TRAVELLING COMPANIONS
IT was a cold January day, with snow on the ground and the promise
of more to come, on which Violet Wyndham travelled from London
to Yorkshire. The previous evening her high spirits had failed her,
and she had burst into a flood of tears on saying good-night to her
mother, and sobbed forth that she wished she was going to remain at
home, for that she never, never could be happy away from every one she
loved; but now, this morning, as she drove off in a cab with her
father to the railway station, she bravely choked down her sobs and
wiped the tears from her eyes, reminding herself of all she had
to gain in the new life which was opening before her.
"That's right, Violet," Mr. Wyndham said approvingly; "don't cry any
more, there's a good girl." He spoke in a cheerful tone, though his
heart was sorer than he would have liked to admit at the thought of
separation from his little daughter. "If you're not happy with the
Reeds you know you can come home," he proceeded to tell her; "but I
believe you will be happy, I shall be greatly surprised and
disappointed if you are not. And you'll be a good girl, won't you,
and make the most of the advantages you will have? You'll obey
Dr. Reed and his wife implicitly, remembering how generously they are
treating you, and try to please them, won't you?"
"Oh, yes," Violet assented; "I promise I will."
"It will be a great change for you, child, a very great change,"
Mr. Wyndham said impressively, "for you are going from a comparatively
poor home to one of affluence. But you won't forget the old home, eh?"
"No, indeed, father," was the earnest response; "and I shall write
very often, at least once a week."
"Do so, my dear; we shall look forward to your letters with much
pleasure."
When the station was reached Mr. Wyndham found the train for the north
was nearly due to start. He saw Violet's luggage labelled and obtained
her ticket, then found her a corner seat in a second-class
compartment, opposite to an elderly lady, who, warmly clad, with her
knees covered with a thick rug, was evidently prepared for a long
journey.
"Is the little girl going far?" inquired the lady, looking with kindly
interest from Violet to her father.
"To Barford," Mr. Wyndham answered, adding that his daughter had never
taken a journey alone before, a piece of information which Violet
considered he need not have given.
"Then we shall be fellow-travellers," observed the lady cordially,
"for Barford is my destination, too." She spoke in a clear, decisive
voice.
"I am glad to hear that," said Mr. Wyndham, with a smile, as he shut
the carriage door.
The train was on the point of starting, and Violet leaned out of the
window and put her arms around her father's neck and kissed him. It
seemed to her that until that moment of parting she had never known
how very dear he was to her. "God bless and keep you, Violet,"
he whispered tenderly; "Good-bye, my darling."
"Good-bye, father—dear, dear father," she replied huskily as she was
obliged to unclasp her arms and take her seat.
The train moved slowly out of the station, and Violet sank back in her
corner. For a few minutes she saw nothing, for her eyes were blind
with tears; but, when her sight cleared, she glanced at her companions
and was much relieved to find that they were taking no notice of her.
The lady opposite had opened a newspaper which she was already
reading, and the other two occupants of the compartment were seated
one on either side of the far window, out of which they were gazing.
By-and-by Violet began to carefully study the figure opposite to her.
The lady was plainly dressed in a blue serge gown underneath a heavy
blue cloak which was somewhat the worse for wear, and the rug across
her knees was decidedly shabby though it looked as if it might be warm
and comfortable. She wore an old-fashioned bonnet, and her white hair
was brushed back smoothly from her face—a plain face it was, with a
large nose, and a large mouth, and heavily marked eyebrows. Violet had
a very good opportunity for making her observations, for the lady
continued reading for fully an hour, never glancing at her once;
at length, however, she laid aside her paper and spoke.
"I am sure he is a very good father," she remarked, as though
pursuing a train of thought; "he seemed very sorry to part with his
little girl. I suppose you are going to school, child?"
she questioned.
"No—yes—not exactly," Violet replied, flushing sell-consciously
beneath the intent gaze of a pair of very bright, dark eyes. "I am
going to be educated at Helmsford College," she explained, with a
little air of importance, "but I am not going to be a boarder there,
I am to live with friends."
"That will be pleasant for you. You have never been away from home
before, I conclude?"
"No, never; and—and I can't help feeling a bit lonely, you know."
"You are not an only child?"
"Oh, no! There are five of us; I am the eldest but one. Do you know
Barford very well?" Violet inquired, thinking it was her turn to put
a question.
"Very well. I have always lived there, and I hope to end my life
there. I am much attached to the town."
"Is it a very pretty place?" Violet asked, naturally interested in the
town which, for the next year or so at any rate, was likely to be her
home.
"Pretty? No. It is a large manufacturing town full of factories and
workshops. I am attached to the place because I was born there, and I
have worked there all my working days."
Violet wondered what her companion's work could be, but she did not
like to inquire. The lady was extremely kind to her during the
journey, made her share her rug, and pointed out various places
of interest which they passed. At one of the stations at which the
train stopped a porter handed in a luncheon basket containing a dainty
repast for the lady, who insisted that Violet should take lunch with
her. So they had a most enjoyable meal together, Violet contributing,
as her share, the packet of sandwiches Barbara had cut for her. It was
a delightful experience altogether, and one Violet never forgot; and
it was no wonder that she grew confidential with this new friend,
for she was not reserved by nature, or that, long before the journey
came to an end, she had told the story of her short, uneventful life,
and touched on the bright hopes she cherished for the future.
"I have only seen Dr. Reed once," she said; "but I liked him then,
and father and he were great friends years ago. We none of us know
what his wife is like, but I think she must be very kind, for she
wrote so nicely about me. Poor mother! She cried when she read the
letter, but she was pleased; she said it made her happy and satisfied
to let me go."
"Would it surprise you to hear that I know the Reeds?" asked the lady,
with a bright smile which made her plain face look positively handsome
Violet thought, and almost young.
"Oh!" gasped Violet, for such a possibility had never entered her
mind. "Do you really know them?" she questioned excitedly.
"I do; and I can answer for it that they will be kind to you. I think,
my dear, that you and I will most certainly meet another day, and I
hope you will be a little glad to see me."
"I shall be very glad," Violet responded earnestly. "I have had such a
pleasant journey," she continued; "and all through you. The time has
passed so quickly."
"We are nearly at our journey's end," said the lady, peering out
of the window; "and it is snowing fast, I see."
Violet made no response. She was beginning to feel rather nervous, and
she was wondering who she would find at the station to meet her.
Dr. Reed had intimated to her father that, if possible, he would be
there himself; she hoped that he would manage to come. Her companion
now began to collect her belongings, and, that done, she glanced at
Violet, and apparently read something of what was passing through
her mind, for she said:—
"I will not leave you until I have seen you in safe keeping. Either
Dr. Reed or his wife will no doubt meet you at the station, and
perhaps Ann will be there, too. You will be sure to find a friend
in Ann Reed."
"I hope so," Violet replied, speaking in rather a dolorous tone.
"Poor child, I can understand you feel low-spirited, for you have left
all those you love in London. But you will find love awaiting you in
your new home, of that I am certain, and you know you have one Friend
always with you, my dear."
"I don't understand," said Violet, really mystified.
"I mean the Friend to whom your father confided you when he said
good-bye. I heard him say, 'God bless and keep you,' did I not?"
At that moment the train, which had been slackening speed, slowed into
Barford station and stopped. Immediately a porter opened the carriage
door, and the lady and Violet were assisted on to the platform.
Looking eagerly around, Violet, much to her relief and joy, at once
caught sight of Dr. Reed, who came up to her and welcomed her
heartily.
"It's snowing fast," he informed her; "so I advised Ann not to come,
though she had looked forward to being here to meet you, and did not
wish to remain at home—I promised to explain that she has a slight
cold, otherwise she would certainly have been here. Have you had a
comfortable journey? Yes. That's right. Why—" his quick glance passing
from her to her travelling-companion who had stood back but now came
forward and shook hands with him— "where have you come from? Not from
London, too?"
"Yes," the lady assented; "we—" and she indicated Violet with a
smiling nod— "have made the journey together, and have become quite
friendly I assure you."
"That's capital!" exclaimed the doctor, looking both surprised and
pleased. "Can I help you about your luggage?" he inquired courteously.
"No, thank you," the lady answered, "I have asked a porter to see
to it. Good-bye." And with a smile of farewell she turned away, and
disappeared in the crowd which thronged the platform.
Violet now pointed out her trunk, which had been taken from the
luggage van, and Dr. Reed gave orders for it to be conveyed to his
house by a town porter. Then he led the little girl to his brougham,
which was waiting outside the station.
Never had Violet ridden in such a luxurious carriage before; and,
seated comfortably by the doctor's side, with a fur rug over her
knees, a sense of unreality began to creep over her, and she felt as
though, presently, she must wake up to find she had been dreaming.
But when she turned her head and looked at the kind face of her
father's friend, she drew a sigh of contentment, for he, at any rate,
seemed very real. No, she was not in the least tired, she declared,
and not very cold. Dr. Reed saw that she was very tired, however, only
she was too excited to be conscious of the fact.
"We shall soon be at home," he said, by-and-by. "Ann has been on the
tip-toe of impatience all day because the time has passed so slowly.
She has been preparing a room for you next to her own, furnishing it
to her own taste. Ah, you cannot think how she is longing to have a
companion of her own age with whom she can be confidential, and you
are only a year her junior, you know. How did you leave your people
at home?"
"Quite well, thank you," Violet answered. "Father has lost his cough,
and mother says she is sure he is better than he was before
Christmas."
"That's right! I am indeed glad to hear it."
"I hope you don't mind my coming instead of Ruth?" Violet said,
hesitatingly.
"I don't mind in the least," he assured her with a smile. "I trust you
will be happy with us, my dear," he proceeded earnestly, "and that you
and Ann will take to each other—no doubt you will. By the way, I am
glad you found such a good travelling-companion."
"I was so surprised when she told me she knew you!" Violet exclaimed.
"She asked me my name and I told it her, but I did not like to ask
hers. Please tell me who she is, Dr. Reed."
"She is Dr. Elizabeth Ridgeway," he answered. Then, seeing her
amazement, he added: "She is a lady doctor, and has practised in
Barford longer than I have."
As Dr. Reed ceased speaking the carriage drew up before a handsome
house in a square, the windows of which were all lit up, and Violet
realised she had arrived, at last, at her new home.