CHAPTER XVII.--LOOKING FOR THE TANKARD.
When Mrs. Lovel spoke to Phil with such passion and bitterness, andwhen, abruptly leaving the tower bedroom and slamming the door violentlyafter her, the little boy found himself alone, he was conscious of acurious half-stunned feeling. His mother had said that she scarcelyloved him. All his small life he had done everything for his mother; hehad subdued himself for her sake; he had crushed down his love and hishope and his longing just to help her. What did he care for wealth, orfor a grand place, or for anything in all the wide world, in comparisonwith the sweetness of Rupert's smile, in comparison with the old happydays in Belmont and of the old life, when he might be a boy with achesand pains if he liked, when he need not pretend to be possessed of therobust health which he never felt, when he need carry no wearisomesecrets about with him? His mother had said, "I scarcely love you,Phil," and she had gone away angry; she had gone away with defiance inher look and manner, and yet with despair in her heart. Phil had guessedthat she was despairing, for he knew her well, and this knowledge soonmade his brief anger take the form of pity.
"Poor mother! poor darling mother!" he murmured. "I did not know shewould mind my taking out the old Belmont tankard. I am awfully sorry. Isuppose it was quite careless of me. I did not know that mother caredfor the tankard; but I suppose Gabrielle must have given it to her, andI suppose she must love Gabrielle a little. That is nice of her; that isvery nice. I wish I could get the tankard back for her. I wonder where Idid leave it. I do wish very much that I could find it again."
Phil now turned and walked to the window and looked out. It was adelicious spring day, and the soft air fanned his cheeks and broughtsome faint color to them.
"I know what I'll do," he said to himself. "I'll go once again into theforest--I'm not likely to get lost a second time--and I'll look for thetankard. Of course I may find it, and then mother will be happy again.Oh, dear, to think Rupert is in England! How happy his letter would havemade me but for mother, and--hullo! is that you, Kitty?"
"Yes; come down," called out Kitty from the lawn in front of the house."I've been watching you with Aunt Griselda's spy-glasses for the lastcouple of minutes, and you do look solemn."
"I'm coming," Phil called back.
He thrust his beloved letter into one of his pockets, and a moment laterjoined his two cousins on the lawn.
"You have been a time," said Kitty, "and we have got some wonderful andquite exciting news to tell you--haven't we, Rachel?"
"You find it exciting, Kitty," said Rachel in an almost nonchalantvoice, "but I dare say Phil will agree with me that it's almost a bore."
"What is it?" said Phil.
"Oh, only this--the Marmadukes are coming to-morrow to stay for tendays."
"The Marmadukes! Who are they?" asked Phil.
"Oh, some children from London. They are our relations--at least, so AuntGriselda says; and she thinks it will be nice for us to know them.Anyhow, they're coming--two boys and two girls, and a father and amother, and a lady's-maid, and a pug dog, and a parrot. Aunt Grizel isso angry about the pug and the parrot; she wanted to write and tell themall that they couldn't come, and then Aunt Katharine cried and there wasa fuss. It seems they're more Aunt Katharine's friends than AuntGrizel's. Anyhow, they're coming, and the pug and the parrot are to stayin Newbolt's room all the time; so don't you ask to see them, Phil, oryou'll get into hot water. The best of it is that while they're here weare all to have holidays, and we can go a great deal into the forest andhave picnics if the weather keeps fine. And in the evening Aunt Grizelsays she will have the armory lighted, and we children may play thereand have charades and tableaux and anything we fancy. Oh, I call itgreat, splendid fun!" said Kitty, ending with a caper.
Rachel's very dark eyes had brightened when Kitty spoke about thetableaux and the charades.
"It all depends on what kind of children the Marmadukes are," she said;and then she took Phil's hand and walked across the lawn with him.
She had a fellow-feeling for Phil just at present, for he and she shareda secret; and she noticed as he stood by Kitty's side that his laugh wasa little forced and that there were very dark lines under his eyes.
"You're tired--aren't you, Phil?" she said.
"I?" asked the little boy, looking up with almost alarm in his face."Oh, please don't say that, Rachel."
"Why shouldn't I say it? Any one to look at you could see you are tired,and I'm sure I don't wonder, after being so ill last night. Go in andlie down if you like, Phil, and I'll pretend to Aunt Grizel that you arehalf a mile away in the forest climbing trees and doing all kinds ofimpossible things."
"I do want to go into the forest," said Phil, "but I won't go to-day,Rachel. You were very kind to me last night. I love you for being sokind."
"Oh, it wasn't exactly kindness," said Rachel. "I came to you because Iwas curious, you know."
"Yes; but you were kind, all the same. Do you think, Rachel, we shalloften go into the forest and go a long, long way when the Marmadukes arehere?"
"Yes, I suppose so. It depends upon the weather, of course, and whatkind of children they are. They may be such puny little Londoners thatthey may not be able to walk a dozen steps. Why do you want to know,Phil? You look quite excited."
"We have a secret between us--haven't we, Rachel?"
It was Rachel's turn now to color and look eager.
"Yes," she said; "oh, yes."
"Some day," whispered Phil--"some day, when the Marmadukes are here, wemight go near the lady's house--might we not?"
Rachel caught the boy's arm with a strong convulsive grasp.
"If we might!" she said. "If we only dared! And you and I, Phil, mightsteal away from the others, and go close to the lady's house, and watchuntil she came out. And we might see her--oh! we might see her, even ifwe did not dare to speak."
"I want to go," said Phil--"I want to go to that house again, although itis not because I want to see the lady. It is a secret; all my life ismade up of secrets. But I will go if--if I have a chance. And if you seeme stealing away by myself you will help me--won't you, Rachel?"
"Trust me," said Rachel, with enthusiasm. "Oh, what a dear boy you are,Phil! I can scarcely believe when I talk to you that you are only eightyears old; you seem more like my own age. To be only eight is veryyoung, you know."
"I have had a grave sort of life," said Phil, with a hastily suppressedsigh, "and I suppose having a great many secrets to keep does make a boyseem old."