Mrs. Molesworth

“ I thought to myself. “I daresay Lady Honor thinks being with me may make her quiet and refined,” though, truth to tell, for all her simplicity, I had seen no touch of anything the least rough or hoydenish in my new friend.
“Lady Honor is always so funny, isn’t she?” was Evey’s first remark, as soon as we were out of hearing. “Papa says it’s delightful to see an old person so fresh and merry. But she has such a kind heart: that keeps people young more than anything,” she added, in her wise way. ”

“ It was a letter from Yvonne—a letter and an invitation. I am to go to Southerwold for the Easter holidays! Oh, I can hardly believe it. I don’t know if I am glad or not. I am so afraid they will have grown so grand, and that I shall feel strange and shy. Oh, my dear Evey and Mary—if I could but have you again like last year—with your dear old shabby tweed jackets, and the loving hearts inside them! ”

“ Mamma seemed like a person in a dream or a trance, our old Prudence has often told me, after the last, Kenneth, the eldest, it was, died. Fancy the empty nurseries, fancy all the toys and books, and, worst of all, the little hats, and jackets, and shoes lying about just as usual! For they were only ill four days—oh, I think it must have been awful. And yet so beautiful too.
And the little, stupid, crying baby lived, and throve, and grew well and strong. When papa, weeks after, ventured at last to look at me, he could not believe I was the same! ”

“ Oh, how glad I was that she said that! “Benjamin said some one wanted me;” and then catching sight of figures in the conservatory, in mamma came.
They started a little, and no wonder that they were surprised. Thanks to me, they had small reason to expect much in Mrs Percy. Never in all my life did I feel prouder of mamma, or more grateful for her unfailing sweet temper. Just think—many a mother in such a case would have come through the drawing-room scolding for finding it in such a mess; her voice would have been heard sharp and angry before she was seen. ”

“ Chapter Twelve. True Hearts. We all waited, without speaking. Poor Major Whyte indeed seemed exhausted by his cough. There was a feeling in the air, I think, as if something strange were going to happen.
And in a very few moments there came the sound of footsteps up the stairs, and then crossing the two big drawing-rooms. And then—the door opened. Freeland murmured something, and I saw coming through the doorway the familiar figure of Captain Whyte, and close behind him the sweet fair face of dear Mary.
Major Whyte started up. He wrung his cousin’s hand without speaking. ”

“ There were times when I used to wish or to fancy I wished for a sister, though if this wish had magically come true, I don’t believe I would have liked it really, and now and then papa and mamma would pity me for having no friends of my own age. But I do not think I was to be pitied for this, except that it certainly is better training for a child to have companions of one’s own standing, instead of grown-up people who can see no fault in you.
Things happen queerly sometimes. What are called “coincidences” are not so uncommon after all. ”

“ But then—there comes sometimes a little wind, and faint gleams of sunshine, sparkle out, growing steadier and fuller, and then we generally have a few days together of weather that for pleasantness can scarcely be matched. They are soft, quiet, dreamy days; the sunshine is never bright exactly, but gentle and a little melancholy. There is a queer feeling of having been naughty and being forgiven: the wind comes in little whispering sobs, like a tiny child that can’t leave off crying all at once; the whole world seems tired and yet calm and hopeful in a far-off sort of way. ”

“ I felt more on my own ground, now.
“I am so pleased you like the Yew Trees,” I said, amiably. “It is a nice old house, and it might be made quite perfect. If we ever went to live in it ourselves, I daresay we should change it a good deal—but I don’t think we ever shall. When papa retires, and I hope he will before I’m grown up, mamma and I want to travel a good deal, and perhaps to live in London. One gets tired of a little country-place.”
Yvonne looked at me quite simply.
“Do you think so?” she said. “I feel as if we should never get tired of Elmwood. And the people all seem so kind. ”

“ Some days in it are sure to be so, and of course we made up our minds that the day could not but be one of the nicest.
“I have always been sorry my birthday was in November,” said Evey one afternoon, a week or two before the important date, “but Connie has almost made me change my mind.”
“I think it rather suits you,” I said. “You wouldn’t seem in your place on a very hot, lazy, full-summer day, when one can’t be active and energetic and useful: the sort of day when you feel you may be idle and of no use for once,” and I gave a little sigh. They all laughed. ”

“ I know it’s wrong to say unkind things of people, but when any one is very dull and stupid, you can’t say they’re interesting and clever.”
“I don’t think you needed to say anything. I wasn’t asking you about what the Gales were,” said Evey, in her rather blunt way. “I don’t mean to be rude or laying down the law, Connie, only—”
“Mother says,” Mary interrupted in her shy way—“mother says it is always so very easy to find fault and to see the worst of people. It takes much more cleverness trying to see the best of them.” ”

“ It was not often I volunteered any little service of this kind, but somehow I had a wish to be of use to Evey Whyte, too, and I spoke in a matter-of-fact way, as if it was quite a usual thing for me to do.
“Thank you, dear,” said mamma. “I don’t think you should go out till we see what the day is going to be. Your cold is not quite gone yet.”
“Oh, bother!” I said, crossly. “Mamma, I wish you would not fuss so. I’m sure that little girl looks far more delicate than I, and she’s out. I only wish I had gone out quite early, and then they wouldn’t have come in and found everything in such a mess.” ”

“ Even when your heart is quite, quite in earnest, and your mind too, and often at the very time you’re planning beautifully about keeping your new resolutions, and quite bubbling over with eagerness about them, you get a sudden shock, just as if you had walked straight into a bath of cold water that you didn’t know was there—and oh, dear, you stop to find you have done the exact wrong or foolish thing you had been fixing so to avoid. ”

“ I could tell by mamma’s tone that she was annoyed, though she spoke as usual quite gently. I could see, too, that Yvonne and Mary felt it, but then they were so simple and downright that they never took things in a hurt, self sort of way. Mary’s face shadowed over a little—she was just sorry to have vexed mamma, and ready to blame herself.
“Oh, dear Mrs Percy,” she exclaimed, “please don’t think I was in earnest. It would have been very unkind and—impertinent. Do you know we often say Connie is the most active of us all, and it’s all the more credit to her, for she doesn’t need to be, like us. ”

“ I could almost think that poor mamma must have felt as if it would not so very much matter whether I got it or not; my dying then could not have made things much worse for her to bear! For, after all, a very little baby, even though it is nice and funny and even sweet in its way, can’t be anything like as interesting or as much a part of your life as talking, understanding, loving children. So it seems to me, though mamma doesn’t quite agree with me. She loves me so very much that I think she couldn’t bear to think there ever was a time when I was less to her. ”

“ However, it was all smoothed down now about Mary’s little speech, and the boys’ talk soon took away any feeling of constraint.
“The worst of a birthday so near Christmas,” said Charley, thoughtfully, “is that it muddles the presents. Either you feel as if you’d got too much, or else people give you less than if Christmas wasn’t coming, and that isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t matter so much now we’ve made a new rule,” said Addie. “We all give birthday presents to each other, but at Christmas we only give them to father and mother, and they give to us. It’s a good plan.” ”

“ Dear mamma is not very sensible about money—she won’t mind my saying so, for she says it herself. She leaves everything to papa, and a good deal now, I am proud to say, to me. “You remember it, Connie? Mrs Nesbitt called it her best room. It looks out to the side with a sort of square bow-window, though that sounds very Irish!” she added, laughing.
Papa glanced at her with such pleasure. He is always so delighted when mamma laughs. ”

“ But mamma—I rather think it was papa who put it into her head to say so to me—told me that she did not think it would do to give Yvonne anything very expensive. It might rather annoy the Whytes instead of pleasing them. I felt very disappointed at first, till mamma reminded me that if my real wish was to give pleasure to Evey, I should not risk mingling anything uncomfortable with it.
“That would be selfish,” she said, “pleasing yourself instead of her,” and I saw that that was true.
Indeed, everything in this world that is worth anything seems mixed up with self-denial! ”

“ And Lady Honor smiled at me when I said this, in her very kindest way; for no one who does not know Lady Honor pretty well can fancy how kind her smiles sometimes are. “How have you learnt to play the organ so beautifully? It takes a lot of time, doesn’t it?” I said to Evey.
“Yes,” said Lady Honor, replying for her. “But I have always found in my life, my dear Connie, that it is the people who have the most to do who do the most. ”

“ They say the best thing we can all do for them is each to be good in his or her own way. But one can’t help sometimes wishing to do something big—oh, what heaps of nice things one could do for people if one were rich! We often plan them together—for father and mother first, you know.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be nice to be rich,” I replied; “but I’ve never thought much about it,”—“Still, I don’t think going to the Colonies or keeping a shop would be ‘something big,’” I was on the point of saying, when Evey interrupted me. ”

“ Mamma looked up at this speech of Mary’s, and said quickly:
“I am sure that way of spending her birthday would not be at all to Connie’s taste. She has never been lazy, though of course in a large family there are a great many things to do that it would be absurd to spend time over where there is only one child and plenty of servants.” ”

“ She had always been a true and kind friend; and just because she did not flatter and spoil me, I could not trust the good old lady.
“Oh,” I began, “I didn’t mean—I thought perhaps—”
Then I stopped short. “My real name is Constantia,” I went on hurriedly, “not Constance. I think Constantia prettier; don’t you?”
“It is more uncommon; it’s like my name. People think mine is Eva or Evelyn, when they hear me called—”
“Evey!” came her father’s voice across the room. We both laughed.
“Wasn’t that funny?” said Evey, as she turned with a “Yes, papa.” ”

“ It is quite true, neither she nor Yvonne could have behaved as I did.”
My voice began to break as I said the last words; the long strain was beginning to tell on me. I felt the tears coming, and I tried to choke them down. I knew Mrs Fetherston’s keen eyes were on me.
“My dear,” she said—I could scarcely have believed her voice could have been so different—“there are worse little girls in the world than you. I freely forgive you what I have to forgive. Some day I may see you and Mary together.”
Major Whyte started and a bright look of pleasure lighted up his face. ”

“ He was so gentle and considerate to mamma, telling her all that had happened upstairs as frankly as if she had been an old friend—I always notice that people who are quite, quite well-bred, are so much franker than commoner people, who make mysteries about nothing, and treat you as if your one object in life was to get their secrets out of them—and he was quite right, for she did indeed feel like one. ”

“ Evey’s not like that. She’s not the least atom boasting; it was more—things I noticed and asked about, myself. It’s not only that she’s clever—you should hear how she can play the organ; but I daresay you’d let me learn it too, if I liked—it’s—it’s partly, mamma, that I can feel she’s so much more useful, and—and unselfish than I am. ”

“ A lady, a rather little lady, with dark hair—nice, wavy dark-brown hair, like what Evey’s would have been if it hadn’t been so short—and the brightest, sweetest, dark-eyed, rather gipsy-looking face, was running at full speed across the little lawn before the door, with Lancey, the biggest boy of all, you know, after her. ”

“ They were glad to ask Anna to an entertainment which would really please her and her friends, much more than being invited to tea with them quite in an every-day way.
“Dear Connie,” mamma went on, “you must try to be self-denying too. After all, I daresay Anna won’t interfere much with your amusement.”
“Yes she will,” I said, kicking the pebbles on the road; “she’ll quite spoil it. And then she’ll go telling everybody—all Miss Parker’s girls that she’s such friends with—about having been at the Yew Trees for Evey’s birthday. It’ll make it seem so common.” ”

“ For he’s so fond of them all—could he not make it up to them?”
“They fear he would be bound down by her will to do nothing for his cousins,” said mamma. “The old lady, once she has taken a thing in her head, seems very vindictive. Besides, Captain Whyte is a proud man, he has always hoped his aunt would leave him something—it would be hard for him to take it as a gift, almost like a charity, from his cousin. And what can they do for the present? They had little enough before; but now they must be terribly poor. And the old lady may live many years. ”

“ They came to spend an afternoon with me at last. Mamma arranged that the carriage should both fetch them and take them back, for the roads were really sopping, though the rain overhead was less incessant. We were very glad to be together again. Evey wore my little brooch; it reminded me of her birthday.
“Oh, by-the-by,” I said to her, “did your jackets, or whatever it was, come the next day?”
A cloud came over their bright faces.
“No,” said Evey, “nothing came—and no letter. We were very disappointed.”
“Perhaps something will come at Christmas instead,” said Mary, hopefully. ”

“ Did your father ever look at you as papa did at me?”
I was growing desperate. Papa had walked out of the room without speaking to me. I did not know any one heard what I said to Anna till I felt some one’s arm passed round me. It was Mrs Whyte. Her pretty, merry face was quite changed, the bright, gipsy look quite gone, but the kind, true brown eyes—Evey’s eyes—were kind and true still.
“Don’t speak like that, Connie dear,” she said. “I am far more sorry for you than for ourselves. I will come and see you to-morrow. I wish I could go home with you now but poor Addie is so ill;” ”

“ We were at tea in my schoolroom: I was making the tea—pouring it out I mean—and mamma, who had come in to see how we were getting on, was sitting knitting in the window, where Evey had just carried her a cup. Two of the boys were with us; Addie, whom they always tried to get any treat for, as he was kept out of so many boys’ pleasures; and Charley, the next in age to him. Lancelot and Jocelyn did not often honour us with their society; they were working very hard now, at their particular studies. ”