The strange house or, A moment's mistake
our back windows! Why yesterday there were half a dozen beautiful
marrows on trellis-work, and to-day they are all gone."
"He's eaten them all," said Ned.
"They were gone when I got up this morning," said Mollie, "for I
noticed. I believe he sells them."
"Who to?" asked Conway scornfully.
"At Covent Garden, or somewhere. He sauntered in at the front gate
about eight o'clock this morning. 'I' believe he gets up and goes to
market early when no one is about."
"There's something queer about it," said Conway; "don't you think so,
Miss Ashlyn?"
CHAPTER VIII.
DAISY'S "CHUM."
GERTRUDE looked from one to the other, listening and trying to
comprehend in quick succession the different statements of her various
entertainers.
Daisy said no word, but she followed all that was said with keen
interest, her dark face changing and varying as one after another gave
out their opinions.
Conway had got so friendly over his interesting news that he ceased to
feel Gertrude quite such a stranger, and now began telling her about
their school, to which he, Ned, and Hugh went daily by train, and which
ought to have begun a week ago, but had been postponed owing to a scare
of illness.
"Have you got your books together?" asked Mollie. "For there's such a
hunt the first morning, Miss Ashlyn, generally."
"Don't you bother," said Conway. "I can mind my own affairs, thank you."
"Well, don't ask me to get them, then," said Mollie.
"I shall be sure to remember," said Conway, crossly. "Come, Ned, let's
go down now."
"Yes; we've had enough of the girls," said Ned.
They went off, Gertrude looking after them with some surprise in her
eyes.
"Did you ever see such boys?" asked Mollie, vexedly. "But they always
are worse with strangers; they will be pleasanter when they get used to
you."
Gertrude did not answer. Her heart sank; she busied herself over her
work-basket, which she had brought down in her hand, in silence, though
her eyes were too blinded to see what she was doing. At length she drew
out a piece of crewelling on which she had been engaged at home, and
spread it out before her.
The familiar pattern brought back with a rush all the circumstances
in which she had put in those last leaves: the lamplight, the red
table-cloth at home, Phyllis's beautiful little oval face bent over her
lessons, her mother's presence so restful as well as cheering, Otto's
quiet friendliness.
It cost her a great effort not to let a sob escape her.
She put down her work, and murmuring something about "up-stairs,"
hastened to her room.
For one instant she felt as if she 'must' fly home again! Oh, the
dreadfulness of this home-sickness which swept everything before it!
Why had she wished, sometimes even longed, to get away from the little
daily round of getting the breakfast ready, going to Camptown, walking
home again, getting the tea ready, and then spending the evening in
reading and work!
Now she would have given everything to be back again!
She hastily bathed her eyes, which she knew must be red with the unshed
tears, which she was keeping back so resolutely. And then with one
swift prayer for help and comfort, she gulped down her sobs, and slowly
made her way back again to the study.
Meanwhile, when the door had been shut after her, Daisy had volunteered
a remark.
"Miss Ashlyn will hate us all if the boys go on so."
"Let her," said Randall, pouting; "I don't care if she does."
"I do," said Mollie; "it is not ladylike to behave badly, and I don't
mean to. What is more, Randall, I shan't let you, either."
Randall's round face put on an ugly frown. But after a moment's
thought, he nodded defiantly. "You won't be able to help it," he said.
"Shall I not?" asked Mollie. "I have ways and means."
"Oh, hush," said Hugh. "I do hate to hear you quarrel."
"Do you, cry-baby?" asked Randall, turning upon him with his little
bold, lionlike face.
"Never mind, Hugh," whispered Daisy; "'handsome is, as handsome
"does."' You can always behave the best, in spite of what anybody says."
Hugh had flushed scarlet, and his small, thin hand was clenched into a
fist beneath the table. But at his little sister's soothing whisper, it
relaxed, and he gave a slight laugh, which however, angered Randall far
more than a blow would have done.
Just at the moment, however, Gertrude's step was heard at the door, and
Mollie hastily rose, saying—
"Oh, Miss Ashlyn, shall we go and get ready for tea? You have not seen
my room yet."
Mollie's room looked over the gardens at the back, as she had said.
And while she brushed her abundant hair, she explained about their
neighbour's doings, and how his garden, both back and front, was kept
in the best order of any in that suburb.
After that they went to the drawing-room, where they found Mr.
Shaddock, listening to Conway's account of his visit next door.
Tea was rather formidable to poor Gertrude among such a number of
strangers, though Mr. and Mrs. Shaddock exerted themselves to find
topics of conversation, while Mollie did her best to join in, and to
interest her governess in what went on.
CHAPTER IX.
A CHAMPION.
AFTER tea, Daisy and Hugh went back to the study, only waiting to beg
Ned not to come. And Gertrude asked if she might go with them.
Perhaps the children looked a little disappointed. But very soon,
when they were all shut in with the curtains drawn and the cheerful
lamplight, they drew near to her, and condescended to examine her
photograph album, which she had brought down for their inspection.
"The boys learn their lessons in the little library," they told her;
"and Mollie stays with mother and father. Randall goes to bed if he
will, or stays up till nurse makes him come; or else he comes in here
and bothers us."
"Do you always spend your evenings together?" asked Gertrude.
"Yes," said Daisy; "they do not want us down-stairs, and I am sure we
do not want them!"
After a time a motherly-looking woman entered, greeting Gertrude with a
respectful manner, and asked if Hugh were not ready for bed.
"Oh, nurse, I 'am' so happy," said Hugh. "Is Randall up-stairs yet?"
"Not yet, my dear. But you know how tired you will be for school if you
sit up."
"Yes," urged Daisy, "do go, Hugh. You can have Miss Ashlyn's company
to-morrow, and nurse says quite true. Do go!"
The boy put away his things-without another word, and wishing Gertrude
good-night, left the room. When the door was shut, and Daisy had
watched the handle for a moment, she got up and softly drew near to
Gertrude's side.
"You will not notice what Randall says, will you, Miss Ashlyn?"
"How do you mean, dear?"
"About Hugh." She hesitated, then went on hurriedly, "He calls him
cry-baby. But perhaps you didn't hear? Anyway, you will not be long
before you do hear it, for he tells everybody."
"I did hear it," said Gertrude, "but I thought I would judge for
myself."
"Oh, that's all right, then," said Daisy eagerly. Then, as if she could
hardly leave the subject there, she added—
"He isn't strong—Hugh, but he's not a cry-baby! He does cry sometimes,
and they tease him dreadfully. But not one of them can do the brave
things Hugh can. Not one of them tries so hard to control himself; not
one of them is so good to people who are in trouble! And yet—yet Hugh
is always in hot water because his spirits are not very strong."
Daisy's face had flushed deeply, and she put her small hand gently on
to Gertrude's knee, looking up beseechingly in her face.
"I shall be sure to remember all you have told me," she answered,
putting her arm round the small shoulders, and drawing the little girl
towards her.
"Oh, thank you," said Daisy earnestly; "I am so very glad I have
told you. I don't know why I did, except that you seem so very kind.
Besides, I thought you took to Hugh."
"He is very like a little nephew of mine, whom we have lost."
Daisy glanced at Gertrude's dress curiously, but her eyes returned to
her face without a satisfactory answer to her questioning look.
"No, I am not in mourning," Gertrude answered, "but by and by, if Hugh
and you and I become friends, I will tell you both all about it."
"Oh, that would be kind!" exclaimed Daisy. Then she paused, and hung
her head for an instant. "Miss Ashlyn," she exclaimed in a low voice,
"I will be good to you, indeed I will! I didn't mean to be—We are none
of us at all good, but Hugh—but indeed I will try all I can!"
Gertrude bent and kissed her, then she said softly—
"Daisy, dear, you have made my heart lighter, but I wonder if you know
the blessedness of trying to please the Lord Jesus? Have you over
thought of that?"
Daisy shook her head slowly.
"Then I will try to teach you, and it will make you so happy!"
"Nurse does sometimes talk to Hugh and me like that, but I don't
understand what she means."
"Would you like to understand?" asked Gertrude.
"I don't mind—" said Daisy.
"Do you not sometimes feel very sad and naughty, and as if you could
not be good any way?" asked Gertrude.
"Well, I suppose I do, sometimes," acknowledged Daisy.
"And do you not feel then as if you do not care to think about God, and
would rather keep away from Him?"
Daisy's wondering eyes were fixed upon her governess's face, but she
did not answer in words.
"That is sin," said Gertrude, "and unless that sin is got rid of, we
can never get near to God, we can never please Him. Daisy, is it not
the best news to hear that the Lord Jesus has died on the cross to make
an atonement for this dreadful sin, so that we sinners may be forgiven
and come back to God?"
CHAPTER X.
A SONG.
AT last, the evening came to an end. Daisy departed to bed, Randall
came in and looked at her, and sauntered out again, leaving the door
open, and Mollie finally came for a few minutes, bringing a message
from Mrs. Shaddock to the effect that Miss Ashlyn could retire whenever
she felt inclined.
"We generally have friends in the evening, or she goes out, but mother
will not let me sit up late because she says I should lose my colour,"
said Mollie, glancing at herself in the glass over the mantel-piece and
shaking out her hair.
"She is very wise," answered Gertrude.
"But all the same, I do as I like," pursued Mollie. "I read in bed as
often as not, or talk to nurse. She does not encourage that, I can tell
you. But all the same, I do not get to bed as early as mother thinks."
"Do you feel happy in doing so?" asked Gertrude, looking up with a
bright little smile.
"Oh dear, yes! 'What the eye doesn't see,' you know."
Gertrude shook her head, smiling.
"Are you awfully strict?" asked Mollie.
Gertrude paused for an instant. She felt this might be a momentous
conversation.
She prayed in her heart one of those three-word prayers that she often
pondered over, "Lord, help me!" And then, strengthened and calmed, she
looked up at her questioner and answered—
"When I have found out what your mother's wishes are in things, I shall
be 'awfully strict' in carrying them out."
"Shall you go telling tales, and asking her if I am to read in bed and
do this and that?"
"You will see," said Gertrude with a smile.
"I should hate you if you did," said Mollie, also smiling.
"I hope you will not hate me," answered Gertrude, "but whether you do
or not, I ought to do my duty, ought I not?"
"We shall see," said Mollie, looking at her somewhat curiously. "Now I
must say good-night. I hope you will sleep well, Miss Ashlyn."
"Thank you, dear, for trying to make me at home," said Gertrude.
Then Mollie put out her cheek to be kissed, and Gertrude was at last
alone.