CHAPTER FIVE.
AN INVITATION.
The old man fell backward on the seat with an exclamation of keenestsurprise. His sunken eyes stared into Mollie's face as she bent overhim; at the golden hair curling beneath the dark toque, the grey eyes,the curving lips. Each feature in turn was scrutinised as if he weresearching for something familiar which had so far escaped notice.Apparently it was not discovered, for the expression of amazementdeepened upon his face, and he asked sharply--
"What did you say? _What_ did you call me? I don't understand what youcan mean!"
Mollie sat down on the bench, and smiled brightly into his face.
"Uncle Bernard! You are Uncle Bernard Farrell! I knew you the momentyou said that you were going to Number 7, and asked if I knew theConnors. Of course I know them, because I am--" She hesitated, and MrFarrell finished the sentence for her.
"You are one of Mr Connor's daughters. The eldest, I presume. I havenot the pleasure of knowing your name."
"No-o! I am not Trix. She is a child, only fifteen. I was nineteen onmy last birthday. I am,"--for once in her life Mollie had the grace toblush, and looked a trifle discomposed--"I'm Mollie Farrell."
The glance which the old man cast upon her was the reverse offlattering.
"You are Mollie Farrell, are you?" he repeated coldly. "Evidentlymodesty is not one of your failings, young lady. It might have beenwiser if you had allowed me to discover your attractions for myself. Doyou consider it quite honest--we will not discuss the question of goodtaste--to play a double part, and criticise your relations to anystranger whom you may meet in your walks?"
"You asked me; you began it! I should not have mentioned them if youhad not asked that question. Then I recognised you, and thought itwould be fun. You were not a stranger, you see; you were UncleBernard."
"That may be my name, but as I have never seen you before, I can hardlyrank as a friend. May I ask how you came to recognise me at all?"
"Oh yes! We have your portraits at home, and mother often talks of you,and the happy times she had when she used to visit you with father whenthey were engaged. When we were children it was a favourite game forone of us to be Uncle Bernard, and the other guests staying at theCourt, and we used to go through all the adventures which father had asa boy,--fall into the mill-stream and be rescued by the dog, and bechased by the bull in the long meadow, and ride on the top of thewaggons at the harvest home. We know all about the house, and thetapestry in the hall, and the funny wooden pictures of the Dutchancestors, and the long gallery where you used to dance at night.Mother loves talking about it. She has not much fun in her life now,poor dear, and that makes her think all the more of her youth. We envyher, Ruth and Trix and I, because we have a very quiet time at home. Weare poor, you see. You can't have much fun if you are poor."
"You think that riches are the one thing needful; that if you had enoughmoney your happiness would be assured?"
"Ah!" sighed Mollie rapturously. "_How_ happy I should be! I've neverhad enough money for my wants in all my life, so I can't even imaginethe bliss of it. I should not know how to be happy enough."
The old man looked at her silently. She saw that he was about to speak,but the words were long in coming. A cloud had drifted across the sun,and the stretch of park looked suddenly grey and bare. Mollie drew hershoulders together with an involuntary shiver. Something had suddenlydamped her ardour of enthusiasm; but it was not so much the bleak windas the sight of the face gazing into her own, with its set lips, andbleached, joyless expression. For years to come Mollie could recallthat moment, and feel again the chill in her veins with which shelistened to his reply.
"All my life long," said Bernard Farrell slowly, "all my life everythingthat I have touched has turned to gold, and everyone I have loved,"--hepaused, lingering on the word, and again Mollie shivered in sympatheticunderstanding--"everyone whom I have loved has _died_!" The wind seemedto take up the word, and repeat it in melancholy echo. "Died! died!died!" wailed the trees, tossing drearily to and fro. "Died!" shiveredthe ripple over the cold grey lake. The clouds gathered in a palloverhead.
"I'm sorry!" gasped Mollie faintly--"I'm so sorry!" But Mr Farrellstopped her with a hasty gesture.
"Please spare me protestations of sympathy. They were the last thing Iwished to evoke. I merely wished to impress upon you that I am in aunique position for judging the worth of riches.--Is it your pleasurethat we continue our journey? The afternoon is growing chill."
Mollie rose in confusion, but she did not reply, nor make any furtheroffer of support. There was something in the old man's voice whichforbade familiarities. He was no longer merely cross and unamiable; shehad caught a glimpse into the secret of a desolate heart, and the sightsobered her youthful spirits.
"First his wife," she said to herself, as she led the wayonward--"pretty Aunt Edna, whom mother loved so much. He adored her,and they were never parted for a day till she took typhoid, and died.The little girl died the year after, and he had no one left but Ned.Mother says he was the handsomest boy she ever met, and the cleverest,and the best. Even now, after all these years, she can't speak of theday he was drowned without crying... I always hated to hear that story!
"She says the real Uncle Bernard died with Ned. He seemed to disappearfrom that day, and an entirely different person appeared in his place.He had been kind and hospitable, fond of having people around him andmaking them happy; but after that he shut himself up and became aregular hermit. Then he went abroad, and since he came back four yearsago and reopened the Court, he has written to nobody, and nobody hasseen him. But he has come to see us to-day of his own free will. Iwonder why? Something has happened to make him break the silence. Whatcan it have been?"
She dared not ask the question; but, as the feeble steps endeavoured tokeep pace with her own, a possible explanation darted into Mollie'smind. The poor old man was ill, very ill; there was an expression onthe grey, sunken face which was eloquent even to her inexperience.Death was coming forward to meet him, coming very near; standing uponthe very threshold! Strong, happy nineteen shuddered at the thought,and felt an overpowering pity for the waning life.
Mollie longed to comfort the old man with the assurance that there weremany still left who could help and minister to his declining days; buther previous overtures had met with so little success that she wasafraid of meeting yet another rebuff, and, with unusual prudence,decided to await a better opportunity.
Langton Terrace was reached at last, and Mollie produced a key andopened the door of Number 7. In a household where there are so manychildren and so few servants, the latchkey was in constant use, and thusit happened that she could bring her guest unnoticed into the house andescort him to her stepfather's sanctum, which was sure to be unoccupiedat this hour of the afternoon. She drew forward an armchair, poked thefire into a blaze, and laid Mr Farrell's hat and stick on the table,while he lay wearily against the cushions. He looked woefullyexhausted, and Mollie's kind heart had a happy inspiration.
"I shan't tell anyone that you are here until you have had a rest," shesaid assuringly. "This is the pater's den, and his private propertyafter four o'clock, so you will be quite undisturbed. Just tell me whatwill refresh you most--tea, coffee, wine? I can bring what you likequite quietly."
"Tea, please--tea, and ten minutes' rest. I shall be better then," MrFarrell said wearily.
Mollie left the room to prepare a dainty little tray in the pantry, andbeg a private pot of tea from the kitchen. The idea of waiting insecret upon Uncle Bernard was delightfully exciting; it was almost asgood as running the blockade, to creep past the dining-room door whereher mother and sisters were assembled, and listen to the murmur ofvoices from within.
If they knew--oh, if they knew! She had prepared some crisp slices oftoast, skimmed the cream off the milk in defiance of cook's protests,and made sure that the water in the little covered jug was boiling, andnot only moderately warm, as the custom w
as. It was the simplest ofmeals, but at least everything was as tempting as hands could make it,and Mollie had the satisfaction of pouring out two cups of tea, andseeing the last slice of toast disappear from the rack. She tooknothing herself, and preserved a discreet silence until Mr Farrellreplaced cup and plate on the table, and condescended to smile approval.
"Thank you, Miss Mollie; I am obliged to you for securing me this rest.Judging from my first impressions of your character, I should not haveexpected so much common-sense. I feel quite refreshed, and ready to seeyour mother when it is convenient."
Mollie lifted the tray, and stood for a moment looking down with an airof triumph.
"I'm so glad! I talk a lot of nonsense, but I can be quite sensible ifI like, and I _did_ want to help you, Uncle Bernard; I'll send mother inhere, where you can have your talk in peace. It's the only chance ofbeing uninterrupted."
Mr Farrell made no reply, and Mollie made haste to deposit the tray inthe pantry, and rush for the dining-room door. The secret had been keptso long that she felt sore--absolutely sore with the strain. It seemedincredible that her mother and sisters should be sitting munching bread-and-butter as calmly as if it were an ordinary day, when nothingextraordinary had happened to break the monotonous routine. She leantagainst the lintel of the door and called her mother by name--"Muv! youare wanted at once in the Den. Somebody wants to speak to you!"
Mrs Connor's brow furrowed into the usual anxious lines as she preparedto hear a story of fresh disaster from her husband's lips; but at thedoorway two magic words were whispered into her ear which brought theblood into the white cheeks, and sent her trotting down the hall oneager feet. Then came the delicious moment to which Mollie had lookedforward ever since the meeting at the cross-roads. She walked back intothe room, while Ruth looked up with weary curiosity, and Trix withunconcealed wrath.
"You might have let mother finish her tea in peace! She has beenslaving all day, and was just enjoying a rest!"
"What is it, Mollie? Why did the pater come home so early? Is he ill?"
"It isn't pater, my dear. Guess again! A friend of mine, whom I met inthe park and brought home to tea. He was rather tired, so I, gave him aprivate little feed in the study, instead of bringing him straight inhere. Considerate of me, wasn't it? He was quite touched."
"He?" repeated Ruth breathlessly. "Mollie, what are you talking about?Don't make a mystery out of nothing! Why can't you say at once who itis?"
"I'm afraid of your nerves, dear. I want to break it to you by degrees.Sudden shocks are dangerous for the young. My own heart is quitepalpitating with all I have undergone to-day. I was walking along,--allinnocent and unsuspicious,--gazing upon the fair spring scene, whensuddenly, glancing ahead, I beheld a figure standing at the junction ofthe cross-roads. 'Tis ever thus, my love! Fate stands waiting for uswhere the paths diverge, to point out the way in which we should go.End of volume one ... Do you feel excited?"
Trix grinned broadly, Ruth looked tired and impatient.
"Oh, thrilled, of course! So many interesting people come to see usthat it's difficult to choose between them. The piano-tuner, perhaps;or the gasman, to look at the meter."
"I should have walked home with them, shouldn't I, and given them tea inthe study? A little higher in the social scale, please!"
"The curate calling for a subscription?"
"Cold; quite cold! Try again! Someone you have often wished to see,but who has never displayed any great anxiety to make your acquaintancein return."
"Uncle Bernard, I presume?" said Ruth sarcastically, not for one momentbelieving the truth of her words, though her mind instantly reverted tothe personage of that mythical uncle who had played so large a part inher mental life. She did not even trouble to look at Mollie as shespoke; but Trix did, and bounded to her feet in excitement.
"Is it--is it? Oh, Mollie, not really! He hasn't really and trulyappeared after all these years? You don't seriously mean it? Look ather, Ruth! I believe it _is_ true!"
Ruth looked, and flushed the loveliest of pinks. It seemed almostincredible that Trix was right, yet something very much out of the usualcourse of events must have happened to excite Mollie so keenly. Hercheeks were burning as though with a fever, the hand resting on thetable was actually trembling. "Tell me, Mollie!" she pleaded; andMollie nodded her head in triumph.
"Uncle Bernard himself! The real, genuine article sitting in solidflesh and blood in our very own study, and I'm the one who brought himhere. What do you think of _that_ for an adventure? I saw an aged,aged man a-leaning on a stick, as the poem says, and I went up and askedhim if I could help him in any way. I once read about an old man whosenose suddenly began to bleed in an omnibus. He searched for a pocket-handkerchief, but had evidently forgotten to bring one, and the otherpassengers began to smile and titter, all except one girl, who openedher bag and presented him with a nice clean one of her own. The old mandied soon afterwards, and left her a million pounds as a token ofgratitude. I think it's just as kind to escort a stranger through alonely park when he has lost his way! If Uncle Bernard adopts me andgives me a million, I'll treat you both to a nice new hat.--I askedwhere he was going, and he said to Number 7 Langton Terrace, and Ilooked at him. And, Ruth, do you know what I thought of? I thought of_you_! He had black eyebrows like yours, and he scowls, as you do (onlywhen you are cross, dear, not when you're in a good temper), and hislips droop like yours, too. I thought, `I have seen that face before!'and then I remembered the photographs, and it burst upon me all in amoment. Then he asked me if I knew the Connors, and I said I'd knownthem for years, and the step-daughters, too, and that they were acharming family, but Mollie was the nicest of all."
"Mollie, you didn't!"
"I did! Why not? It's true, isn't it? When I revealed myself to him,however, he seemed to think that I was rather vain. I must leave it totime to prove the truth of my assertion."
"You are in earnest? You really mean it? Mollie, what has he come for?What has made him remember us after all these years? Has somethinghappened that we know nothing about?"
"I can't tell you. There's only one thing certain,--he is very old andill, and if he wants to see us at all there isn't much time to spare.He is not at all like the Uncle Bernard mother remembers, but very crossand irritable, and his poor old face looks so miserable that it goes toyour heart to see him. I wanted to put my arms round his neck and kisshim, but I would as soon have attempted to embrace a tiger. He snubbedme the whole time. Oh, talk of adventures! _What_ an afternoon I havehad!"
"If you met him walking across the park he can't have any luggage, andif he hasn't any luggage he can't intend to sleep here to-night,"reasoned Ruth thoughtfully. "Perhaps he will just stay to dinner. Pea-soup, cold beef, and apple-pie--that's all there is, and he isaccustomed to half a dozen courses, and two men-servants to wait uponhim. Poor dear mother will be in despair because she didn't order afresh joint for to-day. Shall I go to the kitchen and see if there isanything that can be made into a hot dish?"
Mollie pursed up her lips, but, before she had time to reply, the soundof footsteps was heard from without, and Mrs Connor appeared in thedoorway, followed by the tall, gaunt figure of Uncle Bernard. The girlsrose from their seats as he entered the room, and Ruth and Trixapproached him with diffident smiles, while Mrs Connor introduced eachby name.
"This is my eldest girl, Ruth; you saw her last when she was a baby inarms. This is Beatrice Connor; she knows you quite well by name, don'tyou, Trix dear?"
But Mr Farrell betrayed not the faintest interest in Trix or hermemories, and barely touched the hand which she extended towards him.All his attention seemed concentrated on Ruth, as she stood before himwith her beautiful, flushed face raised to his own.
"This is Ruth!" he repeated slowly. "She is not at all like her sister.I am glad that one of your girls takes after her father's family, Mary.This one is an unmistakable Farrell!"
Mollie turned aside with an ex
pressive grimace.
"I'm cut out already," she told herself. "Ruth's black brows havewalked straight into his affections! I might as well resign myself toplay second fiddle forthwith."
Mr Farrell accepted an invitation to stay for the family dinner, but itcannot truthfully be said that his presence added to the gaiety of themeal. Mrs Connor was nervous and ill at ease, regretting, as herdaughter had foretold, that she had not ordered a hot joint for to-day,and allowed the cold meat to be used on the morrow.
She looked gratefully at Ruth when a small dish of curry made itsappearance, in addition to the scanty menu; but Uncle Bernard had spentsome years of his life in India, and his ideas of curry evidentlydiffered from those of the plain cook downstairs, for after the firsttaste he laid down his fork and made no further pretence of eating.
Mr Connor made several attempts to introduce interesting subjects ofconversation, but receiving only monosyllabic replies, relapsed in histurn into silence. With every moment that passed, the girls felt lessable to imagine the reason for the appearance of a visitor who showed solittle interest in the affairs of the family; for Mr Farrell asked noquestions, paid no attention to the general conversation, and, for thegreater part of the time, appeared lost in his own thoughts.
The three little boys alone were unaffected by the general tension, andchattered about their school adventures in their usual noisy fashion.On another occasion Mrs Connor would have checked them, but anythingwas better than the dead silence which at one time had threatened thewhole table; so she left them unreproved, and Uncle Bernard scowled atthem beneath his bushy brows in a manner the reverse of approving.
It happened that Betty occupied the seat immediately opposite thevisitor, and it was one of Betty's idiosyncrasies to repeat the grimacesof others with an imitation as faithful as it was unconscious. When,for example, Mollie was speaking, Betty tossed her head, tilted herchin, and arched her brows, to the delight and amusement of the family;and now, there she sat--good, kind, most inoffensive of creatures--drawing her wisps of eyebrows together in a lowering scowl, and twistingher lips into an expression of sour distaste.
The three boys nudged each other and tittered together, and Mr Farrelllooked round to discover the reason of their mirth, and beheld Betty'stransformed face peering into his own. His glance of indignation madeher flush with what appeared to be conscious guilt, though, in truth,the poor child had no idea of the nature of her offence. Mrs Connorbeheld the incident with petrified horror, Ruth registered adetermination to lecture Betty out of so dangerous a habit, but warm-hearted Mollie rushed headlong into the breach.
"Uncle Bernard, Betty did not mean to be rude! Please do not think shewas intentionally disrespectful. She has a habit of imitating people,without knowing what she is about, and I am afraid we laugh at her forit, because it is so funny to watch; but she would be dreadfully sorryto be rude to anyone, wouldn't you, Betty dear?"
Betty's lips opened to emit a hoarse, inarticulate murmur. UncleBernard turned his eyes upon Mollie, and said coldly--
"You wish to imply that she was imitating my expressions? Indeed! Itis always interesting to know in what light one appears to others. Iregret that I failed to catch the likeness."
"Dear Uncle Bernard, shall we go to the drawing-room now? The childrenuse this room to prepare their lessons. We will have coffee in thedrawing-room!" cried Mrs Connor eagerly. And the elders filed acrossthe hall, leaving poor Betty reduced to tears of misery, while the boyscomforted her by jibes and jeers in true schoolboy fashion.
In the drawing-room a ghastly silence prevailed, broken by fitfulefforts of conversation. Mr Farrell had asked that a cab should beordered by nine o'clock to take him back to his hotel; but, though thetime drew nearer and nearer, he still vouchsafed no explanation of theunexpected visit. Surely--surely, before going away he would saysomething, and not once more disappear into the mist, and let the veilof silence fall around him? The same thought was in every mind, thesame wondering anticipation; but it was only when the cab was announcedand Mr Farrell rose to say good-bye that he appeased their curiosity.
"I came here to-day to make the acquaintance of my nephew's daughters.I should be glad, Mary, if you would allow them to pay me a visit at theCourt. I have arranged to have a lady in residence who will look afterthem and do what chaperonage is needful. If Monday will suit you, Ishould like them to arrive on that day."
It sounded more like a command than an invitation, but such as it was itthrilled the listeners with joy. To pay a visit, and above all, tovisit the Court, of which they had heard so much, had been the girls'day-dream for so long that it seemed impossible that it had come atlast. Ruth's mind flew at once to considerations of ways and means, andshe suffered a moment of agonising suspense before Mrs Connor's eagerconsent put an end to anxiety.
"Oh, I shall be delighted--delighted! The girls will love it, of allthings. How kind of you, dear Uncle Bernard! Ruth! Mollie! Are younot delighted to have such a treat in store?"
"Thank you, Uncle Bernard; I should love to come!" cried Ruth warmly."Mollie and I have often said that there is nothing in the world weshould enjoy more than paying a visit to the Court. It is most good ofyou to ask us!"
"And we will try to behave very nicely, and not bother you at all,"added Mollie, her eyes dancing with happiness. "We are to come onMonday week. And will there be other people, too--other visitors,besides ourselves?"
"Probably," said Uncle Bernard curtly. "There are several importantmatters to be discussed, into which I cannot enter in a short interview.I am inviting you--and others--in order that we may talk them over atleisure. A carriage will meet the train arriving at four-twenty. Good-afternoon, Mary. I shall not see you again, as I leave by an earlytrain to-morrow."
Even as he spoke, Mr Farrell made his way towards the door with an airof finality which forbade further questioning. He had waited until thelast possible moment before giving his invitation, and, having obtainedan acceptance, was evidently determined to take his departure withoutfurther delay. Mrs Connor escorted him to the door, her husband helpedhim into the cab, offered to accompany him to the hotel, was coldlysnubbed for his pains, and came back into the house heaving deep sighsof relief.
"Now for my smoke!" he exclaimed, and hurried off to the study, whileMrs Connor was dragged into the drawing-room and subjected to abreathless cross-questioning.
"Matters of importance to discuss! Mother, what can he mean?"
"Other people besides ourselves! Mother, who can they be?"
"How long does he want us to stay?"
"What are we going to do about clothes?"
"That's just exactly what I'm asking myself!" cried Mrs Connor,referring with equal truthfulness to all four questions at once. "It ismost awkward, not knowing how long you are expected to stay, or whatsort of a party you are to meet; but, in any case, I am afraid you musthave some new clothes. I will have a talk with pater, and see what canbe done, and you must divide my things between you. I have a few piecesof good lace still, and one or two trinkets which will come in usefully.I am afraid we cannot manage anything new for evenings; you must makethe black dresses do."
Mollie groaned dismally.
"They are so old and shabby! The sleeves look as if they had come outof the Ark. I do so long to be white and fluffy for once. Can't wesqueeze out white dresses, mother? I'd do without sugar and jam for ayear, if you'll advance the money. Even muslin would be better thannothing, and it would wash, and come in for summer best, and then cut upinto curtains, and after that into dusters. Really, if you look at itin the right light, it would be an economy to buy them! I am sure UncleBernard would like to see me in white! Now don't you think he would?"
"I'll do what I can, dear--I'll do what I can! I should like you bothto look as well as possible. `Matters of importance!' ... I can'tthink what matters of importance Uncle Bernard can wish to discuss withchildren like you. And who are the other guests? And are they alsoincluded in th
e discussion? I don't know of any near relations he hasleft, except ourselves; but he was even more intimate with his wife'speople than his own, and she belonged to a large family. Dear, dear!It is most awkward to be so much in the dark. I do wish he had been alittle more explicit while he was about it."
"Never mind, muv; it makes it all the more exciting. We are going tomeet someone, and we don't know whom; and to discuss something, and wedon't know what; and to stay, we don't know how long. There's thiscomfort--we can easily take all our belongings, and still not beoverburdened with luggage! Ten days--only ten days before we start! Itsounds almost too good to be true. But how will you manage without us,dear little mother?"
"Oh, don't trouble about me, dear! I'll manage beautifully. Old MissCarter can come in to help me if I get too tired; but, indeed, I shallbe so happy to think of you two girls staying at the dear old Court thatit will do me as much good as a tonic. Now I will go and talk to paterabout money matters. We ought to begin preparations at once."
Mr Connor joined in the general satisfaction at the invitation whichhad been given to his step-daughters, and, though mildly surprised tohear that any fresh equipments would be required, took his wife's wordfor the need, and produced two five-pound notes from his cash-box, whichshe was deputed to use as she thought fit.
"If you don't need it all, you can give me back whatever is over," saidthe innocent male, little reckoning that three feminine heads would lierestless on their pillows that night, striving in vain to solve theproblem of making ten pounds do duty for fifty.
Next morning, pencils and paper were in requisition to check mentaladditions, while Ruth drew up a list of usefuls, and Mollie one offineries which seemed equally essential. At a most modest estimate itseemed possible to purchase the whole for something under thirty pounds.A painful curtailment brought it down to twenty, but by no persuasioncould that sum be halved.
"Unless we play Box and Cox!" cried Mollie, in desperation. "One raincloak, and an understanding that one of us invariably feels chilly, andstays at home on wet days. One white dress, to be worn in turn onspecial occasions, while the other languishes in bed with a headache.One evening cloak, ditto. Ditto gloves and sundries. It is the onlyway I can see out of the difficulty."
"Don't be absurd, Mollie! We shall _both_ have to stay in bed ifanything special takes place, for we can't afford any extras. Iremember once asking Eleanor Drummond's advice about spending myallowance, and she said, `Wear a shabby dress, if you must; wear ashabby hat, if you have not taste and ingenuity to trim one for yourselfout of next to nothing; but never, never, never condescend to a shabbypetticoat or shoes down at the heel!' I thought it splendid advice, andhave always acted upon it, as far as I could. Let us buy really niceboots and slippers and petticoats before we do anything else!"
"I'll have a silk one, then, and rustle for once, if I die for it!"cried Mollie recklessly. "And the boots shall be thin, not thick, witha nice, curved sole to show off my patrician instep. If I have tocontent myself with usefuls, they shall be as ornamental as possible.Don't you think we might possibly squeeze out net over-skirts to wearwith the black silks, sometimes, so as to make them look like twodresses instead of one?"
"Oh, my dear, I like luxuries as much as you do! It's only grimnecessity which makes me prudent. The black net is really aninspiration, and if we make it up ourselves we can manage quite well,and have enough money left for gloves and ribbons, and one fresh blousea-piece."
For the next week all was bustle and excitement. The girls paid twolong shopping expeditions to town, and returned laden with interestingparcels, the contents of which were displayed to an admiring audience inthe drawing-room, and then taken upstairs to Attica, which wastransformed into a dressmaker's work-room, barriers being for onceignored in consideration of the importance of the occasion.
The five-pound notes became wonderfully elastic, and even after theywere expended little offerings came in from friends and members of thefamily to swell the great sum total. One sent a pretty tie, another abelt, a third a lace handkerchief. Trix supplied a most stylishcollection of pens, pencils, and indiarubbers, reposing in her very bestbox; and Betty, not to be outdone, rummaged among her variouscollections for a suitable offering. Eventually she discovered a half-emptied bottle of eau-de-Cologne, which had been presented to her theChristmas before, filled it up with water, and presented it to hersisters for mutual use, unperturbed by the fact that the transparent hueof the scent had changed to a milky white.
On the morning of the fifth day Ruth had a conviction that she wassickening with a dire disease; on the sixth, she anticipated a disablingaccident; on the seventh, she waited hourly for a telegram from UncleBernard, retracting his invitation; on the eighth, she wanted to knowwhat would happen if there was a cab strike in the city; and on theninth, talked vaguely of blizzards and earthquakes. Something it seemed_must_ happen to prevent this long-dreamed-of journey; it did not seempossible that the stars should run placidly in their courses, while Ruthand Mollie Farrell were going a-visiting with a box full of fineries!
Yet the day did break, an ordinary, grey morning, with no sign todistinguish it from another. Looking out of the window, men and womencould be seen going calmly about their duties. The postman andnewspaper-boy arrived at their accustomed time. No one outside thehousehold seemed to realise that the day was big with fate.
At eleven o'clock a cab drove up to the door; the boxes were piled onthe roof; and the heroines of the hour made their appearance in thedoorway, immaculately trim and tidy in travelling array. The brothersand sisters were absent at school, so there was only the little motherto say adieu, and stand waving her hand until the cab had disappearedfrom view.
Once, she too had been young and fair, and life had stretched before herlike an empty page, on which the most marvellous happenings might beenrolled. Now, she was old and harassed and poor, and there seemedlittle ahead but work and worry; yet she could not call life a failure.
"I have had the best thing," she said to herself, as she shut the doorand re-entered the empty house--"plenty of dear ones to love, and tolove me in return. God bless my two girls, and give them the same sweetgift."