Mrs. Wallis cast a look of quick sympathy at the bent form of the little old man, as he preceded her into the hall, and her answer showed her compassion for his loneliness, and at the same time evinced her desire to be perfectly straightforward.
"When I accepted your invitation; it was with the hope that I might be a comfort to you, Uncle Jasper," she said, "though I thought of myself as well, and of my children, whom I believe will benefit by the change. You know," she added, candidly, "that I have had as much as I could do to make both ends meet."
He nodded comprehendingly; and then Mrs. Mallock came forward to escort the visitors to their rooms. She had known Mrs. Wallis in the old days, and, like Sir Jasper, was struck by the change in her appearance.
"Ah, ma'am," she exclaimed, "I am glad to see you, indeed! I'm sure you'll benefit by a breath of Devonshire air."
She led the way upstairs, talking volubly the while, and assuring Celia that she was exactly in appearance like her mother had been at her age, a remark which Celia received in dead silence, wondering if it could possibly be true; afterwards, when she heard the same from Sir Jasper's lips, she concluded that it was.
Mrs. Wallis expressed herself very pleased with all the arrangements the housekeeper had made for her comfort, whilst the little girls were delighted with the bedroom which was allotted to them.
"How big it is!" Joy exclaimed. "And, oh, what a great, high bed! Look at the curtains around it! I declare it's almost as large as our room at home!" Then she ran to the window, and uttered a cry of admiration. "Oh, Celia, what a lovely view! Isn't it simply magnificent?"
"It is very pretty," Celia replied, composedly.
"Pretty!" Joy echoed. "Why, it is grand!"
"Yes, it's very nice, and so is the house. The furniture is rather old, but it's very handsome. I should think Uncle Jasper must be exceedingly rich. He's a funny old man, isn't he? Did you ever see sharper eyes? They seemed to look me through and through."
"I don't think he is very happy," Joy remarked, reflectively. "I wonder what he meant by saying he hoped my name would never appear in the light of a mockery to me. Wasn't it an odd thing to say?"
"Very," Celia replied, carelessly.
Joy saw her sister was not attending to her, so she sat down on the broad, cushioned window-seat, and allowed her gaze to wander over the fair landscape, whilst Celia, after closely scrutinising each article of furniture the room contained, turned her attention to the dressing-table, and thoughtfully regarded her countenance in the looking-glass. Then she untied the ribbon which fastened back her golden locks, and commenced to brush her hair.
"You had better put yourself tidy, Joy," she advised her sister, presently; "didn't you hear Mrs. Mallock tell mother that tea would be served in the dining-room almost directly? I should have thought Uncle Jasper would have dined late, but it appears he does not."
"I'm glad he doesn't," Joy replied. "I like a regular sit-down tea, because we're accustomed to it, and so does Eric. Oh, here's mother!" she cried, as Mrs. Wallis entered the room. "Oh, mother, you're ready to go downstairs, I see! Don't go before us."
"Are you afraid you will lose your way?" Mrs. Wallis inquired, with a smile, as Joy dashed to the wash-hand stand, and began hastily to bathe the traces of travel from her face. "It is a large house, certainly, but not so large as all that. Uncle Jasper was very thoughtful in giving us the east wing to ourselves, and I believe we shall be very comfortable here. You will soon see if he desires your society, children; if he does, I hope you will endeavour to make him more cheerful; and if he does not, you will have no difficulty in keeping out of his way. Poor old man! He has had so many sorrows and disappointments in his life."
"What did he mean when he spoke of my name, mother?" Joy questioned, eagerly. "How could it ever be a mockery to me?"
"It could only be a mockery if you lost your faith in God, my dear. Joy means gladness and happiness, as Uncle Jasper said; but, I fear, he does not realise that its foundation is trust in Jesus Christ."
"Isn't Uncle Jasper a Christian?" Celia asked quickly.
For a moment Mrs. Wallis hesitated as though she hardly knew what answer to make, then she replied: "I believe he is professedly a Christian, but I fear he does not possess the child-like, unquestioning faith which alone brings peace. You know, my dears, it is very difficult at all times to say 'Thy will be done.'"
Joy ran to her mother, and throwing her arms around her neck, gave her an impulsive kiss. She rightly guessed that Mrs. Wallis thinking of the grave in the cemetery at A— where her husband lay. Joy had been very fond of her father, and though she had been too young at the time of his death to be told more than that he had gone on a long journey, she had always remembered him vividly, and could recall the sound of his voice, and his hearty laugh. What his loss had meant to her mother she could dimly understand. Celia had been deeply attached to her father too, and there were regretful tears in her bright eyes as she thought of him now.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Wallis and her little daughters entered the dining-room, where Sir Jasper was awaiting them. They took their seats at the large, square table, upon which a substantial meal was laid, to which the travellers did full justice, for they were hungry after their long journey. Sir Jasper exerted himself to be agreeable, and he and Mrs. Wallis discussed bygone days, which appeared to interest him more than the present time; whilst the little girls sat quietly listening, each experiencing a dream-like sensation of unreality, and almost feeling as though the large room with its handsome furniture and shining silver on the side-board, with its oak-panelled walls and pictures of short-waisted ladies, and gentle-men with frilled shirts and high stocks, would give place to the shabby little sitting-room at home. Joy touched Celia with her foot under the table to assure herself that she was really not dreaming; and Celia awoke from her reverie with a start and a smile as she met her sister's eyes.
By-and-by, Sir Jasper turned his attention to his younger guests, and inquired what they thought of the Moat House, and if they considered they would be able to make themselves happy beneath his roof.
Joy answered him rather shyly; but Celia was perfectly composed, and expressed admiration of his home so enthusiastically that he was evidently very gratified, and looked at her with most decided approval. After the meal was over, he drew her to the window, and pointed out a distant orchard, white as snow with apple blossoms; and, afterwards, at her suggestion, accompanied his guests out-of-doors, and sat down on a garden seat with Mrs. Wallis for a companion, whilst the young people explored the grounds.
"You are a rich woman, Margaret," he said impressively, his eyes following the children's forms as they continually disappeared and reappeared between the boulders in the rock garden. "That elder girl of yours is a beauty. Is your boy good-looking, too?"
"People tell me he is a handsome lad," she replied, smiling. "Celia is very pretty, I know. I hope you will not spoil her, Uncle Jasper."
"Pooh!" he cried, "she does not take after her mother in disposition if she can be spoilt! How well and sensibly she talks! She appears very observant."
"In some ways she is older than her years, and I regret it," Mrs. Wallis remarked, a shade of uneasiness crossing her face. "Joy is much more childish; but, of course, she is two years younger than her sister."
"I suppose you considered my invitation a strange one," Sir Jasper said, abruptly; "I know you did from what Tillotson told me, and from your hesitation in agreeing to comply with my request. I am glad you decided to humour an old man's whim, my dear," he added, meaningly; "believe me, neither you nor yours will be the worse off eventually from the fact of your having done so."
CHAPTER IV. AUNT AND NIECE.
NOT more than five minutes' walk from the entrance to the grounds of the Moat House was a six-roomed, thatched cottage, called Home Vale, standing back from the high road, from which it was divided by a long strip of garden and a thick privet hedge. It was a picturesque little home, looking at it from the outside, with its windows hung with spotless white lace curtains, its porch covered with clematis, and its front door posted invitingly open to admit the May sunshine, and the fresh breeze scented with lilies-of-the-valley and jonquils. Inside, everything was in apple-pie order. The brass face of the tall, eight-day clock in the little entrance hall shone brightly; the furniture in the parlour, which looked out on the flower-garden and the strip of high road beyond, was arranged with evident care; whilst upstairs, the three small bedrooms with their latticed windows were pictures of neatness and freshness, their beds hung with white dimity curtains, and their dressing-tables draped in white, starched muslin petticoats looped up with coloured ribbons to match the shades of the wall papers.
But, perhaps, the prettiest room in the cottage was the front kitchen, with its red-tiled floor and white-washed walls, against which the copper warming-pan and brass and tin cooking utensils showed off so well. A canary sung gaily in a cage hanging in the window, from which was an uninterrupted view of the kitchen garden, where the mistress of Home Vale was at work on this sunny May morning, industriously turning up a piece of ground with a spade, handling the tool with almost the strength and dexterity of a man.
A tall, muscular, middle-aged woman was the mistress of Home Vale, clad at present in short, drab, serge skirt; thick laced-up boots; a washed-out cotton blouse; a broad-rimmed straw hat; and a pair of gardening gloves. A small knot of iron-grey hair was visible beneath the brim of the hat behind; and when she paused for a minute or so to rest, and glanced up at a lark carolling high overhead, she revealed a dark, sunburnt countenance, with large, irregular features, and a pair of bright, brown eyes.
Such to outward appearances was Miss Pring, who had lived at Home Vale, as Sir Jasper Amery's tenant, for the past ten years. Formerly, she had been a rich woman; but, owing to the failure of a bank, she had lost most of her money, and finding herself in really poor circumstances, she had sought about for a country cottage, with a large garden which she could turn to some account. Once Miss Pring had gardened for pleasure; now she laboured for profit as well, and grew quantities of vegetable and flowers for sale in the neighbouring market town of T—.
At first when she had settled at Home Vale, people had looked at her rather askance; but, slowly it had dawned on her neighbours—none of whom lived very near, by-the-by, with the exception of Sir Jasper Amery—that careless of appearances though she was, and living without a servant, of which fact she was not a whit ashamed, there was no truer lady at heart than Miss Pring. A year previously she had locked up her cottage for a couple of days, and started on a journey. On her return she had brought with her a pale, weary-looking girl, evidently in very bad health, whom she had introduced to her acquaintances as her niece, Mary Pring. The girl had been a governess in a large town in the midlands, where she been underpaid, and, at the same time, so greatly overworked that she had broken down altogether, and being homeless, had been in dire distress of mind as to how to act when her aunt had appeared upon the scene, and insisted on carrying her home with her to Devon.
Now, Mary's health was completely restored, and she had been on the look-out for another situation for some weeks, when, only yesterday she had received a note from Sir Jasper Amery, asking her to call the following morning at the Moat House, as his niece, Mrs. Wallis, who had come to pay him a long visit, required a governess for her two little girls, and he thought she might prove suitable for the post.
Mary had accordingly started for the Moat House that morning in high spirits, whilst her aunt had betaken herself to the kitchen garden to pass the time of her niece's absence in hard work, to keep her from thinking, as she told herself. Miss Pring was very anxious for Mary to remain with her, for she realised how lonely she would feel if the girl was forced to leave her, and she could not afford to keep her at Home Vale in idleness. She watched the lark till, its song finished, it sank to the ground in an adjacent field, then resumed her work, turning up the rich, red mould with a will.
"I hope the child will get the situation," she thought; "she appeared very sanguine about it herself. How I should miss companionship if we had to part! We suit each other, for all we're so unlike. I'm glad I spoke of her to Sir Jasper when I saw him last. Poor old man! It will be a great change for him to have young people at the Moat House. Oh, here's Mary at last!"
Mary came swiftly down the garden path towards her aunt. She was a tall, slight young woman, brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a face which, possessing not one perfect feature, was nevertheless wonderfully pleasing and attractive, and now wore an expression so bright and joyous that Miss Pring knew at once that her heart's desire was to granted, and that Mary had obtained the much coveted situation.
"Well?" the elder woman said, interrogatively, in a deep, somewhat gruff voice.
"It is well, Aunt Esther," Mary replied, putting her arm around her aunt's waist, and imprinting a hearty kiss on her sunburnt cheek. "Everything is settled, and I am to commence my duties to-morrow. And what salary do you think I am to have?"
Miss Pring shook her head, and her niece continued:
"Forty pounds a year! I never dreamt it would be so much. Yes, indeed it is true. Now I shall be able to pay you for my living here. We shall be quite rich, shan't we? I am to be at the Moat House from ten to four."
"Then you will dine there?"
"Oh, yes. I saw my pupils; they appeared nice little girls, and one—the elder, who is fourteen—is so pretty. I was quite taken with her. And her manners are charming! Her name is Celia. The other child is younger by a couple of years."
"What like is the mother?" Miss Pring questioned.
