CHAPTER IV.
THE WARD FAMILY AT HOME.
"And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away."
LONGFELLOW.
As soon as Mollie had left the room, on household cares intent, Waveneylighted a small, shaded lamp that stood on the table. It was a warmevening, and both the windows were thrown up. The moon had just risen,and the vine-leaves that festooned the balcony had silver edges. AsWaveney turned up the lamp she said, cheerfully, "Now we can see eachother's faces," and then she sat down again and slipped her hand in herfather's arm.
"Tell me all about it, dad, directly minute." And then a smile came toMr. Ward's tired face, for this was one of the family stock jokes thatwere never stale, never anything but delightful and fresh, and wheneverone of his girls said it, it brought back Waveney in her baby days, atiny despot in red shoes, with a head "brimming over with curls,"stamping her little feet and calling out in shrill treble, "Directlyminute! Miss Baby won't wait nohow."
"There is nothing good to hear, little girl," returned Mr. Ward, with astrained laugh. "When you spell failure, spell it with a big F, my dear;that's all." But another skilful question or two soon drew forth thewhole story.
He had had a harassing, disappointing day. The dealers who had sold oneor two of his smaller pictures refused to give "King Canute" house-room.They could not possibly dispose of such a picture, they said; it was toolarge and cumbersome, and there were serious defects in it. One or twoof the figures were out of drawing; the waves were too solid, lookinglike molten lead. There was no _finesse_, no delicacy of execution, thecolouring was crude; in fact, the criticism had been scathing.
"They were so rough on me that my back was up at last," went on Mr.Ward, "and when Wilkes said I might leave it if I liked, and he wouldtry and get a customer for it, I saw he was only letting me down a biteasier, and that he did not believe it would sell, so I just called acab and brought it back."
Waveney winced. All this cab hire could not be afforded. And then, whatwere they to do? But the next moment she was stroking the worncoat-sleeve tenderly, and her voice was as cheerful as ever.
"Dad, it is a long lane that has no turning--remember that; and it is nouse fretting over spilt milk. To-morrow we will get Noel to hang up dearold King Canute in that blank space, and if the stupid, cantankerous olddealers will not have anything to say to him, Mollie and I will admirehim every day of our lives. Molten lead, indeed!" jerking her chincontemptuously.
But Mr. Ward, who had been too much crushed to revive at once, onlyshook his head and sighed. In his heart he knew the dealers were right,and that the work was not really well done. The stormy sunset lookedblotchy and unreal, and the solidity of the water was apparent, even tohim. The whole thing was faulty, mawkish, amateurish, and futile. He hadbeen in a perfect rage against himself, the dealers, and all the rest ofthe world as he clambered into his cab.
He had had a rap upon the knuckles once too often. Well, he had learnthis lesson at last; but what a fool and dunce he had been!
"Take your punishment, my boy," he had said to himself, grimly. "Writeyourself Everard Ward, U.A., unmitigated ass; and wear your fool's capwith a jaunty air.
"You wanted to paint a big historical picture! to be something betterthan a drawing-master. Oh, you oaf, you dotard, you old driveller, tothink that you could set the Thames on fire, that you could do somethingto keep your memory fresh and green. Go back to your water-colourlandscapes, to your water-wheels and cottages, your porches smothered inwoodbine; you are at the bottom of your class, my lad, and there youwill be to the end of the chapter." And then--for his imagination wasvery vivid--he saw himself, an elderly man, in his shabby great-coat,going out all weathers to his schools--a little shrunk, a little morehopeless, and his girls, his twin blessings--but here the hot tears roseto his eyes, and he bit his lips. Oh, it was hard, hard--and it was fortheir sakes he had worked and toiled.
Just then Mollie came with a little tray. There was a tall, curious oldchina cup on it which was known in the family as "Dives," and wasconsidered one of their choicest treasures. When any one was ill, thesight of Dives, filled to the brim with fragrant coffee or deliciouschocolate, would bring a smile to pale lips. As she placed the traybeside her father, Mollie's face wore a triumphant air, as though shewould have said, "If any one could beat that cup of coffee or makebetter toast, I should like to see her, that's all."
"Thanks, dearest," returned her father, gently; "but you have scorchedyour face, my sweet Moll."
"Oh, that is nothing," returned Mollie, hastily, putting up her hands toher hot cheeks; she had been through all sorts of vicissitudes duringthe last half-hour. The water would not boil, or the fire burn properly,though she and Noel had put a whole bundle of sticks into it, and atevery stick he had asked her a fresh conundrum.
"Have you told dad about Monsieur Blackie?" she asked; and then Waveneysmiled.
"No, but I will, presently, when father has had his supper. Come out onthe balcony a moment, Mollie. Is not the moonlight lovely!"
"Yes, I do love these 'white nights,'" returned Mollie, ecstatically."We used to call them silver nights when we were wee children. Thoseroofs look as though they were covered with snow. And just see how niceour shabby old courtyard looks; those privets are quite grand. What anold dear the moon is, Wave! She covers up all little defects so nicely,and glorifies all common things."
But Waveney did not hear this little rhapsody, neither had she calledMollie out to watch moonlight effects.
"Moll, just listen to me a moment: you must not say a word to fatherabout Harley Street--not one word."
Mollie looked at her blankly.
"And why not, Wave?"
"Oh, dear, not for worlds," returned Waveney, earnestly. "He is so low,so unlike himself to-night; he had so set his heart on that poor oldthing being a success, but they have all been throwing stones at him,and he is so hurt about it. Don't you know what Noel always says: 'Youmust not hit a man who is down.' Those are school ethics, but it istrue. Dad is just like the brere rabbit to-night,--'him lies low,'--andwe must just talk to him and make him laugh."
"But Wave, surely"--and Mollie, who was nothing but a big, beautiful,simple child, looked quite shocked--"surely you cannot mean to see thatlady without speaking to father!"
"But I do mean it, Mollie. Of course I want to tell father--I alwayslong to tell him everything,--but it would be rank selfishness to-night;it would be the last straw, that terrible straw that breaks the camel'sback. And I know just what he would do; he would not smoke his pipe andhe would not sleep a wink, and he would be like a wreck to-morrow whenhe goes to Norwood. No: when it is settled it will be time enough totell him;" and, as usual, Mollie submitted to her sister's strongerwill. "Waveney was the clever one," she would say; "she saw things moreclearly, and she was generally right;" for Mollie thought nothing ofherself, and was always covered with blushes and confusion if any onepraised her.
So Waveney had her way, and as Mr. Ward smoked his pipe she told him allabout Monsieur Blackie; and then Noel shut up his lesson-books and cameup stairs, and the three young people sang little glees and songsunaccompanied. And presently Mr. Ward laid down his empty pipe andjoined too.
And the girls' voices were so fresh and clear, and the man's tenor sosweet, that a passer-by stood for a long time to listen.
Every now and then an odd boyish voice, with a crack in it, chimed inlike a jangling bell out of tune. "Oh, Noel, please do not sing so outof tune; you are as flat as a pancake, and as rough as a nutmeg grater,isn't he, Moll?" and then Waveney made a face at the unfortunateminstrel.
"Don't come the peacock over me," began Noel, wrathfully, for any remarkon his cracked voice tried his temper. "Hit one of your own size, miss."
"Hush, hush, Noel!" observed his father, good-humouredly. "You will dowell enough some day. 'Drink to me only with thine eyes'--let us s
ingthat, my pets." And then the voices began again, and the listenerunderneath the window smiled to himself and walked on.
It was late, and Mollie was yawning before the little concert was over;but when Mr. Ward went to his room that night the weight of oppressionseemed less heavy. Yes, he had been a fool, but most men made mistakesin their lives, and he was not so old yet--only forty-four, for he hadmarried young. He would leave off straining after impossibilities, andtake his friends' advice--paint pot boilers in his leisure hours, anddevote his best energies to his pupils. "Cincinnatus went back to theplough, and why not Everard Ward?" And then he wound up his watch andwent to sleep. But long after the heavy-footed Ann had climbed up to herattic, breathing heavily, and carrying the old black cat, Mrs. Muggins,in her arms, and long after Mollie had fallen into her first sleep, andwas dreaming sweetly of a leafy wood, where primroses grew asplentifully as blackberries, a little white figure sat huddled up on thenarrow window-seat, staring out absently on the moonlight.
Waveney could see the dim roofs of the Hospital; the old men were allnow asleep in their cabin-like cubicles--some of them fighting theirbattles over again, others dreaming of wives and children.
"After all, it must be nice to be old, and to know that the fight isover," thought the girl, a little sadly. "Life is so difficult,sometimes: when we were children we did not think so. I suppose othergirls would have said we had rather a dull life; but how happy we were!what grand times we had that day at the Zoological Gardens, for example!and that Christmas when father took us to the pantomime! I remember thenext day Mollie and I made up our minds to be ballet-dancers, and Noeldecided to be a clown;" and here Waveney gave a soft little laugh. "Dearfather, it was so good of him not to laugh at us. Most people would havecalled us silly children, but he listened to us quite seriously, andrecommended us to practise our dancing sedulously; only he would nothear of shortening our skirts--he said later on would do for that. Oh,dear, oh, dear, was it not just like him? And of course by the nextChristmas we had forgotten all about it."
But even these reminiscences, amusing as they were, could not longhinder Waveney's painful reflections. The idea of leaving home and goingout into the world was utterly repugnant to her; she had told Mollie inplayful fashion that it was the rack and the thumb-screw and the faggotscombined; but in reality the decision had cost her a bitter struggle,and nothing but the strongest sense of duty could have nerved her to theeffort.
Waveney's nature was far less emotional than Mollie's, but heraffections were very deep. Her love for her father and twin sisteramounted to passion. When she read the words, "Little children, keepyourselves from idols," she always held her breath, made a mentalreservation, and went on.
"If only people liked Father's pictures!" she sighed, and then anotherpang crossed her, as she remembered his tired face, how old and carewornhe had looked, until they had sung some of his favourite songs, and thenhis eyes had become bright again.
"Dear old dad, how he will miss me!" But when she thought of Mollie thelump in her throat seemed to strangle her: they had never in their livesbeen parted for a single night.
"And yet it is my duty to go," thought poor Waveney. "We are growingpoorer every day, and it will be years before Noel can earn much. I amafraid the schools are falling off a little. Oh, yes; there is no doubtabout it, and I must go;" and Waveney shed a few tears, and then,chilled and depressed, she got into bed; and Mollie turned over in hersleep and threw out her warm young arms.
"It was delicious," she murmured, drowsily; "and oh, Wave, why are youso cold, darling? What have you been doing?" But Waveney only shivered alittle and kissed her.
The next morning both the girls rose in good time to prepare the earlybreakfast. Noel always left home at half past eight--long ago an unknownfriend of Mr. Ward's had offered to pay his son's school fees, and,acting on advice, he had sent the boy to St. Paul's. He was a cleverlad, and in favour with all his masters; he liked work and never shirkedit. But his pet passion was football; he was fond of enlarging on histriumphs, and gloried in the kicks he received. It was understood in thefamily circle that he was to get a scholarship and go to Oxford; and ofcourse a fellowship would follow.
"'The veiled Prophet' will expect it, my dear," Mollie would say, atintervals, when she was afraid he was becoming slack; for under thisfigure of speech they always spoke of their unknown benefactor. Thewhole thing was a mystery. The solicitor who wrote to Mr. Ward onlymentioned his client vaguely--"an old friend of Mr. Ward's is desirousof doing him this service;" and in succeeding letters, "My client hasdesired me to send you this cheque;" and so on.
The girls and Noel, who were dying with curiosity, often begged theirfather to go to Lincoln's Inn and see Mr. Duncan--the firm of Duncan &Son was a good old-fashioned firm; but Mr. Ward always declined to dothis. If his old friend did not choose to divulge himself, he had somegood reason for his reticence and it would be ungrateful and bad form toforce his hand.
"He is a good soul, you may depend on that," was all they could get himto say; but in reality he secretly puzzled over it. "It must be somefriend of Dorothy's," he would say to himself. "There was that old loverof hers, who went out to the Bahamas and made his pile--he married, buthe never had any children; I do not mention his name to theyoungsters--better not, I think; but I have a notion it is Carstairs; hewas a melancholy, Quixotic sort of chap, and he was desperately gone onDorothy."
"Dad's a bit stiff about the Prophet," Noel once said to his sisters,"but if I am in luck's way and get a scholarship, I shall just go up toLincoln's Inn myself and interview the old buffer;" and this seemed soventuresome and terrifying a project that Mollie gasped, and said, "Oh,no, not really, Noel!" and Waveney opened her eyes a little widely.
"You bet I do," returned Noel, cocking his chin in a lordly way. "Ishall just march in as cool as a cucumber, and as bold as brass. 'I havecome to thank my unknown benefactor, sir,' I would say with my finestair, 'for the good education I have received. I have the satisfaction oftelling you that I have gained a scholarship--eighty pounds a year--andthat, with the kind permission--of--of my occult and mysterious friend,I wish to matriculate at Balliol. As I have now attained the age ofmanhood, is it too much to ask the name of my venerable benefactor?'"
"Oh, Wave, is he not ridiculous?" laughed Mollie; but Waveney looked ather young brother rather gravely.
"Don't, Noel, dear; father would not like it." But Noel only shruggedhis shoulders at this. He had his own opinions about things, and when hemade up his mind it was very difficult to move him. Never were fatherand son more unlike; and yet they were the best of friends.
Mr. Ward always had a hard day's work on Tuesday. He had two schools atNorwood, and never came home until evening. The girls always took extrapains with the breakfast-table on the Norwood days, and while Molliemade the coffee, boiled the eggs, and superintended the toast-making,Waveney made up dainty little pats of butter and placed them onvine-leaves. Then she went into the narrow little slip of garden behindthe house and gathered a late rose and laid it on her father's plate.
Waveney was in excellent spirits all breakfast-time. She laughed andtalked with Noel, while Mollie sat behind her coffee-pot and looked ather with puzzled eyes.
"How can Wave laugh like that when she knows, she knows!" she thought,wonderingly; but at that moment Waveney looked at her with a smile sosweet and so full of sadness, that poor Mollie nearly choked, and hereyes brimmed over with tears.