"No, thank you," the lady answered, "I have asked a porter to see to it. Good-bye." And with a smile of farewell she turned away, and disappeared in the crowd which thronged the platform.
Violet now pointed out her trunk, which had been taken from the luggage van, and Dr. Reed gave orders for it to be conveyed to his house by a town porter. Then he led the little girl to his brougham, which was waiting outside the station.
Never had Violet ridden in such a luxurious carriage before; and, seated comfortably by the doctor's side, with a fur rug over her knees, a sense of unreality began to creep over her, and she felt as though, presently, she must wake up to find she had been dreaming. But when she turned her head and looked at the kind face of her father's friend, she drew a sigh of contentment, for he, at any rate, seemed very real. No, she was not in the least tired, she declared, and not very cold. Dr. Reed saw that she was very tired, however, only she was too excited to be conscious of the fact.
"We shall soon be at home," he said, by-and-by. "Ann has been on the tip-toe of impatience all day because the time has passed so slowly. She has been preparing a room for you next to her own, furnishing it to her own taste. Ah, you cannot think how she is longing to have a companion of her own age with whom she can be confidential, and you are only a year her junior, you know. How did you leave your people at home?"
"Quite well, thank you," Violet answered. "Father has lost his cough, and mother says she is sure he is better than he was before Christmas."
"That's right! I am indeed glad to hear it."
"I hope you don't mind my coming instead of Ruth?" Violet said, hesitatingly.
"I don't mind in the least," he assured her with a smile. "I trust you will be happy with us, my dear," he proceeded earnestly, "and that you and Ann will take to each other—no doubt you will. By the way, I am glad you found such a good travelling-companion."
"I was so surprised when she told me she knew you!" Violet exclaimed. "She asked me my name and I told it her, but I did not like to ask hers. Please tell me who she is, Dr. Reed."
"She is Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway," he answered. Then, seeing her amazement, he added: "She is a lady doctor, and has practised in Barford longer than I have."
As Dr. Reed ceased speaking the carriage drew up before a handsome house in a square, the windows of which were all lit up, and Violet realised she had arrived, at last, at her new home.
PERHAPS Violet's first impressions in connection with her new home and its inmates will be best told in the long letter she wrote to her mother on the afternoon after her arrival at Barford, of which the following is a copy:—
"No. 8 LAURESTON SQUARE," "BARFORD, January 18th, 190—"
"My DEAR MOTHER,"
"I know Dr. Reed sent you a telegram last night to tell you I had arrived safely, but you will be expecting to receive a letter from me to-morrow; and, as I promised, I am taking the first opportunity I have of writing. I had such a nice journey—after the first hour I really enjoyed it. Please tell father the lady who sat opposite to me was very kind and made me share her luncheon, which was handed in at one of the stations in a basket. I had some of her chicken and ham, and she had some of my sandwiches, which she said were very good and cut just as she liked them—please tell Barbara that. I did not think the lady was a person of any importance, because she was very plainly dressed and seemed quite ordinary in every way, but she turns out to be a very clever lady doctor, called Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway, and Dr. Reed knows her well and often meets her in consultation, and I find she is very friendly with Mrs. Reed and Ann."
"Dr. Reed met me at the station. I was glad to see him. I drove home with him in his brougham—it was snowing—and he inquired for you all and was so glad to hear that father's cough was gone; and Mrs. Reed came out on the doorstep, though it was so cold, and she kissed me in a way that reminded me of you, dear mother, and that made me feel all chokey and unable to say anything. And then, in the hall, I met Ann, who kissed me, too, but I really have no idea what she said, for everything was so strange that I felt quite bewildered. They led me upstairs to the room which is to be mine, where they took off my hat and jacket, and Ann unbuttoned my boots and lent me a pair of warm slippers; and then they made me sit down in an easy chair by the fire (fancy me having a fire in my bedroom!) and take a basinful of soup, after which I was heaps better—I had been feeling rather queer and shakey before, and would have given anything to be at home, which was silly of me, of course."
"So I sat there and rested, and got beautifully warm, and by-and-by my trunk arrived, and Mrs. Reed unpacked it for me—I expected she would look surprised when she saw how few clothes I have, but she didn't, nor did Ann. My supper was brought upstairs to me; and then I went to bed and slept until ever so late this morning, and now I am only a little tired."
"We have had a great deal of snow during the night, so there will be no going out-of-doors to-day. This is a nice big house and very comfortable, but not at all grand. It is on the south side of the square, and the front door opens into the road. There is no garden—there are stables behind—but there is a large piece of ground in the middle of the square with a croquet lawn, and shrubs, and flower-beds, and the people who live in the square all pay towards keeping this ground in nice condition, so that they all have a share in it and the right to go there whenever they please. Arm says she spends a good bit of time there in the summer, so I expect I shall, too."
"I must not forget to tell you what Ann Reed is like. She is just a little taller than I am. I know because Dr. Reed made us stand back to back this morning that he might see which was the taller, and he said she was by about half an inch—and she has grey eyes like her father's. I don't call her pretty. I don't call Mrs. Reed pretty exactly, either, but she is very nice-looking, and she seems so young to be Ann's mother—of course, I know she can't be young really."
"I find there are three servants in the house—I asked Ann, a cook, a house-maid, and a tweeny-maid who answers the door and is a sort of parlour-maid and puts her hand to anything; you see, this, being a doctor's house, people are always coming and going, so Ann says. There is a waiting-room for patients and a consulting-room close to the front door, and a surgery beyond the consulting-room. The dining-room looks out into the square, like the drawing-room, which is upstairs—it is not nearly such a grand drawing-room as the one in Agnes Hosking's new house, but it is much more homely-looking and comfortable, and I think you, dear mother, would like it."
"I have been talking to Ann most of the morning. She has asked me such a lot of questions about you all, and about Ruth in particular; now she has left me so that I shall not be disturbed in my writing."
"By the way, I find we dine at seven o'clock. Won't it be strange for me to have dinner in the evening? I will write again very soon and tell you how I am getting on. I am longing to see what Barford is like, so I hope the weather will clear up soon."
"My bedroom is next to Ann's. It is such a nice room, rather small, but so cosy; it has been re-done up for me. The wallpaper is very pretty, just what I would have chosen, with little bunches of pink rosebuds on a white ground, and the furniture is enamelled white. Ann says her mother expects her to keep her bedroom very tidy, so I must bear that in mind and keep mine tidy too."
"Oh, dear mother, though everyone is so kind, you cannot think how much I miss you, and last night, after I was in bed, I couldn't help having a little weep when I thought of Ruthie; I expect she missed me, too. Please give her my dear, dear love, and the same to Madge and the boys, and to father and yourself. I hope you will write to me very soon and tell me everything that goes on at home.—I am, dearest mother, Your loving daughter,"
"VIOLET."
"P.S.—Please remember me to Barbara. Ann says she is glad we are not going to school for a few days, and so am I. Tell Ruthie she must not think Ann will ever take her place with me; she isn't quite what I expected to find her, though. Good-bye."
This letter was read aloud by Mrs. Wyndham to her husband and children on the afternoon of its arrival. On the whole it was considered very satisfactory.
"But what does she mean by saying that Ann is not quite what she expected to find her?" said Mr. Wyndham. "She had formed a mental picture of her, I suppose, and the reality has disappointed her," he added with an amused smile.
"If so her letter does not read as though she is disagreeably disappointed," his wife commented, glancing back over the epistle; "evidently the dear child has been most kindly received. Fancy that lady she travelled with being a friend of the Reeds! What a strange coincidence! Let me see, what is her name? Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway. You liked her appearance, did you not, Clement?"
"Yes," Mr. Wyndham replied, "I felt quite easy in my mind about Violet when I heard her opposite neighbour was going all the way to Barford, for she had a sensible, reliable face, and I thought she seemed a kindly soul. Events have shown that I read her aright. Violet writes a very good letter for a girl of her age, I consider."
"Ah, she takes after her father in possessing the pen of a ready writer," said Mrs. Wyndham, with a smile; "and she is very sharp and observant. Miss Minter says she shows great ability for acquiring general information. I am sure she will do well at Helmsford College."
"I know what she means about Ann Reed's not being quite what she expected to find her," announced Madge; "I mean I know what she thought Ann would be like—proud, and stuck-up, and selfish."
"What made her think that?" questioned Mr. Wyndham, in amazement.
"She thought so because Ann is an only child, father, like Agnes Hosking," Ruth explained; "and Agnes Hosking is one of the most disagreeable girls at Miss Minter's school; her father is very rich, you know, and once mother in speaking of Ann Reed, called her Prosperity's child, and—"
"I remember I did," Mrs. Wyndham broke in; "but I did not mean to disparage her in any way, I am sure."
"Prosperity's child," Mr. Wyndham said thoughtfully; "yes, she is certainly that, she can know nothing, by experience, of the struggles and privations life brings to so many; but she wouldn't be much like her father if she was proud or selfish, and somehow I don't fancy Andrew Reed's daughter could be either. Dear me, what extraordinary notions children do get into their heads!" he concluded with a laugh.
"I wonder if Violet will be home-sick," said Frank, "I told her she would be, but she wouldn't believe it. You see she admits that she had a 'little weep' when she thought of Ruthie. I say, Ruthie, did you cry when you went to bed by yourself and thought of Violet?" he asked inquisitively.
"I believe she did," declared Billy, staring accusingly at his eldest sister, who appeared embarrassed. "What a couple of cry-babies you and Vi must be!"
"We all cried the morning Violet left," Madge reminded him, "you, too, Billy. I saw you wiping your eyes when you thought no one was looking."
"I am sure it was only natural that we should have all been upset," remarked Mrs. Wyndham, who looked as though it would not take much to reduce her to tears at the present moment; "I cannot bear to think of Violet separated from you others; but, at the same time, I know it is for her benefit, and I have a feeling that she will be happy with the Reeds. We shall be able to glean more from her next letter."
In the course of a few days Violet wrote again. She had been rather home-sick, she confessed, and she missed them all dreadfully; but everybody was most kind and considerate to her.
"Mrs. Reed is much more particular in many ways than you are, mother," she wrote; "and she is rather strict with the servants, I fancy, though they appear to like her. This house is kept as clean as a new pin. Mrs. Reed says she learnt the great virtues of cleanliness and order when she was a hospital nurse. Did you know she had worked for her living? She was at a hospital in London for several years. In some ways she is very particular. She won't allow the least waste, and she is as careful as though Dr. Reed was quite poor. Isn't that odd of her? I call it so. And yet, she's not in the least mean, for Polly—she's the tweeny-maid—told me yesterday that she's been so good to the cook's mother, who has been ill, giving her food-dainties such as sick people like—and money, too."
Violet then went on to say that, as the weather had continued cold and snowy, she had only left the house once since her arrival, which occasion had been on Sunday when, with Mrs. Reed and Ann, she had attended the nearest church, situated only about five minutes' walk from Laureston Square.
"But the weather is clearing at last," she wrote; "it is thawing fast as I am writing, and the sun is beginning to shine, so I hope soon I shall really see something of Barford. Mrs. Reed said this morning that she must try to get out to do some shopping, and that Ann and I might accompany her. I understand there are some fine shops not far from here, for Laureston Square is in what is considered the best part of the town, and many of the people living hereabouts are very rich. I do not see much of Dr. Reed, for he is generally busy all day till evening, although, as you know, he keeps an assistant—Mr. Luscombe. Mr. Luscombe has lodgings not far from here, Ann tells me; he is a little man who wears spectacles, and he is getting bald though he is quite young—young for a doctor, I mean; Ann says she thinks he is about twenty-seven.
"I like Ann. She is very good-natured, and wants to treat me just like a sister; she says she has always wished so much to have a sister. She loves to hear about Ruthie and Madge. I haven't told her what a little house ours is at Streatham, perhaps I shall when I know her better—Dr. Reed may have told her, that I don't know. I wonder what she would think of Barbara. I am certain Mrs. Reed wouldn't keep a servant who is always 'in a rush,' but I don't suppose she knows what one has to put up with if one can only afford a general servant." The letter concluded with many protestations of affection for all the dear ones at home, and requested a speedy answer from Mrs. Wyndham or Ruth.
"She is settling down comfortably and happily," said Mr. Wyndham, when his wife asked him what he thought of this last communication from the absent one, "do you not think so?"
"Yes," she agreed, "but it must be a very great change for her." She glanced meaningly around the sitting-room, as she spoke, and sighed. "I hope she will learn to be orderly," she said, "but I fear she will find it not a little hard."
IT was a beautifully fine January morning on which Violet Wyndham, in company with Mrs. Reed and Ann, had her first glimpse of the town of Barford. The snow had been cleared from the roads, and the sun was shining, whilst a keen, north-east wind—exhilarating to strong, healthy people—was quickly drying up the pavements.
"I shall not be surprised if we have a spell of frost now," remarked Mrs. Reed, as they left Laureston Square and turned into a wide street with large, handsome shops on either side; "I am very fond of frosty weather, myself; but, for the sake of the poor, I hope we shall not get much of it."
"Are there many poor people in Barford?" asked Violet. The street was thronged with well-clad, prosperous-looking folks, she observed.
"Oh, yes, indeed there are!" Ann hastened to reply. "This is the new part of the town, Violet; but in the old part—oh, there it is far different from this!"
"We will take a walk through the old part as soon as I have finished my shopping, then Violet will understand better what Barford is like," said Mrs. Reed; "this is really only a suburb of the place, just as Streatham is a suburb of London."
"I don't know much about London," Violet admitted, "hardly anything, indeed. Once father took Ruth and me to St Paul's, and another time we went to the National Gallery, and he said he would take us to see the shops before Christmas, but he was very busy just then, and—and it costs money to go about, you know."
"Of course it does."
Mrs. Reed spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, and Violet, who had expected that she would evince great astonishment at her ignorance of London, was agreeably disappointed. By-and-by, Mrs. Reed having executed all her errands, at a whisper from Ann turned down a side street, which brought them to a large, red brick building, standing in its own grounds, which were entered from the road by a big, iron gate.
"There, Violet!" cried Ann. Violet looked at her inquiringly. "This is Helmsford College," Ann explained; "we day-scholars go in by that gate, it is locked now because Miss Orchardson, the principal, has not returned from her holidays yet, and the servants use a back entrance. What do you think of the place from the outside?"
"It is very big," Violet answered, somewhat awed by the size of the building; "are there a great many pupils?"
"Nearly two hundred—that is, counting both boarders and day-scholars."
"So many as that!" exclaimed Violet. "I do hope I shall be put in your class, Ann," she continued eagerly, "but I am afraid that is not very probable."
"Why not?" inquired Ann. "Oh, you think because I am a year older than you that I know more than you do. I'm not at all forward for my age, am I, mother?"
Mrs. Reed shook her head smilingly. She had already discovered that Violet was, in many ways, a precocious girl, and thought it very likely she was as advanced in general knowledge as her daughter.
Turning away from Helmsford College, they now left the fashionable suburb behind them, and soon Violet found the streets, through which they passed, narrower, the houses dingier, and the air less fresh and clear. Tall buildings with small windows and high chimneys appeared in sight, and the only pedestrians they met were those of the working-classes, most of whom looked insufficiently clad and pinched with cold. Violet wondered how Mrs. Reed had learnt to know her way about in such a labyrinth of streets. By-and-by, on turning a corner, they came upon a figure clad in a blue serge gown with an old-fashioned cloak and bonnet, and they were accosted by the clear, decided voice of Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway.
"Mrs. Reed, you Ann too! And here is my little travelling-companion! How do you do, all of you?"
"We are quite well, thank you," Mrs. Reed answered, as they shook hands, in turn, with the lady doctor. "Ann and I are showing Violet—no need to introduce you, I know—something of Barford, and I have a call to make in this district."
"I see. I am going to visit a patient in that house opposite, a sad case."
"Indeed?" Mrs. Reed said questioningly.
"Yes. My patient is a widow, the mother of four children, the eldest—a girl—no older than this child—" nodding at Violet; "the poor woman has had a severe attack of pneumonia, but, with God's help, I'm pulling her round. During her illness the eldest girl has been the main support of the family."
"How?" asked Ann, her eyes kindling with eager interest.
"By charing, my dear. It's a fact. Fancy a charwoman of only fourteen years old! There's a heroine for you!" And with a nod and a smile the lady doctor crossed the road, opened the door of the house she had indicated, and disappeared within.
"This is a district where she has always a great many patients," Mrs. Reed explained to Violet, as they proceeded on their way, "they are mostly poor people who work in the factories."
"But can people like that pay her?" Violet asked, looking at Mrs. Reed in surprise, and then turning her brown eyes to Ann, who answered quickly:—
"Oh, very little!"
"They pay her what they can," said Mrs. Reed; "she knows what they can afford, and charges accordingly; but, frequently, I have no doubt she gets no remuneration for her services. She was born and brought up in Barford. Her father was a factory owner who made a large fortune, and she chose to become a doctor for various reasons. In those days people looked rather askance at lady doctors, so that when, having taken her diploma in Edinburgh, she returned to her native town and commenced to practise, the medical men hereabouts were not very well pleased; but they soon began to recognise her ability, and, as her patients for some years were mostly confined to those whom other doctors were in no wise eager to attend, and she never gave advice free to anyone who could make payment, they soon treated her with more cordiality. She leads a most unselfish life—a life devoted to her fellow creatures, and I do not believe there is a woman more hard worked in the town than 'Dr. Elizabeth,' as she is generally called, and certainly there is not one more respected or beloved by all classes."
"But if her father made a large fortune, if she was not poor, why did she become a doctor to work so hard?" inquired Violet, really puzzled.
"Oh, Violet, don't you understand?" exclaimed Ann. "Why, it was because she saw that by becoming a doctor she could do such a lot of good in the world. Doctors often go to see people that clergymen and ministers know nothing about. It seemed to her that God had been so bountiful to her in giving her so many talents, money, and health, and brains—she told me this herself—that she was sure He meant her to use them in the service of those not so well off as herself."
"In short, she works for Christ's sake," Mrs. Reed said softly, "for the least of His brethren. Now, Violet, you understand?"
"Y-e-s," Violet answered, rather doubtfully.
"I suppose we are going to see Malvina Medland, mother?" questioned Ann.
"Yes, my dear," was the response.
"Who is that?" Violet asked. "Malvina! What an uncommon name!"
"Isn't it?" said Ann, smiling. "Malvina is a poor, deformed girl, she has something amiss with her spine and she suffers terribly in her back sometimes, but she is the most cheerful body in the world, I should think. She lives with her mother and sister—Lottie, the sister is called—who both work in a factory. Malvina stays at home all day long and earns a living by doing plain sewing, and 'minding babies' as she calls it."
"Minding babies!" exclaimed Violet, opening her eyes very wide in her astonishment.
"Yes. She takes in the babies of women who are obliged to leave their homes by day, and looks after them—'minds them' as she would say. Why, there she is!"
Looking ahead Violet saw a girl apparently of about sixteen years of age, with a baby in her arms, standing in a doorway. At the first glance she noted the fact that the poor girl was deformed. Her face, though quite colourless, was very beautiful, with large, limpid, blue eyes, and regular features; it lit up with a bright, welcoming smile as she caught sight of the approaching trio.
"Well, Malvina, how are you to-day, my dear?" Mrs. Reed asked kindly.
"Better than usual, ma'am, thank you," was the response, spoken in a brisk tone. "I hope you and Miss Ann are well?"
"Yes, thank you." Then, as Malvina's eyes glanced with interest at Violet, Mrs. Reed continued: "This is a friend of ours, from London, who is going to make her home with us for the time. Are you wise, Malvina, to stand out here without a hat?"
"I rarely catch cold, ma'am," smiled Malvina; "and the baby is well wrapped up—this is the only one I have to mind to-day."
"Business is rather slack then?" Mrs. Reed inquired.
"Yes, ma'am. Lots of women are out of work, I'm sorry to say, and that's hard for them and me, too. Please to come inside."
Malvina led the way into a kitchen, which appeared very dark, at first, for the window was small and high in the wall, and consequently gave very little light; but, when Violet could see better, she noticed that the room was tidy and clean, the tins on the mantelpiece shone like silver, the deal table was as white as scrubbing could make it, and there was not a speck of dust visible anywhere. Suspended before the window was a fern in a pot, which, Violet subsequently learnt, Ann had brought home to Malvina from Devonshire the preceding summer, and was now the hunchback's most cherished possession.
"Please to sit down," said Malvina, and her visitors accordingly did so, whilst she stood by the fireplace—in which was no fire—rocking the baby in her arms.
"I am sorry to hear there are so many women out of work," Mrs. Reed remarked, regretfully; "but your mother and sister are not amongst the number?"
"No, ma'am, I'm thankful to say they are not, though their wages have been cut; but 'half a loaf is better than no bread,' and we must be glad of that. Things will be better as the spring comes on; folks will find they want new clothing, and orders will come in faster then. My mother and sister work at a factory where they make clothing, miss," she explained to Violet, who was listening to her with interest, "coats, and skirts, and blouses, and everything that people buy ready-made."
"I see," said Violet. "Do your mother and sister get good wages generally?"
"No, miss. They earn just enough, as a rule, to keep a roof over our heads, and provide food—sometimes not much of that. 'Tis a shame they should not be better paid, 'tis most unfair, but there's no helping it."
"I want three dozen yards of crochet edging like the last you worked for me, Malvina," said Mrs. Reed; "here is the money for the cotton, and perhaps you will be able to walk as far as Laureston Square with the work when you have finished it? If it is fine the walk will do you good—that is, if you are pretty well; but, remember you are not to do the return journey without a rest, you must not hurry away as you did the last time."
"Try to come on a Saturday," said Ann, "then you will be more likely to find me at home. My friend and I are going to school next week, but Saturdays are always whole holidays, you know."
"You are so kind," murmured Malvina, a faint colour creeping into her pale cheeks, "no one else is so kind except Dr. Elizabeth. I am so very glad to get this order for crochet, because I have a good bit of time on my hands now there are so few babies to mind."
"Have you seen Dr. Elizabeth lately?" inquired Mrs. Reed.
"About a fortnight ago, ma'am. My back had been very bad, paining me worse than usual, and mother asked Dr. Elizabeth to give me something to ease the pain, and she did. She came to see me and talked to me, and I think what she said and the heartening way of her did me almost as much good as her medicine. She's that cheerful!"
"You have no fire," observed Mrs. Reed, glancing at the cold hearth.
"No, ma'am. I shan't light it till just before mother and Lottie come home; one doesn't miss a fire much when the sun shines. 'Twas quite pleasant on the doorstep."
After a little further conversation the visitors rose to depart. Malvina followed them to the street door, where they said good-bye to her, and Violet noticed that Ann lingered a moment to slip something into her hand, whispering, as she did so, a few words, one of which was "coal."
"Is Barford anything like what you had pictured it, my dear?" Mrs. Reed inquired of Violet by-and-by, as they turned their backs on the narrow streets of the town for a wider thoroughfare.
"No," Violet replied frankly, "I did not think there were so many poor people living here. That hunchback girl is very poor, isn't she?"
"She is, indeed; sometimes she and her mother and sister have lacked the necessaries of life, and theirs is only one case amongst many." Mrs. Reed looked with kindly scrutiny at Violet as she proceeded: "There is, unfortunately, so little one can do to help people like that, but that little one ought to do by living carefully and giving away all one can. You know, my dear, as a rule, it is only those who save off themselves who have anything to give; if people live up to their incomes they cannot do much towards helping other people."
Violet looked meditative, and made no answer. At that minute they came to a florist's shop, in the window of which were exhibited several pots of beautiful hyacinths nearly in full bloom. Ann had declared her intention of purchasing one of these pots on her way home; but she would have passed by now, without even glancing at the flowers, had not her mother said:—
"How about the hyacinths, Ann? I thought you proposed to make yourself a present?"
"I am not going to do so, after all, mother," Ann replied calmly, though she coloured as she walked straight on.
And then Violet realised, with swift comprehension, that Ann had given to Malvina the money with which she had intended to purchase the flowers, and she expected Mrs. Reed would buy the sweet-scented blooms for her daughter. Mrs. Reed, however, did nothing of the kind, but merely said:—
"Oh, very well, Ann."
"I CANNOT help feeling rather nervous about to-morrow," said Violet, on the afternoon prior to the day on which Helmsford College was to reopen. She and Ann were sitting by the drawing-room fire, and the conversation had been growing very confidential.
"You need not," Ann returned encouragingly, "for I assure you you will not have to go through a very trying ordeal. Miss Orchardson will say a few words to you, then she will hand you over to a governess and you will be examined on various subjects, after which you will be classed. I am very hopeful that you will be in my class. It will be nice to be doing the same work, won't it?"
"Very. Have you an especial friend at school, Ann?"
"No. I am not quick at making friends. Father says I require a lot of knowing before anyone understands me."
"I think you do," Violet allowed; "I have known you a week, but I don't think I quite understand you, yet."
Ann laughed, and coloured as she replied:—
"I daresay not; and I don't think I quite understand you, Violet. You are rather reserved."
"Reserved!" echoed Violet, in astonishment. "Oh, I am not that! At home they always called me outspoken. In what way do you consider me reserved?"
"You don't tell me all I should like to know about your home. Perhaps that sounds inquisitive, you look as if you think so, but I should be so interested to hear more about your sisters and brothers. They must miss you dreadfully."
"They do," Violet admitted, a tender smile creeping over her pretty face, "especially Ruth." Her hand moved towards her pocket as she spoke, and she produced therefrom a letter which she opened. "I received this from Ruth this morning," she said, "I will read it to you, if you like, but I expect it will surprise you. Would you like to hear it?"
"I should, indeed. But are you sure you wish to read it to me?"
"Oh, yes! I don't mind—I mean, you may as well hear what Ruth has to say, for you're sure to find out all about them at home sooner or later. You know my home is not like yours. Oh, it's not unhappy, no indeed! But there's no one to manage things; mother tries, but—oh, I can't explain! Listen to this, then perhaps you'll understand what I mean." And Violet proceeded to read aloud:—
"MY DEAREST VI,"
"Mother intended writing to you this evening, but she has one of her bad headaches and has gone to bed early to try to sleep it off; she sends her fond love to you and says I am to tell you with what pleasure we look forward to your letters. The Reeds must be very kind, good people, and I like what you have told us of Ann; she must indeed be very different from Agnes Hosking—by the way, Madge tells me that Agnes Hosking has not returned to Miss Minter's this term."
"I don't think there is much news—much good news that is. We have had a most trying day. Barbara fell down the kitchen stairs this morning with a tray of breakfast things, and, though she wasn't much hurt, which is a great blessing, the china was all smashed. It wasn't her fault that she fell, she wasn't careless; Frank had left a ball on the stairs, and she unfortunately slipped her foot on it. Poor father did not come home from the office till four o'clock this morning, and the noise of Barbara's fall disturbed him—he got up after that and went out without having any breakfast, and mother cried and spoke crossly to Barbara, who said she'd leave, but she didn't mean it."
"It seems to me everything has gone wrong to-day, I think it's often the way when the morning begins badly. We had a nice leg of mutton for dinner, at least it ought to have been nice, but it was so dreadfully underdone, and father could not wait to have it put back in the oven, as he had an engagement to keep; so we had to eat it as it was or leave it, and we left it. Father didn't say much about it; but I have quite made up my mind, Violet, that I will help Barbara with the cooking, I have told mother so and she agrees."
"In the middle of the afternoon the Vicar called, and Barbara showed him right into the sitting-room without any warning—she ought to have remembered that we were airing the clothes, which had just come back from the wash, but she forgot. The Vicar was very nice, as he always is, but I am sure he must have noticed that mother had been crying; however, she cheered up, and talked about you and explained how kindly and generously the Reeds are treating you. He wouldn't hear of my getting him any tea—I was relieved at that for I was afraid Barbara might not have thought of getting boiling water in readiness."
"One thing I think you will be very glad to hear, and that is that it is quite decided I am to have drawing and painting lessons. I am so pleased about it myself. I mean to work my hardest, and then perhaps some day I shall be able to earn money and help father; meanwhile, I'm going to try to get things in less of a muddle at home. I am afraid that will be very difficult."
"We are all pretty well, and father's cough has not returned. Oh, Vi, I do miss you so much, especially when bed-time comes. The last few nights Madge has slept with me, and I expect she will continue to do so. Mind you tell me how you get on at Helmsford College; it will be very strange for you, at first, to be in such a large school. Write soon, dear Vi, to your ever loving sister,"
"Ruth."
"There!" cried Violet, as she returned the letter to her pocket and glanced quickly at Ann to see the impression it had made upon her.
"What do you think of it?" she asked.
"I think I wish I had a sister like Ruth to write to me," Ann answered, smiling; "I am sure you two must be very fond of each other."
"Oh, indeed we are! Ruth is such a dear girl."
"I am certain she is, and unselfish, isn't she? Yes, I thought so. What a good thing your servant wasn't injured when she fell downstairs, she might have been killed."
"And then it would have been Frank's fault. Boys are so careless and thoughtless, at least ours are. I suppose other people's boys would be made to pick up their toys, but Frank and Billy leave theirs about everywhere. Barbara must have been very cross to say she would leave; I am glad she is not going, for I do not know how they would manage at home without her now. She suits us, she does not mind muddling along—oh, Ann, what you must think of us! But, there, you don't know what it is to keep only one servant."
"No," admitted Ann, "but mother does. She was one of a long family, and her father—he was a curate—could only afford one servant, but she says their home was always very comfortable. Thank you so much for reading Ruth's letter to me. I suppose she is fond of drawing since she appears so pleased at the thought of taking drawing and painting lessons?"
"Yes, that is her forte; but she is not clever in anything else—except in housework. She helps Barbara in many ways."
Ann nodded comprehendingly. She was looking into the fire with thoughtful eyes, and Violet wondered what was passing through her mind.
"Do you know, Ann, that your father is going to allow me the same amount of pocket money as you get?" Violet asked by-and-by. Then, as her companion quietly assented, she added: "He says I may spend it just as I please."
"Of course, Violet. I do, and neither mother nor father ever question me how I spend it."
"Do you think Dr. Reed would mind if I sometimes send part of it to Ruth?"
"Certainly not. The money will be your own to do as you like with it," Ann responded quickly, her grey eyes deepening and darkening as they always did when anything pleased her. Her sympathy, ever on the alert, had gone out to Ruth as Violet had read her letter. "I spend my pocket money to please myself," she proceeded; "sometimes in one way, sometimes in another."
"You gave Malvina Medland money to buy coal, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I didn't know you noticed it, you are very sharp, Violet. Poor Malvina! It is dreadful to have no fuel in cold weather, and I suspect there was not much in the Medland's house to-day."
"Malvina did not appear to mind."
"She never complains. It is not her way to do that, but I do not suppose she feels less on that account. Did you notice how clean her home was? She takes a pleasure in keeping it so. Oh, here's mother!"
Mrs. Reed, who had been paying a round of calls, now entered the room, and, a few minutes later, afternoon-tea was brought in, and the girls' confidential chat was at an end.
On the following day Violet was duly installed as a pupil at Helmsford College, and, much to her gratification, found herself placed in the same class as Ann; but, what was her astonishment when, on scrutinising the countenances of her other class-mates, she saw the familiar face of Agnes Hosking. For a moment she could scarcely believe the evidence of her own eyes, but they had not deceived her.
Agnes was no less surprised than Violet at this unexpected meeting, and she seized the first opportunity which presented itself of speaking to her, explaining that she herself was a boarder at Helmsford College, and demanding to know how Violet came to be there.
Violet answered her somewhat reservedly, merely saying that she was living with friends in Barford, for she was most undesirous that Agnes Hosking should be made acquainted with the circumstances under which she was an inmate of Dr. Reed's house. Agnes immediately saw that there was something Violet was wishful to hide; however, she kept that discovery to herself, and said she was glad to meet an old friend. After that Violet felt obliged to introduce her to Ann; but she took care to explain to Ann, subsequently, that she held no very high opinion of Agnes Hosking.
"I wish she was not here," she said, with a sigh, a worried expression settling on her face; "she will be sure to tell the other girls all about me—how poor we are at home, and—and other things."
"What will that matter?" asked Ann, looking surprised. "She cannot say anything against you. A great many people are poor without being able to help it."
"But she thinks so much of money, and once she called father 'a newspaper hack,' I was so indignant, and so was Ruth when I told her."
"I should think so!" Ann exclaimed, with a flash of her grey eyes. "I know how I should feel if anyone spoke in a disparaging tone of my father."
"I daresay Agnes will speak of father as 'a newspaper hack' to the girls," Violet said, "it would be like her to do it."
"Never mind. If she does I shall make it my business to tell them what a clever man he is;" Ann declared, "and they will believe me. Don't let the thought of anything she may say trouble you, Violet, for a girl like that will have very little influence over anyone you would care to make your friend; besides, she seems inclined to be friendly with you herself, so why should she wish to disparage you or your family?"
"The worst of it is one cannot trust her. She is very spiteful, and if I annoyed her in any way she would do her best to pay me out for it."
"Well, then, beware of her," advised Ann, "but don't be afraid of her all the same."
Violet laughed, and said she would not; nevertheless she was anything but easy in her mind about Agnes Hosking, and determined to keep on good terms with her, if possible. She thought a great deal of the opinion people held of her, and she had hoped to figure at Helmsford College as the companion and friend of the prosperous doctor's daughter, not as the child of a struggling journalist, and she feared she would be disappointed. The presence of Agnes Hosking had overshadowed what would otherwise have been a very happy and promising day.
FOR the first week or so after her arrival at Barford Violet was most careful in keeping her bedroom in good order, for she was delighted with the pretty little room, which was a picture of daintiness and freshness; but it was not long before she began to grow careless about it, and there came a day when, on her return from school in the afternoon, Mrs. Reed followed her upstairs and told her in a tone, which, though kind, betrayed displeasure, that she really must learn to be more tidy and not leave her bedroom in such a litter again.
"I—I am very sorry," stammered Violet, crimsoning with mortification, as she cast one hurried look around and saw that Mrs. Reed had not spoken without reason, "I—I was in a hurry, and I had no time to put things straight before I left for school."
"I don't think that is an adequate excuse, my dear," Mrs. Reed said gravely, "for it would have taken you no longer to have put that wet towel on the towel-horse than to have flung it on the bed. Then look at your boots and shoes strewn about the floor as though you had no cupboard to keep them in, and your desk left open, and your mother's letter—I see it is hers by the writing on the envelope—on the dressing-table. I have no reason to think that there is anyone in the house who is sufficiently prying and dishonourable to read another person's letters, but it is always unwise to leave correspondence about."
"Yes, I know it is," Violet admitted, taking her mother's letter from the dressing-table and slipping it into her pocket, whilst she remembered there was a great deal in it she would not care for a servant to see. She then proceeded to close and lock her desk; after which she collected her boots and shoes and put them in the cupboard; hung up in its proper place in the wardrobe a skirt which she had thrown over the back of a chair; took the damp towel off the bed; and otherwise tidied the room.
"That's better," Mrs. Reed said approvingly, "you must be more careful in future. I cannot endure disorder, and there is really no excuse for it in this case, for there is a place for everything."
"I won't leave my room so untidy again," promised Violet, "but I—I really was in a great hurry, and I didn't think what I was doing. I just did as I should have done at home and left my things all higgledy-piggledy."
Mrs. Reed could not refrain from smiling at this frank admission.
"It is a very great pity to get into the habit of doing that, Violet," she said; "and really it is quite as easy to be tidy as untidy. You shared a bedroom with your elder sister, at home, did you not?"
"Yes. I am afraid our room was always in more or less of a muddle. Sometimes Ruth used to have what I called 'a tidy fit,' but it never lasted very long; for I was always forgetting, and she would be disheartened."
"Poor Ruth!" said Mrs. Reed, sympathetically.
"I am afraid it was hard lines on her," Violet admitted. "I expect if you saw what our home at Streatham is like you would be quite shocked," she continued, shaking her head and sighing, "but you don't know how difficult it is to be orderly in a little house with a lot of people in it."
"Oh, yes, indeed I do," Mrs. Reed answered, smiling; "I was brought up in a little house myself, and there were so many of us young folks that my father used to say we reminded him of birds packed in a nest. Tidiness is a mere matter of habit, my dear; the home where it is practised is generally a comfortable one, be it a palace or a cottage. Here's Ann coming to hear what I am lecturing you about. Come down to tea now, both of you."
So saying Mrs. Reed left the room, whilst Ann stood on the threshold regarding Violet inquiringly.
"Oh, Ann, I am ashamed of myself!" cried Violet, and her face showed that she spoke the truth. "I left my room in such a muddle," she went on to explain, "and your mother has been speaking to me about it—very kindly, but I know she is vexed with me, and no wonder. I ought not to be disorderly, for, as Mrs. Reed says, there's a place for everything; it's not as it was at home where Ruth and I had no wardrobe, only pegs behind the door to hang our things on."
"You'll be more careful another time," Ann said, consolingly; "mother wasn't angry, you know, Violet," she added, as she saw her companion's brown eyes were a trifle misty.
"Oh, I know she was not! Well, I must try not to give her cause to complain of me in that way again."
Violet did try, but often she relapsed into her disorderly habits, thereby bringing rebuke upon herself. She was always so genuinely sorry and repentant afterwards that Mrs. Reed refrained from speaking to her as sharply as she would otherwise have done, remembering, too, the manner in which the girl had been brought up in her own home.
Truth to tell Violet's new home was very unlike what she had expected. She had anticipated the house of a successful man, as she knew Dr. Reed to be, would be far different from what it actually was. She had imagined it managed regardless of expense, and she soon found, to her secret astonishment, that it was not, and that the strictest economy was practised by its mistress. There was enough of everything, but there was nothing superfluous. Mrs. Reed was one of the most careful of housewives, and, unlike poor Mrs. Wyndham, she knew to a farthing the amount of her expenditure.
Dr. Reed and his wife noted with satisfaction that Violet was becoming very friendly with Ann. Since Violet had read Ruth's letter to Ann she had been more open with her, and was no longer averse to talking of her home. The two girls now prepared their lessons together of an evening, the younger proving herself quite the equal of the elder in most subjects, for she was forward for her age, and, being very quick to learn, she bade fair to make good use of the advantages which had so unexpectedly fallen to her share, and for which she felt really very deeply grateful.
The first week Violet received her pocket money she founds there were so many little things she required for her own use that she put aside the idea of sending Ruth a part of it on that occasion, as she had fully intended doing, and spent it entirely on herself. Next week it was the same, and so the week after, until she began to tell herself that Ruth, not being at school, did not need money so much as she did.
"She would only spend it on pencils and paints," she reflected, "and she does not know what pocket money I get or anything about it."
Her conscience told her she was acting selfishly, but she did not listen to it, and she took care not to tell Ann that she had not fulfilled her intention of sending money to Ruth, so that Ann concluded she had done so.
In a very short while Violet had won the good opinions of those teachers with whom she came in contact at Helmsford College, for she was always attentive and eager to learn. She grew popular, too, with her class-mates, and, though they soon found that she was cleverer than most of them, that indisputable fact did not evoke jealousy as it might have done if she had not been unfailingly good-tempered and obliging. It was supposed by those who thought upon the matter at all that Dr. Reed was Violet's guardian, as, of course he was, only no one guessed that he was paying for her education out of his own pocket and giving her a home besides.
Finding Violet made herself popular at school, Agnes Hosking thought it worth her while to cultivate her acquaintance, and made much of the fact that they had been school-fellows previously; and she refrained from telling anyone of the shabby little home at Streatham where Violet had lived all her life till now, or that Mr. Wyndham was a not very successful journalist.
"It must be very pleasant for you living with the Reeds," she remarked to Violet on one occasion; "much pleasanter than being a boarder here. I suppose the Reeds are very old friends of yours?"
"Dr. Reed is a very old friend of my father's," Violet replied; "he came to see us at Streatham last November, but I never saw Mrs. Reed or Ann before I came to Barford."
"And you like them?" questioned Agnes curiously.
"Oh, yes! Ann and I have become great friends already, and Mrs. Reed is exceedingly kind to me. Of course I missed all my own people dreadfully at first, but now I'm very happy with the Reeds."
"It must be a great change for you," Agnes observed meaningly. Then, as her companion coloured with annoyance, she continued: "I hear Dr. Reed has the best paying practices in the place, he attends all the rich families, and yet they say he was a mere nobody to commence with—I mean, he has made his position himself."
"Yes," assented Violet, curtly.
"I heard one of the girls say that his relations—they live in Devonshire, I believe—are all working people, and that his mother was only a servant."
"Nonsense!" cried Violet, sceptical about the latter statement. "I know his father was a farmer in Devonshire, and his mother is still living—I have seen her likeness. She looks a dear old soul; she couldn't have been a servant."
"Well, of course you would know as the Reeds are such friends of yours," said Agnes, "but I was certainly told it as a fact."
"I don't think it can be true, but I'll ask Ann," Violet replied, eager to be in the position to contradict what she considered an idle report.
And ask Ann Violet did that same day, after they had prepared their lessons in the evening, in the upstairs room which had formerly been Ann's nursery. They were gathering together their books when Violet, with some hesitation, commenced:—
"Oh, Ann, I want to ask you something; but, before I tell you what it is, you must promise you will not be offended with me."
"I promise," Ann replied, smiling; "what is it?"
"Well, I was talking to Agnes Hosking to-day—she is a very inquisitive sort of girl, you know—and she said that someone had told her that—that your grandmother, your father's mother—"
"Yes?" Ann said interrogatively, as her companion appeared embarrassed and hesitated; "what had someone told her about Granny?"
"That she was a servant," Violet answered; "of course I didn't believe it, but I said I'd ask you," she added hastily.
"Agnes Hosking is quite right," Ann said, and her voice sounded cold and proud to Violet's ears, whilst her grey eyes glowed brightly, "Granny was a servant in her young days. What of that?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," Violet replied, much taken aback; "only I did not know, and—and—"
"I never thought of mentioning the fact to you—"
"No, no," Violet interposed, "of course not. I would not have spoken of it if I had thought it was true, but I never, for a moment, believed that it was."
"Do you think I mind your mentioning it?" Ann asked, with a touch of irritation in her tone, and an unwonted expression of displeasure on her face. "You surely cannot imagine that I am ashamed for it to be known that my grandmother was 'only a servant' as people say? Why, I am as fond and proud of Granny as though she was a duchess, aye, prouder, and no duchess could be a better or a sweeter woman—I have often heard mother say that."
She paused for a minute, and her voice softened as she proceeded:—
"My father says he is proud of his ancestry; his people were working folks, it is true, folks of the class Jesus chose His disciples from, but they were honest and always did their duty in life; and father says to serve others is the highest privilege, we all ought to be servants in one way or another in this world; don't you remember that our Lord told His disciples that the greatest amongst them must be servant of all? You can tell Agnes Hosking her statement that my grandmother was a servant is quite correct. Never think I wish to keep that a secret."
"I hope you are not angry with me," Violet said, looking, as she felt, deeply distressed, "you promised you would not be offended. Oh, Ann! I have not said anything to distress you, have? You must not be annoyed because I am surprised—"
"Oh, I am not!" Ann broke in. "Of course it is natural that you should be surprised, I realise that. But I thought you spoke as though I might be ashamed of Granny's having been a servant."
This had actually been the case, and Violet looked abashed. She knew if her grandmother had been a servant she would not have people aware of it for the world; nevertheless she could not but admire Ann for being above what she recognised to be a despicable feeling.
"I am so very sorry if I have hurt you in any way," she murmured; "but—but I didn't understand. I have no grandmother myself, and I didn't know you loved yours so much."
The next day Violet informed Agnes Hosking that she had been right, and that Dr. Reed's mother had been a servant.
"How sly of Ann Reed not to have told you before!" exclaimed Agnes, secretly delighted that she had been the one to enlighten Violet. There was a malicious gleam in her eyes as she spoke.
"Not at all," Violet returned; "she did not think of telling me, and you are mistaken if you imagine she wishes to keep it a secret. She loves her grandmother dearly." And with that she brought the conversation to an abrupt close.
"SPRING is really coming now," announced Ann Reed, as she stood at the dining-room window one Saturday afternoon towards the end of February; "I believe I see some crocuses in the garden. By the way, Violet, you have not been there yet."
"No," replied Violet, folding up the letter she had been engaged, for the last half hour, in writing to her people at home; "but there's not much to be seen in a garden in the winter, is there? I've finished my letter, so I'm ready to do anything you like, now. Are you thinking of going out?"
"I thought it would be nice to have a stroll round the garden."
Violet agreed, and, five minutes later, the two girls left the house together. Having posted Violet's letter at the pillar-box, at one corner of the square, they entered the garden, which they had entirely to themselves, and spent a half hour in pacing the winding paths which led through little shrubberies, and by rockeries and flower-beds, promising, in the course of a few weeks, to be gay with spring flowers where as yet only a few hardy snowdrops and yellow crocuses had ventured to bloom.
"This is an almond tree," said Ann, pausing to indicate a leafless tree under which there was a seat, "the scent of the flowers is delicious; it will be in blossom in another month if we do not get very cold weather again. I often sit here in the summer, I choose this seat if I can get it because I can see our door and watch who comes and goes. There's someone there now. Why, I do believe it's Malvina Medland! Oh, Violet, let us go back, for mother's not at home and, Malvina's so shy that for certain she'll refuse to go in if she doesn't see one of us, and she ought to have a really good rest. I expect she's brought the crochet edging."
The two girls hastened back to the house, which they reached at the moment Malvina was turning from it. The expressive face of the poor girl changed from disappointment to keenest pleasure as she caught sight of them, and a glad light shone in her blue eyes.
"Oh, Malvina, how naughty of you to think of going away without a rest!" cried Ann, reproachfully. "You must come in and have a cup of tea. Mother's not at home, but I expect she will be back presently; you must wait and see her—without, of course, you are really in a hurry?"
"I am not in a hurry, miss," Malvina answered; "but the servant said Mrs. Reed was out, and so I left the work with her. It is such a beautiful afternoon that I thought I would bring the crochet myself, though Lottie said she'd find time in the evening to run round with it if I liked."
Ann led the way into the house, and into the dining-room where she placed her visitor in an easy chair near the fireplace and removed her cloak; then she flitted away to order tea, leaving Malvina to be entertained by Violet. For a few minutes Violet was at a loss how to commence a conversation, but, at last, she remarked:—
"I suppose you do not take many walks in the winter?"
"No, miss, because you see I can't walk fast enough, if the weather's very cold, to keep myself warm; and I never leave home if mother and Lottie are away at work. The factories shut early on Saturdays."
"Why did not Lottie come with you?" inquired Ann, as she re-entered the room, followed by the tweeny-maid with the tea-tray.
Malvina appeared slightly embarrassed at this question, and she answered with some hesitation:—
"I—I hardly know, Miss Ann. I did ask her to come, but—but she has her own friends and she likes to spend her spare time with them, and—and she walks much quicker than I do."
"I daresay she does," Ann responded. "Polly, I wish you would get cook to cut us a few tongue-sandwiches," she said, turning to the servant, "I am sure Malvina could eat some after her walk, and I think I could, couldn't you, Violet?"
"Yes," nodded Violet, seeing that she was expected to assent. It had not occurred to her before that she and Ann would have tea with Malvina, and she could not help wondering what their school-fellows would think of such an arrangement; several of them had already confided to her that they considered Ann Reed very odd because she habitually went her own way, and acted as she liked without troubling her head about the opinions of others.
Seated by the fire, Malvina, who had looked cold and weary, soon grew warm and comfortable. The tea refreshed her, and she did full justice to the tongue-sandwiches—the truth being that she had had but a scanty dinner; whilst a little flush, born of excitement at the novelty of the situation, crept into her pale cheeks. The conversation was mostly between her and Ann. Violet was surprised to see how the latter, by her ready tact and sympathy, won the other's confidence, so that it was not long before Malvina was pouring out a tale of woe.
"It's Lottie mother and I are worrying about, Miss Ann," she said, her voice tremulous, her eyes misty with tears; "and—and it's owing to her I came this afternoon. I ought not to have pretended it was the beautiful weather which had enticed me out, for it wasn't that altogether. I came because we couldn't trust Lottie—it's dreadful to say it of my own sister!—and—and we want the money so badly."
"Then I am glad we stopped you from going without it," Ann replied; "you must wait till mother comes and she will pay you."
"Thank you, miss. We ought not to be so short up to-day, but—" and there was mingled shame and indignation in the girl's voice— "Lottie's not brought home her money this week, not a penny of it, and we have the rent to pay, and—oh, it's cruel of Lottie, that it is, when mother works so hard, and, for that matter, so she does herself!"
"And you work hard, too, Malvina," Ann said gently. "What has Lottie done with her money? Spent it on a new hat or something of that kind, I suppose?"
"No, Miss Ann, I only wish she had," was the mournful response, "it would have been thoughtless and selfish of her, but mother and I wouldn't have minded that so much. She has spent it in betting."
"In betting!" echoed Ann, looking astounded. "But, Malvina, I never knew—why, surely girls don't bet?" she asked incredulously.
"Oh, yes, indeed they do," Malvina declared, with a sob; "you wouldn't know it, but they do. A lot of betting goes on amongst the factory women and girls, and the bookmakers have their agents everywhere—even in the workshops, and lately poor Lottie's been led away by them. She thinks she's going to make her fortune, I believe."
"Oh, Malvina, how dreadful!" cried Ann in a shocked voice, exchanging a look of concern with Violet who was no less astonished and dismayed than herself. "I've heard father say that this is a terrible place for betting," she continued, "but I never imagined that girls would go in for it. Lottie must be out of her mind."
"If Lottie is out of her mind there are many others like her," Malvina asserted, shaking her head sadly. "You can understand what a great trouble this is to mother and me, Miss Ann, can't you?"
"Oh, indeed, yes! I am so sorry for you!"
"You see, Lottie won't listen to reason. Mother's told her that she'll end by bringing us to ruin, but she doesn't believe it. The first bet she made she won, and that made her go on; but she loses much more than she wins now, and the last three weeks she hasn't put a penny towards the housekeeping, and she's grown so ill-tempered, so unlike herself, and the most extraordinary thing is that, though she's bound to see the misery betting brings to others, it doesn't teach her a lesson. There's a family living in the same house as we do, they have the third storey, and sometimes the children haven't food to eat though their father's in regular employment; it's because his earnings mostly go in betting. I could tell you of a great many cases as bad, but I don't think I ought to. I see I've shocked you, Miss Ann, and you, too, miss," she concluded, glancing at Violet, who had been listening to all she had said with the keenest interest.
As a matter-of-fact Violet was even more shocked than Ann, for she knew nothing about the vices of big towns and cities; she had been shielded in her home from the knowledge of a great deal which had never been hidden from Ann, who was fully aware that intemperance and gambling were at the root of much of the poverty and misery which overshadowed the wage-earning classes in Barford. But Ann had not realised before to-day that even young girls were in the habit of betting, and, though she did her best to console Malvina by saying she trusted Lottie would soon see the error she was committing, her heart was filled with dismay, for she had frequently heard her father say that the mania for betting grew, and she foresaw continued trouble for Malvina and her widowed mother.
By-and-by Mrs. Reed appeared upon the scene, much to the relief of mind of her daughter, and, having examined Malvina's work and expressed her satisfaction with it, she promptly paid the money due for it and gave an order for some more. Then, cheered and refreshed by the good meal she had had, Malvina took her departure, saying she would now be able to reach home before dark.
As soon as Malvina had gone, Ann informed her mother of the tale she and Violet had heard about Lottie. Needless to say Mrs. Reed was much concerned, though she was far less surprised than the girls had been. She felt very grieved for poor Mrs. Medland and Malvina; but she shook her head when Ann asked her if she could not interfere in the matter; she could not see her way to do so.
That night, after dinner, when the doctor came into the drawing-room for the quiet hour he always so greatly enjoyed, Ann immediately spoke to him of Malvina's visit and the trouble in connection with Malvina's sister, and, though he did not know the deformed girl except by name as a protégé of his wife's, he showed no lack of interest in all his daughter told him.
"Isn't it sad, father?" she said earnestly, after she had given him all the details of the situation, "sad for poor Mrs. Medland and Malvina, I mean?"
"Yes, and sadder still for the misguided girl—Lottie, do you call her? What sort of girl is she?" he asked, glancing at his wife.
"Very good-looking, and not at all loud in her manners like so many of the factory hands," Mrs. Reed replied; "but she is very unlike Malvina, who is about a year her senior, I believe. Lottie has not been earning her own living long. I had hoped the family would have been in more comfortable circumstances now, but of course if Lottie squanders her wages the others have no chance of getting on. She will drag them down."
"I call Lottie a wicked, selfish girl," said Ann, with unusual severity in her tone, "she's very fond of dress and pleasure—very different from Malvina."
"My dear Ann, isn't it natural that a healthy girl should be fonder of dress and pleasure than a poor hunchback?" questioned her father gravely. "Did it never occur to you that by reason of her affliction your deformed friend is set apart from many temptations? Don't let your sympathy for one sister make you too hard on the other."
"But, Dr. Reed, it is very selfish of Lottie to spend her money in betting!" exclaimed Violet, her brown eyes sparkling with indignation. "And surely it must be wrong to bet?"
"Surely it is," agreed the doctor; "for, look at it in what light you may, it cannot be argued that any good can come of it, whilst we see its evil results on every side. I have little doubt that this Lottie is a foolish, ignorant girl—a selfish one, too, as you say—led away by the hope of making money without working for it. We must try not to be too hard upon her, however, but remember her temptations. Poor girl, she is greatly to be pitied. I wish something could be done to prevent the factory women betting, but it is a difficult problem to tackle. By the way, I think you remarked that these Medlands are patients of Dr. Elizabeth's? Would a word of warning from Dr. Elizabeth have any influence with this girl, Lottie, I wonder?"
"I don't know, perhaps so," Ann replied; "mother does not think she can interfere, and, when one comes to think about it, if she did Lottie would know that Malvina had been talking to us about her, and she might be resentful to her sister."
"I really know very little of Lottie," Mrs. Reed remarked, "I never knew any of the family till Dr. Elizabeth asked me if I could give Malvina an order for some crochet. No, I don't think I can interfere in this case."
"No," agreed her husband, "but Dr. Elizabeth might. She feels very strongly on this betting question, and I believe, if it was suggested to her, she would make it her business to see if anything can be done to keep this poor girl from ruin—it means ruin if she persists in the course she has begun."
"Oh, let me go and see Dr. Elizabeth on Monday!" Ann cried eagerly. "Will you go with me, Violet?"
"Yes," assented Violet; "she lives a good way from here, does she not?"
"A good way—about a mile. We shall not be able to go till late in the afternoon, after school hours; but we shall be more likely to find her at home then than earlier in the day. We will tell her about Lottie Medland, and she will know if anything can be done to help her."
After that the conversation passed into another channel. Seeing his daughter was very troubled about the Medland family, Dr. Reed sought to distract her thoughts by talking to Violet of her relatives, and soon Ann was laughing at an account of some of the mischievous pranks the twins were in the habit of playing on their much enduring sisters and Barbara.
"You know they don't mean to be naughty, but they're high-spirited like all boys," explained Violet, who, now she was separated from her little brothers, thought of them very tenderly indeed; "it really used to be very funny to hear them teasing Barbara, and she's very fond of them both, though she pretends she's not. Billy used to mimic her, and it was impossible not to laugh, and then she would run after him and chase him out of the kitchen, and Ruth would have to go down and make peace."