Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: NOBBLES WAS TIGHTLY GRASPED IN HIS HAND.]
'Me and Nobbles'
By
AMY LE FEUVRE
Author of 'Probable Sons,' 'Teddy's Button,' 'Jill's Red Bag,' 'Odd,' 'His Little Daughter,' etc.
London
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 Beuverie Street and 65 St. Paul's Churchyard, E.C. 4.
1908
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PROLOGUE
I.--'MASTER MORTIMER' II.--'HE MAY COME TO-MORROW!' III.--THE BEAUTIFUL PICTURE IV.--HIS NEW FRIEND V.--NOBBLES' MISFORTUNE VI.--HIS FATHER VII.--HIS NEW HOME VIII.--A LETTER FROM ABROAD IX.--'SHE HAS LEFT US!' X.--'WE'RE GOING TO FIND A GOVERNESS! XI.--BOBBY'S VISITOR XII.--'A DELIGHTFUL TIME XIII.--THE WEDDING XIV.--'NEARLY DROWNED' XV.--THE OLD HOUSE AGAIN
'ME AND NOBBLES.'
PROLOGUE.
[_To be skipped by children if they like._]
It was a very silent old house.
Outside, the front windows stared gravely down upon the tidy drive withits rhododendron shrubberies, the well-kept lawn with the triangularbeds, and the belt of gloomy fir trees edging the high brick wall thatran along the public road. The windows were always draped andcurtained, and opened one foot at the top with monotonous regularity.No one was ever seen leaning out of them, or even pushing back thecurtains to widen their view. There was a broad flight of steps, and aponderous door which, when opened, disclosed a long hall, at the end ofwhich was a gaily flowered conservatory. Instinct made people treadgently upon the thick Turkey rugs that were laid upon the polishedfloor; there was a stillness in the house that seemed to chill one. Ifyou peeped into the big dining-room, the portraits upon the wall eyedyou with disapproval; the table, which was always laid with snowy-whitecloth and shining silver, seemed severely austere and formal; the highback chairs and the massive sideboards bade you respect their age.
The drawing-room was quite as awe-inspiring, for the blinds were nearlyalways down, and it had a musty unused scent telling you that itsgrandeur was not for daily use. The library was gloomier still. Itswindows were of stained glass; books of the dingiest hue surroundedyou; they lined the walls; and the furniture and carpet matched them intone. Ghostly busts on pedestals, scientific machines, and a hugegeographical and astronomical globe added to its gloom. The sun had away of only hastily shining in when he could not help himself, and heleft it till the last moment just before he went to bed. He was notfond of that room, and there was no one in the house that was.
Then there was the morning room, and this was where old Mrs. Egertonspent most of her day. She was a tall severe old lady with no sense ofhumour and a very strong will. She spent an hour after breakfast withher cook, for housekeeping was her hobby; then she sat at her tablewriting letters and doing her accounts till luncheon, after which shealways went for a drive. In the evening after dinner she read thepaper or some solid book, knitted, and retired early to bed. Herdaughter, Miss Anna Egerton, was very like her, only she was seldomseen indoors. She was full of good works, and was never idle, for shehad more business than she could possibly get through, and her dayswere so crowded that meals seemed quite an effort. The man of thehouse, Mrs. Egerton's son, was also always out, and when at home spenthis leisure moments in his smoking-room. London claimed most of histime, for he was in a government office, and went to and fro by train,thinking nothing of the hours spent twice a day in a railway carriage.
'A very dull house indeed,' a lady visitor thought at the end of herfirst day there; and yet, in spite of its quietness, there were just afew indications of another element that puzzled her.
Once she heard a patter of childish feet along the corridor past herdoor, but that was very early in the morning before she was properlyawake, so she thought she must be dreaming. Then, in a secluded pathin the shrubberies, she came across a child's glove and a toywatering-can, and as she was going downstairs to dinner, and waspassing a broad staircase window, she noticed upon its broad ledge alittle bunch of daisies. She looked at them and took them up in herhand. She fancied, as she noted the droop of their stalks, that shecould see the impress still upon them of a hot, childish grasp, and asshe mused, she distinctly heard a childish chuckle of laughter not faraway.
'Is your house haunted?' she asked Miss Egerton at dinner.
'Indeed it is not. Why do you ask?'
'There is no child in the house is there?'
'Yes,' replied Miss Egerton, 'there is Vera's child.'
The visitor could not suppress her astonishment, and Mrs. Egerton,noting it, said with extra severity: 'I like children to be kept intheir proper place. He has a good nurse, who looks after him entirely.And I am thankful to say that the nurseries are at the top of thehouse, so we are not being continually reminded of his presence.'
'He must be a very quiet child.'
There was no response. When Miss Egerton was alone with her friend shegave her a little more information.
'When Vera went abroad with her husband her child was only a few monthsold, and very delicate, so she was advised to leave him behind. Shesent him here at once, without first asking mother's permission to doso, and mother did not like it. We do not care for children; but he isno trouble. Mother visits the nurseries every morning and sees to hiscomfort and health. When poor Vera died she determined to keep him forgood and all. His father never writes to us, or shows the slightestinterest in his child. We don't know in which quarter of the globe heis. Of course a child in a house is rather a nuisance, but in anotheryear or two mother means to send him to a boarding-school.
'A child in the house.'
The words rang through the visitor's heart and brain. She began tolisten for the faint tokens of the little one's presence. Shemeditated a raid upon the nursery, and a sally forth from it with thechild into the old garden below, where she and he would enjoy laughterand play together. But a telegram called her suddenly away, and thequiet of the house and garden remained undisturbed.
The footsteps still pattered at intervals; the hushed little voice andgurgles of innocent laughter still echoed from distant corners. Forthe child in the house was not a ghost, and his life is the one ofwhich I am about to tell you.