Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "I HAVE SOMETHING TO GIVE EACH OF YOU BEFORE I GO."]
LEFT WITH A TRUST
BY
NELLIE HELLIS
AUTHOR OF
"THREE LITTLE FIDDLERS," "GIPSY JAN," "LITTLE KING DAVIE," ETC.
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"He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much."
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LONDON
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
8 & 9, PATERNOSTER ROW.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LD.
ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL ROAD, E.C.
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CONTENTS.
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CHAPTER I. NINETY-NINE, MADEIRA STREET
CHAPTER II. THE DAY THAT FOLLOWED
CHAPTER III. DORA GROWS METHODICAL
CHAPTER IV. GILES PROVES HIMSELF A MANLY BOY
CHAPTER V. AN EVENING OUT
CHAPTER VI. HOW A RACE ENDED
CHAPTER VII. CONFESSED AT LAST
CHAPTER VIII. DORA RECEIVES A CHEQUE
CHAPTER IX. ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD
CHAPTER X. ENDING AND BEGINNING
CHAPTER XI. REUNITED
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[Illustration]
LEFT WITH A TRUST.
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CHAPTER I.
NINETY-NINE, MADEIRA STREET.
THERE were other things connected with the house besides its number
which could have been expressed by the figure nine. For instance, its
tenant, Mr. Grainger, had a family of nine children, and the day on
which my story opens happened to be the ninth birthday of Olive, the
third girl, and the sixth child.
Perhaps it will be better if I tell you at once the names of the
younger inmates of the house, and say a few words about each of them as
I pass from one to the other.
Edgar, the eldest, was sixteen, and for nearly a year had gone daily to
a large wholesale warehouse in the City. Next came Dorothea, generally
called Dora; she was a year younger, and was just now rejoicing in the
fact that she had left school. Between her and the twins, Katie and
Robert, was a difference of two years.
These were followed by Lancie, the dearest of her flock to Mrs.
Grainger, for a mother, though full of tenderness for all her children,
always loves the afflicted most. He was nearly eleven, but his pale
face and pain-sharpened features made him look much older. When a child
of five, he had been stricken with paralysis, and had never recovered
the use of one of his legs. It was so much shorter than the other that
he had to walk on crutches, and his health was so delicate and his body
so weakly that he was often confined for days together to the couch,
which, in consequence, had gained the name of "Lancie's sofa."
In strong contrast to the little invalid came sturdy Giles. He was
younger, but he was a full head taller than the brother who was his
senior by twelve months. There was the same difference between him and
Olive. Then came Lottie, aged six, the last of the family being the
two-year-old Philip, the pet and plaything of them all.
But that it was Olive's birthday was not the chief circumstance that
made the day a memorable one at 99, Madeira Street. It was the last in
which the whole family would be together for a long time; for early on
the following morning Mr. Grainger would leave his home in London to
sail for Australia, and, in all probability, a year would elapse before
he would again set foot on his native land.
It had cost him much to make up his mind to leave his wife and
children, and only a very strong inducement had led him to arrive at
such a decision.
Mr. Grainger was a clerk in a large English and Colonial Bank, and
though from time to time his salary had been increased, his wife, with
her large family, had found it as much as she could do to make both
ends meet.
She was, however, a capital manager, and the end of the year always saw
her expenses within the limits of her income.
But unexpected trouble came upon the Graingers when little curly-headed
Phil was nearly twelve months old. One evening Mr. Grainger came in
from the City with a troubled face, and, calling his wife apart,
told her he had become responsible for a bill for £150. He had been
persuaded to put his name to it by a friend, who had assured him he
would run no risk, as the money would be ready long before it was
wanted. It was only, he said, that he could not lay his hand upon so
large a sum just at that time, and if the old playmate of his boyhood
and companion of his schooldays would do him the kindness of going
through the mere form of standing his surety, he would always be
grateful. Two days before the bill fell due, this so-called friend and
distant relative became bankrupt.
There were those who said Mr. Grainger ought never to have yielded to
such persuasions. But he was a kind-hearted man, and, judging others
by his own honesty and uprightness of dealing, he had signed his name
trusting that no ill would befall.
Neither husband nor wife had any private means, so to meet the bill
Mr. Grainger had to borrow money on his life insurance and upon the
furniture of his house. Retrenchment, of course, became necessary.
Edgar left school, and thanks to the good word of one of the heads
of the bank in which Mr. Grainger had been clerk for many years, a
situation was obtained for him in a noted hosiery warehouse in Wood
Street. Taking his inexperience into consideration, he received a
remarkably good salary, and Edgar, though his life did not seem to be
shaping itself after his own inclinations, was glad to be able to help
the parents who had done so much for him.
Then Giles and Olive were also taken from school, and they, with Lancie
and Lottie, become their mother's pupils, while Dora, who was a fair
musician, gave the two little girls music lessons. Husband and wife
weathered the struggle better than they expected, but Mr. Grainger knew
it would be a long time before he would have paid the last shilling he
had borrowed. For notwithstanding the numerous ways in which his wife
curtailed the household expenses, Edgar's weekly wages, and the money
he himself earned by evening employment at book-keeping, they had only
paid off £50 at the end of the year, so that they were still £100 in
debt.
They would have paid off more had they not been obliged to incur a
doctor's bill. Lancie had been weaker than usual that year, and they
could not let their child suffer without giving him all the relief in
their power. Had it not been for the little cripple's sake, they would
certainly have removed into a smaller and lower-rented house, but the
doctor said that his life was probably owing to the warm aspect, and
open healthy situation of Madeira Street, which was within a twenty
minutes' walk of Regent's Park. And what could his parents do but
decide, that, whatever other sacrifices were entailed, they must stay
in the home in which they had lived since the twins were born.
Then, quite unexpectedly, Mr. Grainger had been asked if he would go
to Sydney, and remain while the head clerk in the branch bank there
was absent on a twelve months' leave. The sum he was offered over
his regular salary, and what he could save from his allowance for
travelling and living, would more than free him from debt. So though
it was a hard trial to part from his wife and children, he made up his
mind to accept the proposal.
Tea was later than usual that evening in order that the entire
family might be present, and a cake—a much rarer luxury than it once
was—graced the centre of the table. All the children were inclined to
be dull and depressed, even down to little Phil, who had been crying
in the afternoon because "Fader was doing away across the big sea, and
perhaps he'd tumble out of the ship and det drowned."
But Mr. Grainger was determined that the last meal they would all take
together should be a cheerful one, and putting aside his own feelings,
he made such jokes, and laughed and chatted so gaily, that very soon
the elder children caught his spirit, and all joined in the mirth he
provoked. Nobody would have guessed what heavy hearts some of those
smiling faces concealed.
But when the table had been cleared by the not very efficient little
servant, and chairs were drawn round the fire, which a frosty night in
the early part of the year made so agreeable, the conversation became
more serious. Instinctively the children left two empty seats side by
side for their parents. Then Phil climbed into his father's arms, and
that being his favourite resting-place, lay quietly and happily there
till the low hum of voices lulled him into a slumber. None of the
others felt sleepy, notwithstanding that the talk lasted till the clock
in the passage struck nine—not even Lottie, though she was glad to make
Dora's shoulder a pillow for her head.
Would those boys and girls over forget that talk! They thought not,
at any rate. With the exception of the baby, they all knew why their
father had made up his mind to leave them, and there was first of all a
little joyful anticipation of the time when he could return, and they
would "all be so happy again," and not obliged to save every possible
penny.
They next discussed arrangements with regard to the frequent exchange
of letters. Then breaking a silence, Mr. Grainger said,—
"Children, do you know I have something to give each and all of you
before I go?"
They all looked curious, even Edgar. Perhaps on another occasion he
would, from the term of address his father had used, have considered
himself excluded from those to whom the words were spoken. But to-night
he knew—and the knowledge pleased him—that they were meant for him
equally with the rest.
"Is it a present, father?" asked Giles, who had practical ideas about
everything.
"No, my boy," replied his father, "it is a trust. I give you one very
precious charge. Will you all try to take care of your mother for me
till I come back?"
He was answered by a chorus of yesses, some loud, some low.
"As much as lies in his power," he continued, "Edgar must take my place
in relieving her of those duties which ought always to fall on the
master of the house."
"Such as locking up the doors at night, and seeing everything safe?"
asked Giles again.
"Well, yes," said his father, smiling, "though I own I hadn't that in
my mind when I spoke." Then changing his tone, he added, "You will do
this for me, Edgar?"
The boy made no audible reply, but his grave, earnest face, and the
serious look in his eyes as he met his father's, said more plainly than
words that he would do his best.
"Dora," went on Mr. Grainger, "as the oldest daughter, must be her
mother's right hand."
"And what shall I do, father?" asked Katie.
"Be her help and comfort, dear, also," replied Mr. Grainger; "I am
afraid I cannot tell you the special way in which you can each strive
to fulfil my trust. But you can all try to lighten her cares by sharing
them, and cheer her by rendering loving little services."
"Now I'm nine I shall be able to do lots of things for mother,"
observed Olive, with great satisfaction.
"That's right, my darling," and at her father's words, Olive looked up
with a sunny smile. "Children," he went on, "you know what our first
golden rule has always been!"
"Obedience," was the quick reply.
The flickering flame of the fire was the only light in the room, and
just at that moment the corner where Robert sat was in shadow, so no
one saw the crimson flush that rose in his cheeks as the question was
asked and answered.
"And remember that now when your mother speaks, she will be speaking
for me as well as for herself," went on Mr. Grainger. "You may be quite
sure her wishes would be mine."
Again there was a silence, and again Mr. Grainger broke it.
"This, too, is part of the trust," he said. "I want you to promise
to be loving and kind to each other; you elder ones being gentle and
patient with the younger, and the younger submitting themselves to
the elder. I want you to promise that you will struggle bravely in
the battle which all God's children must fight against selfishness,
discontent, bad temper, and, in fact, everything that you know to be
unlovely in God's eight. All of you, down to little Lottie there,
have your besetting sins to fight against, and, with God's help, to
overcome. My dear children, will you so act that when I return you may
each tell me you have tried to keep this promise?"
"Yes," again came from all the children, and very gravely now was the
answer given.
"But you cannot do it in your own strength. Shall we kneel down
together, and ask God that the Holy Spirit may help you?"
All excepting Lancie, who lay on his sofa, knelt down, and from that
room ascended an earnest prayer that God would help each member of the
family to keep the solemn promise that had been made, and that He would
let them all meet again in health and safety. When they had risen from
their knees, Mr. Grainger kissed his children one by one. Lancie's turn
came last, and bending over him, his father took his thin white hand in
his.
"Oh, father! How I shall want you."
"My poor little Lancie!"
There was the sound of a smothered sob, and then—
"Is there nothing I can do?"
"'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten," said Lancie, and a smile lighted up his
pale face. "And you think God will be as pleased with that as if—as if
I could do as the others can?"
"I know He will," said Mr. Grainger, tenderly; "and remember He takes
note of every pain you suffer. That He has given you so much to bear,
Lancie, only shows His great love for you. He wants to make you
'perfect through suffering.'"
"Thank you, you have comforted me so, father." Then, after a momentary
pause, "I shall be awake when you come to give me a last kiss before
you go."
And his eyes were wide open when, in the early winter morning, Mr.
Grainger stepped quietly into the room adjoining his own to say
good-bye to his little crippled son. But with the exception of Edgar,
who was to accompany him to the station, all the other children were
sound asleep when he left the house from which he would be absent a
whole long year.
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