotdown in the morning she found my books and papers strewed allover the place, but nothing had been taken except the money.I only wish I had caught the thief at work; but what he didmust have been done very quietly, as no one heard a soundin the night.""There is little doubt in my mind but that the burglar was thatyoung man, Herbert Hambly, who, it appears, induced John Mondayto tell him where I was in the habit of keeping my money;but though John Monday confessed his share of the businessas soon as ever the robbery was discovered, the police have beenquite unable, up to the present, to find a clue to HerbertHambly's whereabouts. He has disappeared from Haughton, andseems to have left no trace behind him.""You will realise, my dear Mousey, how much this affair hasupset me, especially when I tell you that John Monday hasleft me. I do not think I am to be blamed for reproachinghim with his faithless conduct; in fact, he himself acknowledgedthe justice of my words, and appeared extremely penitent,begging me to forgive him. I felt that was not the time to talkof forgiveness, and so I told him, saying that he could notexpect to obtain my pardon until he had proved to me thesincerity of his repentance. Well, to cut a long story short,when, later in the day, I sent the boy out to post a letter,he failed to return, nor have I seen or heard of him since,though that was more than a week ago. I do not believe he isin Haughton—my private opinion being that he has joined HerbertHambly.""I am much disappointed in John Monday, and confess I shouldlike to know what has become of him. Do not let this unfortunatebusiness trouble you, my dear child. I am thankful you wereabsent at the time of the burglary, and during the unpleasantscene which followed between that wretched boy and me.""Pray give my kind regards to Cousin Eliza and her good husband;I am grateful to them both for giving you such a happy holiday,and if they desire to keep you until the commencement of yournext school term, I shall be perfectly willing to let you stay.I shall be glad to hear from you again, and remain, withmuch love,""Your affectionate cousin,""ROBERT HARDING.""P.S.—I had a call from Mr. Bradley yesterday. He cameto ascertain the reason why John Monday had absented himselffrom the Bible class, and seemed greatly distressed at theaccount I was forced to give him of the boy's conduct, andthe fact that I had no knowledge of his whereabouts."
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,""I was glad to get your letter, more especially as I did notknow you meant to write, and it came as a surprise and anunexpected pleasure. It was most gratifying to me to notehow correctly you have learnt to spell, and how nicely youexpress what you have to say. Your writing, too, is mostlegible—a fact I was glad to note, for, as I dare say youhave often heard me remark, I have a great objection to anugly, scrawling handwriting.""Maria is very well. She sends her love and desires meto say she trusts you are spending an enjoyable time withyour relations.""I should have written to you before, but something has happenedwhich has upset me more than I can express. A few nights afteryou left, the house was burgled, the thief gaining admissionby climbing over the back wall and dropping into the yard;after which he cut a pane of glass with a diamond out of theparlour window, thus enabling himself to put in his arm,undo the fastening of the window, and effect an entranceeasily enough. He forced the lock of my secretaire, andransacked all the drawers. Fortunately, I had only afew pounds there, so the burglar had not a very large haul,and I have no doubt was greatly disappointed. When Maria gotdown in the morning she found my books and papers strewed allover the place, but nothing had been taken except the money.I only wish I had caught the thief at work; but what he didmust have been done very quietly, as no one heard a soundin the night.""There is little doubt in my mind but that the burglar was thatyoung man, Herbert Hambly, who, it appears, induced John Mondayto tell him where I was in the habit of keeping my money;but though John Monday confessed his share of the businessas soon as ever the robbery was discovered, the police have beenquite unable, up to the present, to find a clue to HerbertHambly's whereabouts. He has disappeared from Haughton, andseems to have left no trace behind him.""You will realise, my dear Mousey, how much this affair hasupset me, especially when I tell you that John Monday hasleft me. I do not think I am to be blamed for reproachinghim with his faithless conduct; in fact, he himself acknowledgedthe justice of my words, and appeared extremely penitent,begging me to forgive him. I felt that was not the time to talkof forgiveness, and so I told him, saying that he could notexpect to obtain my pardon until he had proved to me thesincerity of his repentance. Well, to cut a long story short,when, later in the day, I sent the boy out to post a letter,he failed to return, nor have I seen or heard of him since,though that was more than a week ago. I do not believe he isin Haughton—my private opinion being that he has joined HerbertHambly.""I am much disappointed in John Monday, and confess I shouldlike to know what has become of him. Do not let this unfortunatebusiness trouble you, my dear child. I am thankful you wereabsent at the time of the burglary, and during the unpleasantscene which followed between that wretched boy and me.""Pray give my kind regards to Cousin Eliza and her good husband;I am grateful to them both for giving you such a happy holiday,and if they desire to keep you until the commencement of yournext school term, I shall be perfectly willing to let you stay.I shall be glad to hear from you again, and remain, withmuch love,""Your affectionate cousin,""ROBERT HARDING.""P.S.—I had a call from Mr. Bradley yesterday. He cameto ascertain the reason why John Monday had absented himselffrom the Bible class, and seemed greatly distressed at theaccount I was forced to give him of the boy's conduct, andthe fact that I had no knowledge of his whereabouts."
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,""I was glad to get your letter, more especially as I did notknow you meant to write, and it came as a surprise and anunexpected pleasure. It was most gratifying to me to notehow correctly you have learnt to spell, and how nicely youexpress what you have to say. Your writing, too, is mostlegible—a fact I was glad to note, for, as I dare say youhave often heard me remark, I have a great objection to anugly, scrawling handwriting.""Maria is very well. She sends her love and desires meto say she trusts you are spending an enjoyable time withyour relations.""I should have written to you before, but something has happenedwhich has upset me more than I can express. A few nights afteryou left, the house was burgled, the thief gaining admissionby climbing over the back wall and dropping into the yard;after which he cut a pane of glass with a diamond out of theparlour window, thus enabling himself to put in his arm,undo the fastening of the window, and effect an entranceeasily enough. He forced the lock of my secretaire, andransacked all the drawers. Fortunately, I had only afew pounds there, so the burglar had not a very large haul,and I have no doubt was greatly disappointed. When Maria gotdown in the morning she found my books and papers strewed allover the place, but nothing had been taken except the money.I only wish I had caught the thief at work; but what he didmust have been done very quietly, as no one heard a soundin the night.""There is little doubt in my mind but that the burglar was thatyoung man, Herbert Hambly, who, it appears, induced John Mondayto tell him where I was in the habit of keeping my money;but though John Monday confessed his share of the businessas soon as ever the robbery was discovered, the police have beenquite unable, up to the present, to find a clue to HerbertHambly's whereabouts. He has disappeared from Haughton, andseems to have left no trace behind him.""You will realise, my dear Mousey, how much this affair hasupset me, especially when I tell you that John Monday hasleft me. I do not think I am to be blamed for reproachinghim with his faithless conduct; in fact, he himself acknowledgedthe justice of my words, and appeared extremely penitent,begging me to forgive him. I felt that was not the time to talkof forgiveness, and so I told him, saying that he could notexpect to obtain my pardon until he had proved to me thesincerity of his repentance. Well, to cut a long story short,when, later in the day, I sent the boy out to post a letter,he failed to return, nor have I seen or heard of him since,though that was more than a week ago. I do not believe he isin Haughton—my private opinion being that he has joined HerbertHambly.""I am much disappointed in John Monday, and confess I shouldlike to know what has become of him. Do not let this unfortunatebusiness trouble you, my dear child. I am thankful you wereabsent at the time of the burglary, and during the unpleasantscene which followed between that wretched boy and me.""Pray give my kind regards to Cousin Eliza and her good husband;I am grateful to them both for giving you such a happy holiday,and if they desire to keep you until the commencement of yournext school term, I shall be perfectly willing to let you stay.I shall be glad to hear from you again, and remain, withmuch love,""Your affectionate cousin,""ROBERT HARDING.""P.S.—I had a call from Mr. Bradley yesterday. He cameto ascertain the reason why John Monday had absented himselffrom the Bible class, and seemed greatly distressed at theaccount I was forced to give him of the boy's conduct, andthe fact that I had no knowledge of his whereabouts."
"MY DEAR MOUSEY,"
"I was glad to get your letter, more especially as I did not
know you meant to write, and it came as a surprise and an
unexpected pleasure. It was most gratifying to me to note
how correctly you have learnt to spell, and how nicely you
express what you have to say. Your writing, too, is most
legible—a fact I was glad to note, for, as I dare say you
have often heard me remark, I have a great objection to an
ugly, scrawling handwriting."
"Maria is very well. She sends her love and desires me
to say she trusts you are spending an enjoyable time with
your relations."
"I should have written to you before, but something has happened
which has upset me more than I can express. A few nights after
you left, the house was burgled, the thief gaining admission
by climbing over the back wall and dropping into the yard;
after which he cut a pane of glass with a diamond out of the
parlour window, thus enabling himself to put in his arm,
undo the fastening of the window, and effect an entrance
easily enough. He forced the lock of my secretaire, and
ransacked all the drawers. Fortunately, I had only a
few pounds there, so the burglar had not a very large haul,
and I have no doubt was greatly disappointed. When Maria got
down in the morning she found my books and papers strewed all
over the place, but nothing had been taken except the money.
I only wish I had caught the thief at work; but what he did
must have been done very quietly, as no one heard a sound
in the night."
"There is little doubt in my mind but that the burglar was that
young man, Herbert Hambly, who, it appears, induced John Monday
to tell him where I was in the habit of keeping my money;
but though John Monday confessed his share of the business
as soon as ever the robbery was discovered, the police have been
quite unable, up to the present, to find a clue to Herbert
Hambly's whereabouts. He has disappeared from Haughton, and
seems to have left no trace behind him."
"You will realise, my dear Mousey, how much this affair has
upset me, especially when I tell you that John Monday has
left me. I do not think I am to be blamed for reproaching
him with his faithless conduct; in fact, he himself acknowledged
the justice of my words, and appeared extremely penitent,
begging me to forgive him. I felt that was not the time to talk
of forgiveness, and so I told him, saying that he could not
expect to obtain my pardon until he had proved to me the
sincerity of his repentance. Well, to cut a long story short,
when, later in the day, I sent the boy out to post a letter,
he failed to return, nor have I seen or heard of him since,
though that was more than a week ago. I do not believe he is
in Haughton—my private opinion being that he has joined Herbert
Hambly."
"I am much disappointed in John Monday, and confess I should
like to know what has become of him. Do not let this unfortunate
business trouble you, my dear child. I am thankful you were
absent at the time of the burglary, and during the unpleasant
scene which followed between that wretched boy and me."
"Pray give my kind regards to Cousin Eliza and her good husband;
I am grateful to them both for giving you such a happy holiday,
and if they desire to keep you until the commencement of your
next school term, I shall be perfectly willing to let you stay.
I shall be glad to hear from you again, and remain, with
much love,"
"Your affectionate cousin,"
"ROBERT HARDING."
"P.S.—I had a call from Mr. Bradley yesterday. He came
to ascertain the reason why John Monday had absented himself
from the Bible class, and seemed greatly distressed at the
account I was forced to give him of the boy's conduct, and
the fact that I had no knowledge of his whereabouts."
"What is amiss, child?" Mrs. Dawson asked anxiously, noting Mousey's shocked face.
"Oh, it is dreadful!" gasped the little girl. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
"Shall I read this?" inquired Mr. Dawson, picking up the letter which Mousey had allowed to flutter to the floor.
"Please read it aloud, Uncle Dick," she requested, "then Aunt Eliza will understand too."
He complied immediately. There was a minute's silence when he had finished, broken by an indignant exclamation from his wife.
"What a wicked boy!" she cried. "The idea of his serving his master like that!"
"I am disappointed in him," Mr. Dawson remarked, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I knew from the short conversation he and I had together that he was dissatisfied with his lot in life, but he appeared an outspoken lad, not in the least underhand or shifty. Dear me, I am very sorry!"
"Oh, you don't understand, either of you!" Mousey exclaimed. "He is not as bad as you think."
"I don't want to misjudge anyone," Mr. Dawson said gently, "least of all a poor boy who has never had the advantages of a good home training, but you must agree with me, my dear little girl, that he has acted very badly."
Mousey reflected for a moment. She wondered if it would be wrong for her to tell how John Monday had been led to speak of his master's business; how bitterly he had repented of having done so; and how the remembrance had been a continual terror to him. She thought, as he had himself confessed the truth to Mr. Harding, it would be no betrayal of confidence if she told the whole story to her uncle and aunt as the boy had told it to her. This she accordingly did, and was relieved to find afterwards that they were not so inclined to think badly of John Monday as they had been at first, though still seeing, of course, that he was greatly to blame.
"I should say it is extremely unlikely he has joined that Herbert Hambly," Mr. Dawson remarked thoughtfully; "from what you have told us, Mousey, it seems he was really horrified when he discovered the young man's true character."
Mousey assented eagerly, adding that she expected he had run away from fear of Mr. Harding.
"Dear, dear, I'm afraid it's a bad business. But don't you worry about it!" Mr. Dawson advised. "It will all come right in the end—things always do if we have faith to leave them in wiser hands than our own."
"Yes," his wife agreed, "that's very true. No good comes of worrying, but we can ask God to help those who seem powerless to help themselves."
"Mother used to say that," the little girl said, a smile lighting up her countenance. "I do hope John Monday has not gone away with that wicked young man. No, I don't believe he has!"
"I don't believe it either," Aunt Eliza said warmly. "I can't bear to think of the boy homeless and friendless, and perhaps wanting a meal's meat," she added, sighing.
"That's looking on the dark side, indeed," her husband told her. "John Monday struck me as being a strong, able-bodied lad, well fitted to earn his living in ways more arduous than in mending watches and jewellery. I dare say he'll find a niche to fit him somewhere or other."
THE thought of John Monday was the one unhappiness which clouded Mousey's otherwise happy visit. The day after she had received her cousin's letter, she wrote and tried to explain to him how troubled she was at the boy's disappearance; and begged Mr. Harding not to believe that he had left him to join Herbert Hambly. To this letter she received no reply, as Mr. Harding was anything but pleased that she did not accept his theory concerning John Monday, and was, besides, annoyed that she had not condoled with him on the loss of his money. The truth was, Mousey had thought very little of the burglary in comparison with its result as affecting her cousin's assistant.
The little girl had been to see her parents' grave several times, and the day before her visit was to come to an end she went with her aunt to take a parting look at the spot.
"Oh, Aunt Eliza," she cried, as she stood by the green mound, "if only she had not died!"
"God knows best, child," Mrs. Dawson answered softly, much touched by the wistful sadness of Mousey's face.
"It's so kind of Uncle Dick to keep the grave tidy. I wish I could put up a tombstone with their names, and a verse from the Bible; but I expect that would cost a lot of money, and it's no good thinking about it."
They lingered a while longer in the churchyard, and then turned slowly away. Both were disinclined for conversation, so that they had nearly reached home, and were actually within sight of the house, before either spoke. It was Mrs. Dawson who broke the silence by exclaiming—
"Look! What is that boy gazing at, I wonder?"
Mousey raised her eyes, which had been fixed meditatively on the ground, and saw, peering through the thorn hedge which divided her uncle's gardens from the road, a shabbily clad boy. He had his back towards them, so she could not get a glimpse of his face; but there was something familiar in the attitude of the figure, and the way the tweed cap was worn on the back of the head.
"Why, Aunt Eliza, I do believe it is John Monday!" the little girl cried excitedly.
"John Monday!" Mrs. Dawson repeated in astonishment. "Surely you must be mistaken, my dear! What should bring him here?"
"It is John!" Mousey insisted, running forward impetuously, whilst her aunt followed at a quieter pace.
"John, how did you come here? What are you doing?"
At the sound of her voice the boy turned hastily. It was indeed John Monday, but looking so thin and haggard that the little girl uttered a cry of dismay at his changed appearance. His clothes were covered in dust, and his feet were almost on the ground, his boots being nearly without soles. When he saw Mousey and her aunt, his face flushed painfully, and he appeared inclined at first to run away, but seemed to think better of it.
"I'm not doing any harm," he said half apologetically; "I was only watching the men at work in the garden, and wondering if they could find a job for me."
"It is my uncle's garden," Mousey said; "I suppose you know that?"
"Yes," he assented briefly. "Do you think your uncle could find me some work?" he questioned, a gleam of hope passing over his countenance. "I'd do anything! I've been wandering about the country for weeks, but I haven't been able to get regular employment. I suppose you knew I had left Mr. Harding's?"
"Yes. Why did you go, John? I'm sure Cousin Robert would have forgiven you if you had stayed."
The boy shook his head. There was a weary expression on his face which Mrs. Dawson noticed with a thrill of sympathy.
"Are you hungry?" she asked abruptly.
"I haven't had a morsel of food inside my lips since yesterday morning," he replied; "but I didn't come to beg," he added hastily, whilst Mousey uttered an exclamation of mingled horror and pity. "I thought perhaps Mr. Dawson might be able to find me some work."
"Come inside," said Mrs. Dawson.
She led the way into the house, and seating the boy at the kitchen table, gave him a plate of bread and meat. He thanked her gratefully, and began to eat, whilst Mousey watched him with sympathetic eyes; and Mrs. Dawson turned to the fireplace to see if the kettle was nearly on the boil. It was, and in a few minutes she set before her visitor a strong cup of tea, which refreshed him even more than the food.
"John, you didn't go away with Herbert Hambly, did you?" Mousey questioned anxiously when he had finished his meal.
"No, no! What makes you ask that?"
"Because Cousin Robert thinks you did."
"But I told Mr. Harding I never saw Herbert Hambly after he got rid of him when he called to see me the last time at the shop. How could he believe I had gone away with him?"
"I suppose he thought you hadn't told the truth."
"I did tell him the truth," the boy declared with such earnestness that neither of his hearers doubted his words. "He had a perfect right to be angry, but I couldn't stand the hard, bitter things he said to me, although I may have deserved them. I'd rather go hungry, and sleep by the side of a hedge, than go back to him, that I would!"
"Mousey, run and tell your uncle I want him in here," Mrs. Dawson said quietly; "and do you remain where you are," she added, turning to John Monday, who had risen to his feet.
"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, as he sat down again. "I'm afraid I'm very dusty and dirty, not fit to be seen, and that makes it all the kinder of you to treat me like this."
Mousey soon found her uncle, and he accompanied her to the kitchen. John Monday, fully conscious of his disreputable appearance, rose, and stood bashfully before the master of the house, whose usually good-humoured countenance was now very grave and stern.
"Well, young man, what has brought you here?" he commenced; then, as the boy made no answer, only hung his head in confusion, he motioned to his wife to go away, and take Mousey with her.
Half an hour later Mr. Dawson came into the sitting-room, where the family was assembled, and met his wife's anxious, inquiring countenance with a smile.
"Well, my dear," he said, "I suppose you want to know what I'm going to do with John Monday? I've had a long, serious talk with him, and the result is, he has promised me that if Mr. Harding wishes him to return he will do so; on the other hand, if Mr. Harding does not wish to have him back, I am going to give him a trial myself. You know I've been wanting a lad to look after the pony, and go around to the houses in the town with the cart sometimes; in short, one who will make himself generally useful about the place."
"But do you think he is to be trusted?" Mrs. Dawson asked dubiously.
"That will have to be proved, my dear. Anyway, I mean to see what he is made of, if Mr. Harding does not want him again. I think my best plan will be to go to Haughton with Mousey to-morrow, and have a personal interview with your cousin."
"Yes, perhaps that would be best," his wife agreed.
"You see, I should not like to employ the lad without first coming to a thorough understanding with Mr. Harding."
"No, of course not. Where is the boy now?"
"In the yard, having a wash at the pump. Poor lad! He has roughed it lately without a doubt. He'll have to sleep in the loft to-night. If it is decided he's to remain, I dare say I can find him a lodging with one of the men. I hope you think I have acted rightly, Eliza? I could not send the boy away."
"No, no!" Mrs. Dawson exclaimed, meeting her husband's glance with a tender smile which lent real beauty to her homely countenance. "You mustn't imagine I disapprove of what you've done; and you can see by Mousey's face what she thinks about it."
Mr. Dawson turned an inquiring look upon the little girl. She ran to him and kissed him again and again, calling him the dearest, kindest of uncles, till he laughingly pushed her away from him, and went to look after the lad he had taken under his protection.
MUCH was Mr. Harding's surprise when, on going to the railway station to meet Mousey, he found her in company with her Uncle Dick. The little girl's face was wreathed with smiles as her cousin assisted her to alight from the carriage, and she looked really delighted at the sight of him.
"Glad to see you, my dear," he said, as he kissed her affectionately. "So you've brought your uncle with you, eh? Glad to see you, too, sir!" he declared, as he shook hands with Mr. Dawson, wondering at the same time what brought him there. "How are Cousin Eliza and the children, eh?"
"Capital!" Mr. Dawson answered. "How do you think your little maid is looking?"
Mr. Harding was pleased to hear Mousey spoken of as his possession, and he made a cordial reply—
"She does credit to the care you and Cousin Eliza have taken of her. I thank you most gratefully for your goodness to the child."
"Oh, as to that, we're all very fond of Mousey," Mr. Dawson replied, with a smiling glance at the little girl's animated face, "and it's been a great pleasure to have her with us, I assure you."
"You will come home with us and have some tea, I trust?" Mr. Harding said politely. "Maria will have it ready by the time we arrive."
"Thank you. I have a matter of business to discuss with you; in fact, that is the reason of my being here now," Mr. Dawson explained.
"Does the business affect Mousey?" the old man asked sharply.
"No, it has nothing whatever to do with her."
They had left the station, and in a few minutes reached Mr. Harding's home. The shop looked as dingy and dismal as ever; but a new assistant stood behind the counter—a spruce, well-dressed young man, who stared at Mousey and Mr. Dawson very hard. Mr. Harding took no notice of him, but led the way into the parlour, whilst Mousey rushed off to the kitchen in quest of Maria.
"Good gracious, child!" Maria exclaimed, as the child flung herself into her arms; "you don't mean to say you're actually pleased to be back again!"
"Yes, I'm really glad!" Mousey answered, hugging Maria tightly. "Of course, I was very sorry to leave Aunt Eliza and my cousins; but I wanted to see you badly, and Cousin Robert, too."
"Well, that's good hearing, anyway. I thought you'd never want to return, and I believe master had his doubts about it. We've missed you, my dear, more than I can tell."
"Guess who's in the parlour, Maria. Oh, you can't! Why, Uncle Dick!"
"You don't say so! Then he'll be here to tea, I suppose? There's the town porter with your box, I hear. I must go, and help take it upstairs—we've no John Monday now."
But it was Uncle Dick who insisted on carrying Mousey's box to her room, though Mr. Harding assured him there was no necessity for him to do so.
"How considerate your uncle is," Maria remarked to the little girl, as Mr. Dawson rejoined Mr. Harding in the parlour. "I do like to see a man helpful—I'll say that for John Monday, with all his faults, he was always willing to put a hand to anything. Ah, dear, master made a mistake when he drove the boy away."
"Did Cousin Robert really drive him away?" Mousey asked in a low tone. "Oh, do tell me what happened!"
"After the burglary there was a terrible scene," Maria responded. "I don't like to think of it, much more talk about it. Of course, master had great cause for anger, but he wouldn't listen to a word the poor lad had to say—wouldn't let him explain anything. Ah, poor John! I wonder what has become of him."
Then Mousey, who had with difficulty refrained from telling her the news before, burst forth with the whole story of how the boy had come to her uncle's house, and what Mr. Dawson's business was with Mr. Harding.
Maria listened in profound astonishment, her face expressing decided relief.
"Thank God, he has fallen into good hands!" she exclaimed. "For my part, I hope master won't have him back, for I feel he would have a chance of leading a better life if he were away from here. Not that master means to do him harm, but they don't seem able to understand each other."
"Who is Cousin Robert's new assistant, Maria?" Mousey asked.
"A young man called Jones. He's learnt his trade already, and talks of buying Mr. Harding's business, I believe. Nothing's settled yet, but Mr. Harding told me soon after John Monday ran away that he thought he should retire before long, and take a house in one of the suburbs of the town. That's a piece of news you didn't expect. Mr. Jones is here to see for himself what the business is like."
"Does he live in the house, Maria?" Mousey inquired in great astonishment.
"No, indeed I don't fancy our way of living would suit him. If he buys the business, I expect he'll change this place so that we shall hardly know it. You wouldn't be sorry to leave this house for another, would you?"
"No," the little girl answered frankly. "I should be very glad, because even now I don't quite like the thought of the river underneath."
Mousey found on her return to the parlour that her uncle had informed Mr. Harding what his business was, for the old man was talking excitedly about John Monday and his misdeeds. During tea-time the subject of conversation was the same; but Mousey could not find out what her Cousin's real sentiments were regarding his late assistant. One thing was evident, that he was relieved to find the boy was safe, for he frankly admitted that he had troubled a great deal about him.
"To think that he should have found his way to your doors!" Mr. Harding exclaimed to Mr. Dawson. "I must say I wonder at you for taking him in."
"Do you? I felt responsible for him, you see."
"Responsible! You! My dear sir," Mr. Harding said, with his most sarcastic smile, "you cannot imagine that I should have blamed you if you had declined to have anything to do with him?"
"Such an idea never crossed my mind," Mr. Dawson acknowledged. "No. My responsibility was to the poor boy's Father in Heaven. I could not have knelt down in prayer to God, Mr. Harding, if I had turned away the stranger He had sent to my gate."
The old man's eyes drooped; the sarcastic smile faded from his countenance, and he seemed unable to make a reply.
"The question is, whether you wish him to return to you or not," Mr. Dawson proceeded. "I had a long, serious talk with him yesterday, and pointed out to him what I considered was his duty; and he promised me faithfully, if you had him back, to do his utmost to please you. He truly repents of his ill-conduct, which, if you will excuse my saying so, appears to me to have been more the result of indiscretion than intentional wrong-doing."
"I do not wish John Monday to return. I wash my hands of him," Mr. Harding responded in a cold tone. "Yes, I wash my hands of him," he repeated. "I am thinking of selling my business shortly to the young man you saw in the shop. I mean to retire. You can keep the boy, since you are evidently greatly interested in him."
"I am indeed interested in him," Mr. Dawson said quietly, ignoring the other's sneer. "I trust you agree with me that he has not been in the company of Herbert Hambly since he left here?"
"Ye—es," Mr. Harding acknowledged; "I believe I misjudged him in that. Am I to understand that you actually intend to employ him?"
"Yes, that is my intention. I have hopes that he will make a good, honest man yet."
"And suppose he disappoints you? You will lose patience with him as I have done, for I tell you he is enough to tire the patience of anyone."
Mr. Dawson was silent. He glanced from the eager face of his little niece to the wrinkled visage of the old man, and hesitated.
"Well?" said Mr. Harding impatiently.
"Who am I that I should lose patience with a fellow creature?" was the reply in low, moved tones. "What hope would there be for any of us if God lost patience with us? What if our fellow-creatures do disappoint us? I wonder how often we disappoint the Almighty God? If John Monday disappoints me, I'll try to bear with him, and pray God to show me how to influence him for good. I should like, sir, to be able to tell the boy that you forgive him, and bear him no ill-will."
"I bear him no ill-will," Mr. Harding responded; "indeed, I hope he may repay you for your kindness to him by endeavouring to do his duty, and studying your interests—he never studied mine. As to forgiving him—well, yes, you may tell him I forgive him, if you like."
Mousey looked at the old man with a brilliant smile of pleasure illuminating her face, and running round to his side, put her arms round his neck as she said—
"Cousin Robert, why do you pretend to be so cross when you're nothing of the kind? You know you want poor John to get on and please Uncle Dick."
"Did you ever hear such a saucy child?" Mr. Harding inquired, appealing to Mr. Dawson, who was astonished to see that the old man was pleased at Mousey's coaxing tone. "She never minds what she says to me. And she evidently thinks nothing of the loss John Monday has caused me."
"Do you mean the money the burglar stole?" Mousey asked. "Was it much? I thought it was only a little."
"It was three pounds sixteen shillings and sixpence," he replied, with a regretful sigh.
"The police have no clue to the thief, I suppose?" Mr. Dawson questioned.
"No, and are not likely to get one. They agree with me it was doubtless Herbert Hambly—I don't suppose that is his real name, by the way—because he has disappeared from the neighbourhood altogether. I think most likely we shall never hear of him again; I am sure I hope not."
Shortly after tea Mr. Dawson took his departure. He was perfectly satisfied with the results of his visit, for he had left his little niece looking bright and contented; and he knew John Monday would consider the news that his late master did not want him again the best he could hear; besides which, the good man was delighted that he had obtained forgiveness for the boy, so that altogether he returned home in excellent spirits.
THE day following Mousey's return to her cousin's home was the first of the winter term, and she went back to school with a light heart to compare her experiences of the holidays with those of the other girls. Even Nellie Thomas had not had a brighter or happier time than Mousey.
Engrossed with her work, interested in her teachers and school-fellows, it was natural that the little girl should not miss John Monday much, except perhaps when she had a difficult sum to master and lacked his willing help. She had enough home work now to keep her occupied nearly all the evenings, so that she had no spare time on her hands except on the weekly holiday.
"They are not working you too hard at school, are they?" said Mr. Harding one night a trifle anxiously, as Mousey at last closed her books and laid them aside.
"Oh, no, Cousin Robert," she answered brightly. "You know I want to get on so as to be raised into a higher class next term."
"I've tired myself to-day," he presently remarked; "I've been house-hunting. Jones has decided to buy the business, and take it on at Christmas, so we shall have to turn-out of here then."
"Oh, I am glad!" she exclaimed involuntarily.
"I don't think I'm sorry myself. The fact is, I'm getting past work, and things worry me now that I used to take as matters of course. By the way, you heard from Cousin Eliza this morning. Did she tell you how John Monday was behaving?"
"Yes. She says he is doing well."
"I am glad to hear it. Mr. Bradley must be told that, for he takes an interest in the boy."
"Does he know John is with Uncle Dick?" Mousey inquired.
"Yes. I gave him the information one day when he called to ask if I had had any news of 'the poor, misguided lad,' as he called him."
The little girl was surprised to hear this, but she asked no further questions.
"I saw a small house to-day that I thought might suit us," Mr. Harding informed her. "It is not far from where the Thomas' live. I dare say you may have noticed it—it stands in its own grounds, and has a pretty summer-house in one corner of the front garden."
"You don't mean Homeleigh, do you?" Mousey said, feeling quite astounded at the idea of such a possibility, for she knew the little dwelling well by sight, and had admired it often. "Oh, Cousin Robert, you can't mean Homeleigh!"
"Why not, eh?" Mr. Harding questioned gruffly, with a sharp glance.
"It is such a lovely place!" she cried, her checks flushing with excitement. "I never dreamt you would think of living in a house like that!"
"Well, I do think of living there," he said, smiling, "and I'm pleased to see you like the idea. On Saturday we'll go and look over the place. Perhaps we'd better take Maria with us to make sure the kitchen arrangements are all right."
"I do hope someone else won't take the house before then!"
"Not very likely," he replied, laughing; "but I've spoken to the agent who has the letting of it, and he has promised me the refusal of it, anyway."
Accordingly, the following Saturday found Mr. Harding, with Mousey and Maria, going carefully over the pretty villa which was to be their new abode. They found everything to their satisfaction, and Mousey could not repress a cry of mingled relief and joy when Mr. Harding said decidedly—
"Yes, I like the place, and shall take it."
Whilst they were going around the gardens, Mousey saw Mrs. Thomas and Nellie in the road outside; they both paused in astonishment at sight of the little girl and her companions.
"Oh, do let me ask Nellie to come in and go over the house," Mousey said coaxingly to Mr. Harding.
"You cannot do that without asking her mother as well," he reminded her.
"Perhaps Mrs. Thomas would like to come too. I'll go and ask her." And before he could raise an objection she had darted from his side, and was running towards the gate.
Mr. Harding looked put out for a moment, whilst Maria drew back, inwardly much amused, wondering how her master would act. After a short hesitation, however, he went to the garden gate, and invited Mrs. Thomas and Nellie to enter.
"My little cousin is anxious you should see the house we intend making our new home," he commenced; then added quickly, "I hope shortly we shall move in here, and then we may be able to show your little daughter some hospitality in return for your great kindness to Mousey."
"We shall be neighbours," Mrs. Thomas remarked genially. "I always thought Homeleigh a very pretty house, and I am so glad you are going to take it, Mr. Harding."
The old man smiled, and escorted her through the house and around the gardens. He made himself most agreeable, so that when they parted they had become quite friendly, and Mrs. Thomas and Nellie had come to the conclusion that Mousey's cousin was a much nicer person than he was usually represented.
"Mrs. Thomas seems a very pleasant woman, child," Mr. Harding said to Mousey that night, "and your friend is a pretty little girl, with pleasing manners."
"I knew you'd like them," Mousey responded warmly. "Am I really to ask Nellie to come and see us when we are living at Homeleigh?"
Her cousin nodded, and Mousey clapped her hands with delight.
"How busy we shall be when Christmas comes!" she cried. "Won't it be fun changing houses? And won't John Monday be surprised when he hears we're going to leave here?"
"I don't believe I should have thought of leaving if he had remained," Mr. Harding said thoughtfully; "but that burglary upset me. It wasn't the loss of the money exactly, though, of course, three pounds sixteen shillings and sixpence is a good bit to lose, but I had become accustomed to John Monday, and he knew my customers. Certainly he worried me sometimes, but still, he had his good points—I must own that."
This was a great deal for Mr. Harding to acknowledge; but the truth was, he missed his late assistant more than he cared to say; and when one morning he received a letter from him, enclosing a postal order for half a crown, "towards repaying you for the loss you made through me," as John Monday explained, he knew not what to think.
"I shall not keep the money," he declared, after he had told Mousey about it. "The idea of his sending it to me—the first money he has been able to save, he says, and he hopes to pay me the full amount if I will take it in instalments."
"I think it's very nice of him, don't you, Cousin Robert?" the little girl inquired. "It shows he wants to make up to you what you lost."
"But I don't want him to do that," the old man protested; "I never dreamt he would think of doing it. No, I can't take it. I shall send it back to him."
This he accordingly did, writing at the same time a stiff little note, which nevertheless breathed such evident goodwill that it touched the heart of John Monday when he received it.
That was the first money Mr. Harding had ever refused in his life; and it astonished Maria greatly that he should have done so now.
"I can't think what's come to master," she told Mousey in confidence; "he seems to me to have altered lately. I was amazed when he told me he meant to retire from business, and since then I've seen things that have set me thinking—little things, perhaps, but they show there's a change somewhere. I date it from the time you came here, my dear; since then master's been slowly but surely changing his ways. I'm sure he doesn't set such store by his money as he did; perhaps he's found out the folly of hoarding it."
"Perhaps he has," Mousey answered thoughtfully.
She was reminded of Maria's words when, on the next Sunday afternoon, her cousin asked her to read the Bible to him, and instead of letting her choose a portion where she pleased, requested her to read the chapter with the verse in it which commenced, "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth." She complied, and when she had finished told him that it had been her mother's favourite chapter.
"She said it was so comforting, for it tells how God knows what things we have need of," she explained "and that He will give us all we want. Only we must seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness everything else comes after!"
Everything else comes after! The old man pondered over the child's words, and thought of the many years he had toiled to make money until the lust for gain had eaten into his heart, and he had had few scruples as to the ways in which he had added to that earthly treasure, which had assuredly stood between him and the kingdom of God. Truly had he proved the truth of Christ's words—
"For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."
IT was dull November weather. For days Haughton had been enveloped in a thick fog, so that when one afternoon, on returning from school, Mousey nearly ran against Maria, who was issuing from the house apparently in a great hurry, she caught hold of the woman by the arm before she was recognised in the gloom.
"Why, Maria," the little girl cried gaily, "don't you see who it is? Where are you going?"
"Oh, is it you, my dear?" Maria responded, with an accent of decided relief in her voice. "I want you to run and ask Dr. James, who lives in High Street, to come and see master as soon as he possibly can."
"Cousin Robert? Is he ill?" Mousey exclaimed in concerned tones. "He was quite well at dinnertime."
"No, I don't think he was quite well, though I dare say he said nothing to let you guess the contrary. I've noticed he had a cold, and seemed depressed, and half an hour ago he was taken very poorly. He's a bit better now, and has gone to bed, but I feel he ought to have advice; so do you go and ask Dr. James to call, there's a good child!"
"I'll run as fast as I can," Mousey replied, thoroughly alarmed.
"You need not do that, for I don't apprehend master's seriously ill, but I shall be more satisfied if he has a doctor."
Mousey gave her lesson books to Maria, and went to do her bidding. An hour later Dr. James called, and pronounced Mr. Harding to be ill with pneumonia.
"He will want careful nursing," he told Maria; "you had better have a hospital nurse at once."
"I don't know if master will agree to that," she returned doubtfully.
"Oh, nonsense!" was the reply, for the doctor knew his patient's position. "I will speak to Mr. Harding myself," he said; "perhaps that will be best."
Accordingly, he returned to the old man's room, and presently came downstairs and informed Maria that he had promised her master to send him a good nurse, and that she might expect her within an hour.
"He must be very ill!" Maria exclaimed, after Dr. James had' taken his departure.
Mousey nodded. She stole upstairs to her cousin's room, and paused on the threshold to listen to his painful breathing; then softly spoke his name.
"Come in, child," he said, glancing towards the doorway with a slight smile on his face.
"Do you feel very ill, Cousin Robert?" she inquired, as she went to his side and kissed him gently.
"The doctor says I'm in for a bad illness," he answered; "he's going to send someone to nurse me. Remember, if I'm very ill, likely to die— tell Maria this—that I won't have any of my relations sent for except Cousin Eliza. Do you understand? Send for Cousin Eliza!"
"Yes, Cousin Robert," the little girl replied; "but I hope you will soon be better. Oh, you must be well by the time Christmas comes!"
"I may not live till then, my dear. I've been thinking lately that I've made a great mistake in my life; I've been so taken up with money-making that I've forgotten all about God Almighty; and now, when I'm an old man, sick unto death perhaps, it's too late to undo the past."
Mousey did not know what answer to make, but she pressed her quivering lips to his, and sobbed out that she would ask God to make him well. Then Maria came in, and fearing the little girl's emotion would trouble her master, led her gently out of the room.
The days which followed were full of anxiety and suspense, for Mr. Harding was dangerously ill. Mindful of her promise, Mousey wrote to Mrs. Dawson and told her how the old man had expressed a wish for her presence; and the next afternoon, when she was sitting in the parlour, forlorn and heart-sick, the door opened, and a well-known voice called her by name. In another moment she was in Aunt Eliza's arms, and weeping all her pent-up sorrow upon Aunt Eliza's breast.
"There, there, my dear," Mrs. Dawson said at length, "don't cry any more—now don't!"
"I thought you wouldn't be able to come."
"It was a little inconvenient," the good woman acknowledged, "but I happened to know a reliable person capable of managing the house, so I am at liberty to stay as long as I'm wanted."
Later, when she saw how ill Mr. Harding was, Mrs. Dawson felt glad she had come, more especially as he appeared grateful and pleased that she was there. He was quite conscious, and able to speak to her; and the first time he saw her alone, told her he had provided for Mousey in case of his death, and had not forgotten her or her children. Then he directed her where to find a sealed letter he had written at the commencement of his illness, and asked her if she would herself deliver it to the person to whom it was addressed at once. Glancing at the superscription Mrs. Dawson read the name—"Mrs. Downing."
"Is the letter for Mousey's school-mistress?" she inquired.
The old man replied in the affirmative, explaining in a few words the terms on which Mousey had been admitted as a pupil to Mrs. Downing's school. Mrs. Dawson listened in pained surprise, for her generous soul revolted from the thought of her cousin's meanness. How far from knowing the truth she and her husband had been when they had told each other that Mr. Harding was acting generously in giving the little girl such a good education!
"And this letter?" she questioned, when he had ceased speaking.
"It is a receipt for her husband's debt—for the full amount," he answered in his weak, gasping voice, which scarcely rose above a whisper.
Her face cleared, and she pressed his hand in token of her pleasure.
"Ah, Eliza," he said, "I have laid up a treasure upon earth, and it has brought me no happiness. I fear it is too late in the day to seek the kingdom of God and His righteousness."
"No, no!" she returned, deeply touched by his tone of wistful sadness; "it is never too late, Robert. If you have forgotten God He has never forgotten you."
There was a brief pause, which Mrs. Dawson was the first to break.
"I will deliver your letter to Mrs. Downing myself this very day," she said earnestly. "But tell me one thing—does Mousey know of this debt?"
"No, no!" he answered, with visible excitement; "I would not have her hear of it for anything!"
"She shall not through me. Is there nothing else I can do for you, Cousin Robert?"
"No, thank you. Please tell Maria if Mr. Bradley calls again I should like to see him."
When Mr. Bradley called next day he found Mr. Harding hovering between life and death. He knelt by the sick man's bedside and prayed for him. A look of peace came to the wan face of the sufferer as he listened; and after the clergyman had left, Mrs. Dawson and the nurse noticed that his lips moved as though he was praying too.
All that night there was no alteration in the patient's condition; but when the doctor paid his morning visit he found Mr. Harding had rallied a little.
Mousey alternately sickened with a sense of despair, and allowed herself to hope as time wore on. She had not been to school for days, so she was not surprised when Maria ushered Mrs. Downing into the parlour.
"I have come to inquire for Mr. Harding," the visitor explained, her tone full of real concern as she kissed Mousey tenderly. "How is he now, my dear?"