"She is a handsome woman, but worn-looking. She was very genial, and said she would like to make your acquaintance, Aunt Esther. I told her all about you and how kind you have been to me."
"Pooh! you shouldn't have mentioned that. I've done nothing more than my duty towards you, child. I couldn't leave you to be sent to a hospital to be nursed back to health, could I, when I'd a home in the country all ready for your reception?"
"A great many aunts would have done so but not you, though."
"I should hope not."
Miss Pring never saw but one path in life open to her, the straight, narrow path, which is often so difficult to tread. She was an undemonstrative woman, with a very warm heart hidden beneath a somewhat masculine exterior. She hated shams or make-believe of any kind, and it was her niece's open straightforward disposition which had met with her approval and won her affection, when, after hearing of her illness, she had gone to her assistance. Miss Pring had rich relations whom she seldom mentioned, for their ways were not her ways. Mary was the only child of a ne'er-do-well brother who had died some years previously, leaving his wife and daughter unprovided for. His wife had not survived him long, so Mary had found herself alone in the world, for the rich relations had not come forward with any offer of assistance, and it had devolved upon Miss Pring to help the girl in her hour of need.
"I feel so very glad that I have obtained this situation, for I am sure it will suit me, and that I shall give satisfaction," Mary said, confidently. "I was getting quite low-spirited at the thought of leaving you, Aunt Esther, and I prayed earnestly that God would give me work to do here, so that we might not be parted, and you see He has. It is just as though these great-nieces of Sir Jasper's had been brought to the Moat House especially for me to teach."
"Things work wheel within wheel," Miss Pring replied, gravely. "Did you see Sir Jasper?" she inquired.
"Yes. He came into the room when Wallis was telling me what my duties would be, but he did not remain many minutes. He spoke to me very kindly, though, and asked for you. What a feeble old man he looks! I wonder if he means to leave Mrs. Wallis his property?"
Miss Pring shook her head, and said she had not the least idea what his intentions were. She was actually very curious to meet Sir Jasper's niece, whom he had mentioned to her in very affectionate terms. Sir Jasper never visited his tenant at Home Vale; but she went to see her landlord on every quarter day to pay her rent, and since his son's death she had waived ceremony at his request, and had called upon him on several occasions in a friendly fashion. The master of the Moat House had a sincere liking and respect for his plain-spoken neighbour, who went her own way, irrespective of public opinion.
"It will be such happiness to be at work again," Mary proceeded, as Miss Pring turned her attention once more to her labours, and having finished spading up the earth, raked it until it was quite smooth and fine. "Let me see, Aunt Esther, you are going to put kidney beans here, are you not?"
"Yes," was the response, "I shall soon till the beans now the earth is prepared for them; and in the meantime you may get dinner ready—cold beef, and there's a baked custard in the oven."
Mary nodded comprehendingly, and ran back to the house to do her aunt's bidding, whilst Miss Pring tilled her beans, humming a song the while, for she felt particularly light of heart. She had not a musical voice—it sounded rather like a bee in a pitcher—but there was a jubilant note discernible in it, nevertheless, very pleasant to hear. Not even Mary guessed the depth of her aunt's joy that she had obtained the situation as governess at the Moat House, for Miss Pring had never confessed to living soul the sense of loneliness she had often experienced before she had brought her niece to Home Vale. Her work satisfactorily completed at length, the gardener carefully cleaned and put away her tools, and then went indoors, and upstairs to her own room, where she changed her gardening attire for a neat black gown with white linen cuffs and collar, subsequently joining her niece at dinner. They spent the afternoon sewing in the little parlour, Mary talking light-heartedly of her coming duties; and after an early cup of tea they started for a walk.
It was in a shady lane where the branches of the hazel bushes almost met overhead that they encountered Celia and Joy Wallis, who had been finding treasures—wild hyacinths and anemones—in the mossy hedge-rows. The two girls were pleased to meet their new governess, who introduced them to her aunt.
"You must come and see me at Home Vale," said Miss Pring, hospitably.
"Mary," she added, turning to her niece, "you must bring your pupils to have tea with me one day."
"Oh, thank you!" Celia exclaimed. "We should like that, shouldn't we, Joy?"
"Yes," her sister nodded.
"You have an unusual name," Miss Pring remarked, transferring her attention to Joy. "Is it an abbreviation!"
"Yes, I am really called Joyce. Everyone seems struck with my name," Joy said, gravely; "Uncle Jasper was—I am not sure he liked it."
"I like it," Miss Pring declared, decidedly, whereupon Joy smiled up into the dark plain face of her new governess's aunt, and met an answering smile in return. "We shall be friends, I foresee," Miss Pring continued; "you and I will soon learn to understand each other."
"Are you coming to the Moat House to call on mother?" Joy asked, eagerly. "Oh, I hope you are!"
"I will come very soon," Miss Pring replied, suddenly making up her mind. "How do you like the Moat House?"
"Very much. We have been there a week, you know, and Uncle Jasper is very kind, but we don't see much of him. He likes to talk to mother best. We are going to begin lessons to-morrow, and I think I am glad."
"Joy," interposed Celia, "I have been telling Miss Pring— I mean this Miss Pring," she said, indicating Mary with a smiling glance, "that as her surname is the same as her aunt's, we might call her Miss Mary, and she says she has no objection to our doing so."
"Very well," Joy agreed readily.
After that, good-byes were exchanged, the children turned homewards, and aunt and niece proceeded in the opposite direction.
"Well, what do you think of our governess's relation?" Celia asked, as soon as she and her sister were safely out of earshot of the others. "Did you ever see such an ugly old frump before?"
"Oh, Celia!" Joy cried, reproachfully, "I thought she seemed so very nice, and I didn't think her ugly at all."
"Well, all I can say is that if Miss Mary was like her aunt in appearance, I should be sorry she was going to be our governess," Celia remarked, meditatively. "I do like people to be pretty and well-dressed," she admitted; adding, "I don't call Miss Mary pretty exactly, but she's nice-looking, and as mother says, anyone can see she's a lady."
"I heard Uncle Jasper tell mother he has a very high opinion of Miss Pring," Joy said, eagerly; "he said she was a good woman, as straight as a line, and as true as steel."
"I daresay," Celia replied, carelessly, "but she isn't any the better looking on that account."
"Perhaps she is rather plain," Joy admitted truthfully; "but," she summed up with some warmth, "I'd rather be good than pretty any day." To which sentiment Celia vouchsafed no answer, and when she spoke again, changed the conversation into an entirely different channel.
CHAPTER V. TRYING TO PLEASE SIR JASPER.
"WELL, children, and how do you get on with your governess?"
The speaker was Sir Jasper Amery, who encountered Celia and Joy in the garden a few evenings after Miss Pring had commenced her duties at the Moat House. He leaned heavily upon his stick, and surveyed the countenances of his little great-nieces with his usual keen, though not unkindly glance.
"We like her so much, Uncle Jasper," Celia answered, promptly; "she's very strict in lesson hours, and makes us work hard; but she's always ready to help us, and explain everything we don't understand."
"I shall ask her to give me her opinion of your abilities," Sir Jasper said. "I heard someone practising on the piano this afternoon. Which of you was that?"
"Oh, it was I!" Joy cried, a flush rising to her sallow cheeks. "I'm afraid I don't play very well; but I love music dearly."
"You play remarkably well for your age," Sir Jasper told her. "I wonder if you know any of my favourite tunes—'The Last Rose of Summer,' for instance?"
"No; but I am sure I could learn it if I had the music," Joy replied.
"Come with me to the library," the old man said, abruptly.
He hobbled on in front, whilst the child: followed in silence. Neither Celia nor Joy had ventured to enter the library as yet, though they had been curious to see the room where Sir Jasper spent most of his days. It proved to be a long, low apartment, dim in the evening light, the walls lined with books, and the writing-table strewn with papers. In one corner stood an old-fashioned, high-backed piano which Jasper opened.
"Come, which of you is going to give me some music?" he asked. "Are you musical, Celia?"
"Not very, I'm afraid," Celia acknowledged, regretfully, for she was most desirous of making a favourable impression upon Sir Jasper. "Of course I do play, but not so well as Joy."
Sir Jasper turned to Joy, who, after moment's hesitation, took her seat at the piano and struck the opening notes of a piece of music she knew by heart. She was very nervous at first, but she gained confidence as she played, and delighted Sir Jasper, who thanked her very cordially when at length she stopped and turned around on the piano stool to see if he was satisfied.
"Thank you, my dear," he said, earnestly, "you have given me a great treat. Until now no one has touched that piano since my son died. His were the last fingers to play upon it. You have a talent for music which should be cultivated."
"I wish I could play the piece you spoke of just now," Joy said; "is it very difficult?"
"Not at all! It is a fine old English ballad, but I have it somewhere arranged as a piece for the piano." He rummaged over a pile of music on a stand close by, and at last selected the piece he was looking for. "Here it is," he cried. "'The Last Rose of Summer' is not in fashion now, I believe, but I love the old tune. Take the music, my dear, and see if you can learn to play it."
"I will," Joy replied, earnestly.
Sir Jasper was in a sociable mood, and he detained the girls in conversation. Joy was getting over her first shyness of him, and talked in her usual frank fashion.
"I should like to be a great musician some day," she informed him, "and then I should earn a lot of money, shouldn't I?"
"Do you want to earn a lot of money?" he inquired, regarding her attentively.
"Oh, yes," she answered, "indeed I do. I should so like to be rich!"
He appeared a little disappointed at her answer, Joy thought, and a somewhat grim smile crossed his face. Celia looked put out and frowned at her sister, who came to the conclusion she had said something she had better left unsaid.
"How could you have been so foolish as to tell Uncle Jasper you wanted to be rich!" Celia exclaimed, in tones of intense vexation, the very first moment she and Joy were alone together. "It was such a stupid thing to say!"
"Why?" Joy demanded, wonderingly. "I meant it."
"I know, and of course Uncle Jasper saw you meant it. You needn't always say exactly what you mean, though. I want to be rich, too, a great deal more than you do, I daresay, but I shouldn't think of telling people so—especially Uncle Jasper!"
"I only meant that I would like to have a lot of money so that mother shouldn't be worried any more, and—"
"Mother isn't worried now she's living here," was the impatient interruption.
"No, but when we go home again—"
Celia turned sharply away from her sister, and would not hear the conclusion of the sentence. She was delighted with the Moat House and her surroundings. It was a pleasant change to have the best of everything provided for her; to live in a large house, handsomely and comfortably furnished; to have servants to wait on her, and dainty food in the place of the plain fare she had been accustomed to all her previous life. Mrs. Wallis and Joy found it a pleasant change, too, but they sometimes talked of their home at A—, whilst Celia never mentioned it, and hoped fervently that Uncle Jasper would want them to remain with him altogether.
Sir Jasper appeared perfectly contented with the present arrangement. He spent a good deal of time in his niece's company, and made it a habit to walk up and down the terrace in front of his house every evening leaning upon her arm. One evening, Mrs. Wallis being engaged in letter-writing Celia took her place. Joy, seated on a garden seat, watched her sister as she chatted to Sir Jasper, her bright face aglow with smiles, her blue eyes shining brilliantly, and thought how well Celia was getting on with her companion. She appeared to know exactly what to say to amuse and please him; she never made a remark it would have been better to have left unsaid.
By-and-by Joy opened the English history book she had brought out-of-doors with her, and commenced to learn the lesson Miss Mary Pring had given her to prepare for the next day. She had nearly finished her task when suddenly Sir Jasper's voice broke upon her ears.
"So you don't care for money, then?" he was saying.
Joy glanced up quickly, and saw her sister and the old man had paused at a little distance from her. She listened curiously for Celia's answer. It filled her with a sense of intense astonishment.
"Not in the very least," was the apparently careless reply.
"Nonsense, my dear!" In spite of his words, Joy noted that Sir Jasper's voice sounded very pleased. "Money is a very good thing sometimes."
