The Old Pincushion; or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests

  CHAPTER IV.

  AT TY-GWYN.

  Decorative H]

  is aunt's letter, though so kind, had caused Neville somedisappointment. It was evident to him that there was no hope of herbeing able to have Kathleen to live with her. And indeed, these comingholidays were probably the only ones they could ever hope to spend withher.

  'Poor Aunt Clotilda!' thought the boy. 'It is really very sad for her.Papa has always told us what a good sister she was to him, and of courseif they had come home and gone to live there she would always havestayed with us. I wonder what she will do? I wish I were old enough toearn money, somehow, so that we three, aunt and Kathie and I, could livetogether till papa and mamma come home. It seems a shame for her to haveto work, and yet I suppose she'll have to do something like being agoverness or a companion; perhaps she's too old to be a governess. She'smuch older than papa.'

  The thought of his aunt seemed to bring out all the chivalry in hisnature.

  'When I'm a man,' he went on thinking to himself, 'if Kathleen andlittle Vida are not married, and poor, I won't marry till I've gotenough for them to be comfortable. Of course it was different for papa,for he was so sure of Mrs. Wynne's money. It's very kind of AuntClotilda to want me too to go. I should like to see the place, though itwill be rather horrid too to know it should have been ours. I do hopeKathie will like the idea of going.'

  All fears on this score were soon put an end to. The very next morningbrought him back his aunt's long letter enclosed in a rather scrawlynote from Kathleen, condescendingly expressing her approval of thescheme, the reason of which was, to tell the truth, principallycontained in the postscript.

  'We'll have a good hunt for the will ourselves. I'm sure Aunt Clotildais rather a goose. I don't believe she's half hunted for it. Just think,Neville, _if_ we found it!'

  And Neville's face flushed with a momentary enthusiasm as he pictured tohimself the delight of such a possibility. But the glow quickly fadedagain.

  'No, there's no use thinking of it,' he said to himself; 'better not.Kathie mustn't get it into her head, though I'm glad in one way to seethat she has thought about it seriously. But I'm quite sure AuntClotilda has done everything that could be done. Kathie has no businessto say she's a goose. Now I can write to her and say we should like verymuch to go to her. I hope it won't bother her much.'

  His letter was sent that very afternoon. But it was not till nearly noonon the following day that it reached its destination. In what MissClotilda Powys herself and many of her neighbours, not to speak of oldMartha, were already beginning to call 'the old days,' a groom usedregularly to be sent from Mrs. Wynne's to the two miles distantpost-office, where the letters arrived by mail-cart early in themorning. Now-a-days the White House had to take its turn with the restof the world in the out-of-the way village, and to wait the goodpleasure of old John Parry, who stumped along at his own sweet will, thecanvas bag slung across his shoulders, seeing no reason why he shouldhurry. Nay, more, if there happened to be any piece of work at his owncottage that he was anxious to get finished betimes, the letters mightwait--half an hour or so couldn't make such a mighty difference, and hewas quite secure that no one in the village would ever notice it orcomplain if they did. Miss Clotilda Powys was perhaps the only personthe least likely to mind whether her share of the post-bag's contentsreached her at ten o'clock or twelve. And lately, since the excitementthat immediately followed Mrs. Wynne's death had subsided, since therewere no more lawyer's letters of advice or inquiry to look for--foreverybody by this time had come to believe that either the will wouldnever be found or did not exist--Miss Clotilda cared little more aboutpost-time than anybody else. She had no heart left to feel interest inthe outside world, and she was a woman whose chief interests wouldalways be those of her own belongings. For she had lived in a smallsphere all her life--her one great affection had been for her youngerbrother, David Powys, the father of Neville and Kathleen; like a stream,dammed on all sides but one, this affection had deepened andstrengthened till it had become the one idea of her life. It is easy,therefore, to understand that Captain Powys was right when he said thathis sister was perhaps the most to be pitied of all concerned.

  Old Martha had been many years in Mrs. Wynne's household. She knew MissClotilda well--better, probably, than did any one else. She had admiredher patience with the old lady, her self-denial and gentleness, and shesympathised almost more than any one in the terrible disappointment. Andlately she had begun to feel very unhappy about Miss Clotilda. Since shehad come to lose hope, the poor lady had grown listless andlow-spirited, so that Martha sometimes almost feared she would fall ill,and not care to get well again.

  'I must have deserved it,' she would say sometimes to the old servant.'I fear I have been selfish--caring too much for my own dear brother,and thinking of nothing else.'

  'Oh, miss,' Martha would remonstrate, 'how could you ever think so? I'msure no lady could have been kinder than yourself to all the poor folkabout. You've never been one to turn a deaf ear to anybody's troubles.'

  'But in my heart,' said her mistress, 'in my heart my one thought hasbeen David, and that cannot be right, for now it seems as if there wasnothing left, now that I can no longer plan for his happiness. I don'tknow what to do with myself, Martha. I'm getting old, and I am useless;at least, I feel that I shall be useless away from here. I should liketo become a sister, and work among the poor, but I am afraid I shouldnot understand it, away from here.'

  'Never fear, miss,' Martha would say consolingly. 'A way will show forthose as really wishes to do right. You've done what was your duty welltill now. I'm sure no lady knows better how to see to a garden or adairy; and for poultry, miss, you've quite a special calling. Don't youworry, miss.'

  And this she would say, though her own heart was sad. She feared shewould have to leave Miss Clotilda, and it was hard to think of going towork among strangers at her age. But she was a truly good andfaithful-hearted old woman. She believed that, as she said, no onereally anxious to do right will ever be left for long at a loss.

  Many a night had Martha lain awake, thinking about the lost will. Sheturned over in her head every possible, or impossible, place in whichMrs. Wynne could have hidden it. More than once, indeed, she had got upin the dark, and lighted a candle to go peeping into some cupboard ordrawer which it had struck her had not been thoroughly turned out. Butall in vain. And now she, too, like Miss Clotilda herself and the restof the world, had begun to think all hope was over.

  She was very delighted when the boy Neville's first letter came, for ofcourse she was at once told of its contents. And she saw that it broughta light to Miss Clotilda's eyes, and a colour to her cheeks, that hadnot been there since Mrs. Wynne's death.

  'THERE'S YOUR WORK FOR YOU, SO TO SPEAK, MISS.']

  'There now, missy dear,' said the old servant, for Clotilda, whom shehad known for more than thirty years, still seemed a child to hersometimes, 'didn't I tell you it would be shown you what to do? There'sthat dear little girl, by her brother's account--and an uncommonwell-thinking young gentleman he must be--sorely in need of a mother'scare; and who could do so well instead of a mother as her own aunt, I'dlike to know? There's your work for you, so to speak, miss.'

  'But, Martha,' said Miss Clotilda, 'I can't have her to live with me, asNeville hints. Even if David were to give me what he pays for hernow--and it would go hard with me to take it--I have no house. And I amnot clever enough to teach her;' and again Miss Clotilda's face fell.

  'Wait a bit, miss,' said Martha again; 'there's no telling how thingsmay turn out yet. The first thing to do is to have the young lady andher brother for the holidays, so you'll get to know them, and they you.And maybe a way will be shown for you to have them more with you afterthat.'

  'But, Martha,' said Clotilda again, '_can_ I have them with me even forthe holidays? I've so very little money left. And children have goodappetites, and it would be dreadful not to give them nice things andplenty.'

  'We'll manage it,' said Mar
tha. 'We've still the use of the garden, andsome of the poultry's your very own, miss. And the cow is stillgiving milk. Mr. Wynne-Carr said nothing about that.'

  'No. I think if I wrote to him about the children he would tell me Imight use all there is in the place. And we don't need much, you and I,Martha--we need hardly anything that has to be bought, and I can be evenmore careful till my half-year's money comes,' for she had fifty poundsa year of her own, but that was all. 'If I can make the children happythese holidays, I don't care what happens afterwards,' she addedbrightly. 'I can always go to one or other of my old friends for a fewweeks till I find some kind of situation.'

  'To be sure,' Martha agreed.

  So the letter was sent which we have read. And then Miss Clotilda andthe old servant went into all sorts of discussions as to ways and means.Mr. Wynne-Carr was written to, and in reply he, as Martha expressed it,'made Miss Clotilda free of the cow and the garden,' and told her toconsider _all_ the poultry as hers, to eat or sell, as she preferred.That was grand. Martha disposed of several couple almost at once, andproceeded to fatten up others. And when the news of the 'Captain'schildren' coming to visit their aunt was told to some of the neighbours,several substantial proofs of goodwill were forthcoming. Old ThomasEvans, the principal tenant, begged Miss Clotilda to allow him to sendher a forequarter of mutton every time he killed a sheep, while theyoung people should be with her; and Mary Jones, the villageschoolmistress, humbly presented a beautiful dish of honeycomb. OldMartha was triumphant, and maintained that troubles are often blessingsin disguise, as they show us good points in our neighbours whichotherwise might never be suspected.

  And the next day or two were much more busy and cheerful than theirpredecessors, though Miss Clotilda felt anxious to hear again fromNeville, and in the day or two which had to pass before the boy's replycould possibly come she had time enough to worry herself with all sortsof fears and misgivings.

  'It would be too disappointing if they decided they did not care to comenow that we have settled all so nicely, would it not, Martha?' she keptrepeating. 'I hope my letter was not too discouraging, so to say. What Isaid about being so poor now. I trust that will not make them afraid ofcoming.'

  'What you said, miss, was just the plain truth--that you'd do your bestfor them, and give them a hearty welcome. You couldn't pretend thingswould be as in the old days, or as they _should_ be if the Captain hadhis rights. But don't worry, miss; Master Neville's a sensible younggentleman and his father's own son, or I'm much mistaken, and the littlegirl is just a child. It'll be all right, you'll see.'

  It was, however, very provoking, that the morning Neville's letter wason its way, the very first day that there could possibly have been ananswer from him, old John should have been particularly late. Twentytimes that morning did Miss Clotilda open the front door, and standgazing along the drive in hopes of perceiving the familiar figure of theold letter-carrier, and at least half as many times was Marthadespatched to the cottage at the corner of the road which he _must_pass, to make sure that he had not already done so. To tell the truth,Martha only went once, and there would have been no use in her goingoftener, for she explained the matter to her namesake, Martha Price, theowner of the said cottage, and made her promise to send the old man,'anyways,' to say so, even if there were not a letter.

  But nevertheless, every time Miss Clotilda's voice was heard calling'Martha, you might just run to the cottage,' the cunning old body calledout, 'To be sure, miss, to be sure.' And when the inquiry came down thekitchen passage--'Well, Martha?'--'Not yet awhile, miss. Old John's notin sight just yet,' she would reply.

  The longest lane has its turning, however, and the longest waiting comesto an end.

  It was nearly one o'clock when Parry at last appeared, smiling andcomplacent, so that Miss Clotilda found it impossible to meet him withthe scolding she felt sure he deserved. He'd have been sharper, to besure, if he'd known the lady was in a hurry for her letter--there wasbut the one for the White House--another time if she'd give him a hinta day or two before, he'd see to it she wasn't kept waiting. But she hadno patience to listen to his polite speeches, she seized the letter andhurried off with it to her own room to read it in private. Poorloving-hearted Miss Clotilda! Her nerves had been sadly tried of late.She really felt that if the letter were to say they were not comingafter all, she might be guilty of bursting into tears, and that it wouldnot do even for Martha to see!

  It was all right, however. The first word or two reassured her.

  'MY DEAR AUNT,' wrote Neville, 'Kathie and I thank you very much for your kind letter. I have not seen Kathie, but I wrote to her, and we are both sure we should like very much to come. I am very sorry about all the trouble. I am so sorry it should make you poorer too. I should like to be grown-up, and to work hard to help papa and mamma and my sisters and you. It will not make us unhappy to see the place. We shall like to see it. Please write to Mr. Fanshaw and Miss Eccles. Kathie's holidays begin in three weeks, and I could come then too. I am sure we should be all right to come third-class. A boy here, whose people are very rich, goes third with his sister, because his father says it's better than second. Mr. Fanshaw can find the trains if you'll fix the day.--Your affectionate nephew,

  'NEVILLE W. POWYS.'

  Again Miss Clotilda's voice sounded along the kitchen passage.

  'It's all right, Martha,' it said joyfully. 'The dear children arecoming. I think I'll just slip on my bonnet and run up to Mr. Parry's'(_this_ Mr. Parry was the vicar), 'and see if he's got a--a clergylist--oh, dear me! what am I saying? I mean a railway-guide, and then ifI mark down the best train I can write at once to Miss Eccles and to Mr.Fanshaw. It will save them all trouble, and of course I must choose atrain which will arrive in good time at Frewern Bay, on account of thelong drive, you see, Martha.'

  'To be sure, miss, to be sure,' Martha agreed. 'But you'll have someluncheon first, miss. They'll be at theirs at the vicarage.'

  'Very well, Martha,' said Miss Clotilda submissively. She felt far tooexcited to eat, but still she did not want to delay Martha's own dinner.The calling this mid-day repast 'luncheon' was a pious fiction, for, formany years past, even in the so-called 'old days,' it had been the realdinner. Mrs. Wynne had been too delicate to take a substantial meal latein the day, and now, alas! there were serious reasons why Miss Clotildashould be content with but one such. And with her present economicalintention, I am afraid even her luncheon was not a luxurious meal. Butthe thought of the little visitors for whom they were made sweetened andcheered her self-sacrifices.

  'I've been thinking, miss,' said Martha, as she waited upon hermistress, 'that if I was a little saving with the milk this week or two,we might get a pound or so of butter to sell at the market with thechickens next week. I've spoke to widow Jones about it, and she'll bepleased to sell whatever we like with hers.'

  'A very good idea,' said Miss Clotilda approvingly. 'Of course, it'snonsense for me and you to use all the milk. For my part, I don't careabout cream in my tea at all. I meant to have told you so. Nor do I careabout butter--just now, in the hot weather too. You may save all themilk you can for churning, as far as I'm concerned, only don't stintyourself, Martha, mind.'

  Martha murmured something like 'No fear of that.'

  But all the same it was scanty milk and no butter that fell to the shareof the old servant's tea. Miss Clotilda, too, was satisfied that sheherself was practising the utmost economy, though more than once sheremarked to Martha that the red cow's milk seemed nicer than ever. 'Inmy tea I should really not tell it from cream.'

  And silly little Kathie all this time never thought and seldom spoke ofher aunt except as 'that stupid old maid,' and thought herself, I rathersuspect, very condescending for having made up her mind to spend theholidays at the White House.