"I don't have so much as most of the boys," he told her with truth, "and, how, money slips away one hardly knows how. I hope if Uncle Jasper proves himself a generous old chap, you'll remind him that you've a brother at school who is generally hard up."
The two girls laughed, and Celia said, ingenuously:
"I do hope Uncle Jasper will like us. He used to be very good to mother when she was young, but he was always rather eccentric."
"What do you mean by eccentric?" Eric inquired.
"Not like other people," Celia replied, promptly. "Mother says he used to spend most of his time shut up in his library, reading and studying, and often he would fall into such deep trains of thought that he wouldn't notice what was going on around him."
"What a queer old fellow!" Eric exclaimed. "I shouldn't fancy he is inclined to be at all sociable."
"Poor old man!" sighed Joy, sympathetically. "Mother told me that he has had great troubles to bear. He lost his wife when she was quite young, and that was a dreadful trial for him because he loved her very dearly; and lately, you know, his son has died."
"How old was the son?" Eric asked.
"Oh, quite grown up," Celia responded; "as old as mother. He was a barrister, a very clever man, and Uncle Jasper was exceedingly proud of him. If his son had lived I don't suppose Uncle Jasper would have asked us to stay at the Moat House," she added, musingly.
"How sad and lonely he must be!" Joy cried, in pitying tones. "It's not much use having a lot of money if all your relations are dead, is it?"
"Rather not!" Eric agreed, heartily. "You girls must try to cheer him up a bit. I can't imagine anything more depressing than living in a big house with only servants. By the way, what's going to become of Jane?"
"She has found another situation where she will get higher wages than mother gives her," Celia replied.
"But in spite of that she's very sorry to leave us," Joy put in, "and I've promised to write to her sometimes. If we ever come back here again perhaps she will return to us."
"I hope that will never be!" Celia exclaimed, involuntarily. "I mean, I hope we shall never come back. I am sure we shall all be happier at the Moat House."
"I don't know about that, I'm sure," Joy responded, reflectively, "I've been very happy here."
"I am glad to hear you say that, my dear," Mrs. Wallis said, as she entered the room; "it's a great blessing to possess a contented spirit," she continued, with a loving glance at her younger daughter, "and you are happy in days of poverty, you will probably be able to stand the test of wealth if it ever comes your way. You know we pray every Sunday in church: 'In all time of our wealth—Good Lord, deliver us.' Greater temptations beset the paths of rich people in many respects than poor ones."
"Oh, mother!" Celia cried, in accents of profound astonishment; "do you really mean that? I think it's so difficult to be good if one's poor. I am sure if I was rich I should have nothing to grumble about, and you know you are always telling me how discontented I am."
"My dear Celia, you imagine riches must needs bring happiness, but you are greatly mistaken. Happiness comes to those only who trust in God, and do their plain duty in life."
Celia hung her head, and flushed hotly, for there was reproof in her mother's voice, and the kind eyes which searched her face were gravely reproachful.
"I have just received a letter from Uncle Jasper," Mrs. Wallis proceeded, after a slight pause; "he says he is looking forward with much pleasure to make the acquaintance of my little daughters, and he hopes they will feel quite at home at the Moat House. He remarks that if I have not already engaged a governess, he would recommend the niece of a neighbour of his for that post—a Miss Pring, who has had several years experience as a teacher in a school, but is now out of a situation. I must write and tell him that I should like to see Miss Pring before anything is decided. I shall be really glad now when we have left here, and are settled at the Moat House."
"You must let me know all about the place, and how you get on with Uncle Jasper," Eric said to Joy, who nodded assentingly.
The boy was very fond of both his sisters, but Joy was his favourite, for she took teasing better than did Celia, who was inclined to stand on her dignity, and resented his good-humoured banter, especially when he ridiculed her for her vanity and love of finery. Then, too, Celia was so entirely wrapped up in herself that she took very little interest in what concerned her brother, and was much too dignified a young person to join in his pursuits. She always declined to accompany him in the long walks he loved to take during his holidays, and it was Joy who tramped patiently for miles by his side, simply to spend a few hours fishing in a stagnant pool, and returned home quite satisfied if he was, even though their catch of fish was only a few small roach or perch; and it was Joy who diffidently asked her mother if she could spare Eric a trifle more pocket-money next term, and was delighted to receive an answer in the affirmative.
"I shall have no household expenses now, so I can well make Eric a larger allowance," Mrs. Wallis said, cordially, for she was glad to be in the position to grant her little daughter's request. "I know the poor boy has not had so much money to spend as his companions. I have often regretted the fact, but I have been unable to give him more. He never complained, however."
"Oh, no, mother, he would not do that, for he knows you have always done all you could for him. He says a great many of his school-fellows have rich fathers, but some are no better off than himself. His great chum—Lawrence Puttenham—is the son of a poor curate in London, and he has a very small allowance of pocket-money, indeed. Celia wonders Eric does not make one of the richer boys his chum, but Eric says he likes Putty—that's short for Puttenham, you know—best."
Mrs. Wallis smiled, then sighed. She sometimes wondered where Celia got her worldly-wise notions, for she had certainly never learnt them at home. Joy had made several friends at school, but Celia had not, and her mother suspected, what was actually the truth, that the reason was she did not consider the friendship of her fellow pupils worth cultivating, as they were all children from comparatively poor homes.
Dearly though Mrs. Wallis loved her children, she was not blind to their faults. She knew that Eric was easy-going, and inclined to be idle, and that he did not make the most of his opportunities at school; but, she knew also that he was truthful and honourable, and hoped that as he grew older he would overcome his indolence and recognise that it was his duty to work hard and not waste his time. Joy had her failings, too, but they were not of a kind to cause her mother much anxiety, the chief being a temper quick to anger and to resent a wrong. Celia's character was a complex one, difficult to understand. Often Mrs. Wallis would be painfully astonished to hear her elder daughter pass a remark which would sound cynical from a woman grown; but which was certainly strangely incongruous from the lips of a girl of fourteen who looked childish for her years. Celia would appear so penitent when reproved, the tears would rise to her blue eyes, and the burning blushes to her fair cheeks, that Mrs. Wallis would tell herself she had not meant what she had said, and that she had spoken without thought.
Between the sisters was a very real and deep affection, though they were totally unlike in every way. Joy admired Celia openly, and never experienced the least sensation of jealousy when, as was often the case, new acquaintances were attracted by Celia's pretty face and winning manners, and she herself was overlooked altogether; whilst Celia found Joy generally ready to follow her lead, and to defer to her opinions.
The last few days of the Easter holidays were spent in leave takings. Mrs. Wallis, having lived in A— ever since her marriage, had many friends; but she told them all that at the end of a year's time it was very probable she would be in their midst again, so there were no sorrowful partings.
And yet, when Eric had returned to school, and the day came for the departure of Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters from their home, they were all very grave. Jane had packed her box and gone to her new situation; the family's luggage had been sent to the railway station; and in a very short while the cab would be at the door to fetch the waiting trio. Joy wandered restlessly about the house, and at last joined her mother and sister, who were waiting more patiently in the sitting-room.
"How disconsolate you look, my dear!" Mrs. Wallis exclaimed. "But I don't know that that is to be wondered at. It is always a grave matter to take a new step in life, because we don't know where it's to lead us. God knows," she added, reverently, "and we must trust our future to Him. He will guide us aright."
"Yes, mother," Joy replied, seriously. "I can't think why I feel sad, but I do, and yet I am longing to see the Moat House and Uncle Jasper. I believe Celia is right—she said just now I was like a cat, attached to the house and furniture. Now I come to leave here I find I am really very fond of our shabby little home."
Celia raised her eyebrows incredulously; but, at that instant, the expected cab arrived at the door, and a few minutes later they were being driven in the direction of the railway station.
CHAPTER III. THE ARRIVAL AT THE MOAT HOUSE.
THE bright May sunshine shone upon the Moat House with its ivy-clad walls, and peeped into the library where Sir Jasper Amery was seated, pen in hand, before his writing-table. A short thin old man was Sir Jasper, with a pale, wrinkled countenance, and snow-white hair, which was brushed smoothly back from a somewhat massive forehead. Presently, as a ray of sunshine flickered across his face, he glanced up quickly, revealing a pair of sharp grey eyes, deep-set beneath overhanging brows.
"Dear me, I had nearly forgotten all about them!" he muttered, as he laid down his pen. "It's almost five o'clock. Time for them to be here."
Rising, he hobbled rather than walked to the door, for he was crippled with rheumatism, and went into the hall, where he encountered Mrs. Mallock, his housekeeper, who had been in his service many years.
"Has the carriage gone to meet my niece and her children?" he inquired.
"Yes, Sir Jasper," was the prompt reply; "your instructions have been carried out to the letter. The rooms in the east wing have been put in order, and very home-like and comfortable they look, I do assure you! Mrs. Wallis will be hard to please if she is not satisfied."
Sir Jasper nodded approvingly. Taking his hat he went out-of-doors to wait for his visitors.
The Moat House was indeed beautifully situated, and from the terrace which fronted the dining-room and drawing-room windows, the surrounding country was plainly visible for miles, pleasant meadow lands, and woods now decked in their freshest spring garb, stretching as far as the eye could see. The moat, which had originally been full of water, had been filled in, and had been prettily laid out as a rock garden, where shrubs of various kinds flourished, and flowers peeped between the rough boulders which looked as though nature and not man had placed them there in such picturesque confusion. Sir Jasper's eyes wandered from the tresses of golden laburnum flowers, and purple and white lilac now in full bloom, to the distant high road along which he expected to see the carriage pass which had been sent to the railway station, two miles distant, to meet his guests. He had not long to wait before it appeared in sight, and five minutes later it had passed up the wide carriage drive which cut through the rock garden in place of the bridge which had originally spanned the moat, and had drawn up before the front door.
Sir Jasper hastened to greet his visitors, doing so very cordially. He had not seen his niece since her girlhood, and he noticed she had greatly changed. Trouble, and many small carking worries, had left their traces upon her countenance; and a look of patient resignation had taken the place of the bright, hopeful expression which had once been her chief charm in his eyes.
"Welcome, dear Margaret!" he said. "I am rejoiced that you have come. You will have patience with an old man who has lost all his happiness in life."
"Do not say that, Uncle Jasper," she replied, gently, as she kissed his withered cheek. "I too have seen much sorrow, but it has been God's will."
"Still the old faith!" he exclaimed, with a look of surprise.
"Yes," she answered steadily, "still the old faith, that what God does is best." Her face brightened as she spoke, and he recognized the expression he had missed at first, as she quoted with a smile:
"God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!"
He made no reply, but turned to the girls, who were regarding him with slightly veiled curiosity.
"This is my elder daughter," Mrs. Wallis told him, indicating Celia, who smiled and blushed as Sir Jasper's eyes rested searchingly on her countenance.
"What is your name, my dear?" Sir Jasper asked, shaking hands with her cordially.
"Celia," she answered.
"Well, Celia, you must call me Uncle Jasper. I am your great-uncle, you know. What a pretty child!" he added in an undertone to Mrs. Wallis, but Celia heard the words and her blush deepened with pleasure.
"And this is Joyce," Mrs. Wallis proceeded, hastily, "but we always call her Joy."
"Joy," he echoed. "Joy. That means gladness—happiness! Poor child, I hope the name will never appear in the light of a mockery to her."
"I hope not. I do not think it will," Mrs. Wallis responded, but she glanced uneasily at Joy, who was regarding Sir Jasper with astonished grey eyes, wondering why he should speak of her in such a decidedly pitying tone.
"No doubt you are all tired after your long journey," he remarked, "so come into the house, and let Mrs. Mallock show you your rooms. You remember my housekeeper, Margaret? Yes, I still have the same. I have had her put the east wing in order for you, and I hope you will find everything to your taste. I am somewhat of a recluse myself, nowadays, and never go outside the grounds; my doctor enjoins quietude, yet he thinks I spend too much time over my books. I have been looking forward to your society with much pleasurable anticipation, but I fear you will find me not a very cheerful companion."
