A GREAT SURPRISE
NOT quite a week later, Mr. Tiddy, crossing the fields in his usual
leisurely fashion towards the house at dinner-time, caught sight of his
wife and Peggy, standing at the garden gate, evidently waiting for him.
As he drew near enough to see the expression of their faces, he noticed
that both appeared excited, and as he joined them the little girl cried
eagerly:
"Oh, Mr. Tiddy, we've had a visitor! She came and knocked at the door
and asked if she might go round the garden. And who do you think she
was?"
"Why, the old lady who's lodging at Higher Brimley, to be sure,"
answered Mr. Tiddy promptly, evincing no surprise. "I met her this
morning, and she stopped and spoke to me. She expressed a desire to see
our flowers, so I told her, she'd be welcome to look at them, whenever
she pleased. She didn't lose much time in taking me at my word," he
concluded, smilingly.
"Ah, but do you know who she is?" demanded Peggy. "No, we thought not.
You'll be simply astounded when you hear. She didn't tell us until just
as she was leaving, and then she said her name was Leighton, and that
I was related to her—distantly related, she said. She's mother's Aunt
Caroline, the rich lady who was in the carriage when—"
"What!" broke in the farmer, "You don't say so!" He looked
questioningly at his wife as he spoke, and she hastened to reply:
"Yes, Ebenezer, it is true. There can be no doubt about it. She is that
rich Miss Leighton of whom we have heard so much."
"I told her who I was that day she talked to me on the beach," Peggy
said, with face and voice full of excitement. "She asked me my name;
and—and I told her, too, all about my accident and how unkind we
thought it of her to have driven away when I was hurt. I think perhaps
she was cross at what I said, but I never dreamt who she was, so I
don't think really it was my fault, do you, Mr. Tiddy?"
"No, my dear, I do not," he agreed.
"Still, perhaps I ought not to have talked as I did to a stranger. She
was very nice to-day, though, wasn't she, Mrs. Tiddy?"
"Very. Will you run into the house, Peggy, and say we are ready for
dinner?"
Then as the little girl obeyed, Mrs. Tiddy turned to her husband and
said gravely:
"Ebenezer, what can have brought Miss Leighton here? Until Peggy told
her her name the other day, she had no idea who she was or even that
her niece had children. I don't believe she has forgiven Peggy's mother
yet. Isn't it shocking to bear malice in one's heart so long? 'I don't
wish to hear anything concerning your friend or her husband,' she said
to me in a tone without an atom of feeling in it; 'but I was never one
for visiting the sins of the parents upon the children. My niece proved
herself ungrateful, and I regard ingratitude as a sin, but I feel no
resentment against her innocent daughter.' I should think not indeed!
I made no answer, however, for I was afraid, if I did, I might say too
much."
"Surely she did not make that remark before Peggy!" exclaimed Mr.
Tiddy, his ruddy colour deepening with indignation.
"No, certainly not; Peggy was not within hearing then. What shall I do?
Miss Leighton asked me to call on her and bring Peggy with me, and I
half promised I would; I did not like to refuse. I think the old lady
has taken a fancy to the child. Isn't it strange that those two should
have crossed each other's path again?"
The farmer nodded, a very thoughtful expression on his face. "There's
One above Who planned they should meet, that's my opinion," he said
gravely; "and I don't think we ought to try to keep them apart. Maybe
the old lady will get to feel more kindly towards her niece when she
knows Peggy better and realises what a dear little soul she is and how
well her mother has brought her up. I am sure Mrs. Pringle will not
object to your taking the child to call on her aunt. By the way, does
Miss Leighton like her lodgings?"
"She said they were fairly comfortable. She strikes me as a rather
dissatisfied body. She is anything but a happy woman, Ebenezer, though
God has given her so much; and I hear from the servants, who have
become friendly with her maid, that she is a very jealous, exacting
temper, and she is always imagining people are trying to cultivate her
acquaintance on account of her wealth."
"Well, she cannot possibly imagine that about you," Mr. Tiddy replied,
"for she has sought your acquaintance herself. I suppose we had better
go in to dinner now. There's Peggy under the porch beckoning to us."
Mrs. Tiddy decided she would not call upon Miss Leighton until she had
mentioned the matter to her old school friend; so she wrote to her that
same day, and received an answer by return of post. Mrs. Pringle said
very little about her aunt in her letter, but she raised no objection
to her little daughter's calling with Mrs. Tiddy at Higher Brimley.
"Aunt Caroline is not fond of young people," she remarked, "so please
don't force the child upon her notice—but I am sure you will not do
that."
"I certainly will not," Mrs. Tiddy reflected as she folded up her
friend's letter, "but I will take Peggy to call on Miss Leighton, as
the old lady made a point of my doing so. We need not stay very long,
any way."
Peggy experienced a feeling of unusual shyness when, one April
afternoon, she accompanied Mrs. Tiddy to Higher Brimley; and, although
Miss Leighton received them with every sign of cordiality, she was
anything but at ease in her presence. As the little girl sat in silence
listening to the conversation of the two ladies, she was aware that the
elder's eyes were upon her, and she alternately flushed and paled as
she thought over the small amount of information she had gleaned from
her mother since her accident about this aunt of hers. Her tender heart
had gone out in sympathy towards the old lady, whom she had sincerely
pitied because she had fancied she might be all alone in the world, but
now she mentally regarded her from quite another point of view.
"Mother would have loved her, if she would have let her," she
reflected. "It is her own fault if she is lonely. I wonder if she will
speak of mother to me!"
But Miss Leighton did not once mention her niece's name. She addressed
herself very kindly to Peggy every now and again, and seemed wishful
to make much of her, and Mrs. Tiddy saw she was disappointed and
half-vexed by the child's evident disinclination to talk.
"What have you done with your dog this afternoon?" Miss Leighton
inquired, when at length her visitors rose to go.
"We shut him up in the stable before we started," Peggy answered. "He
wanted to come because he loves a walk."
"He is rather quarrelsome with other dogs," Mrs. Tiddy explained, "so
we thought it wiser to leave him at home. The poor creature was very
disappointed, for he spends most of his time with Peggy now, and we
always feel she is safe if Wolf is with her."
"What will he do when he loses her altogether?" asked Miss Leighton.
"Peggy does not propose taking him back with her to London, I presume?"
"No," the little girl answered, accepting the question seriously, "I
wouldn't do that, even if Mr. Tiddy would give him to me, for I am sure
he would be wretched in town. I'd rather know he is here, guarding the
yard and looking after the sheep, and going on as he always does—having
such a good time! He will miss me at first, but—where is Mrs. Tiddy?"
she asked quickly.
They had left the house and were in the garden now, Mrs. Tiddy having
lingered at the door to exchange a few words with Mrs. Ford.
"She is talking to my landlady," Miss Leighton replied. "She will be
here presently. Are you in a great hurry to go? You have no objection
to being alone with me for a few minutes, I suppose?" she questioned
sharply.
"Oh! No!" Peggy assured her. "And—and now we are alone, I should like
to say that I hope I wasn't rude to you the other day on the beach,"
she proceeded, looking distressed. "I would not have spoken like that
if—if I had known who you were. I—I have thought of it often since,
and I am sorry if I said anything you did not like. I was afraid,
afterwards, that you were displeased with me."
"People are seldom pleased to hear others' opinions of themselves,"
was the dry response. "You evidently considered my conduct towards you
had been heartless; but I am not angry with you, child. You only said
frankly what you thought."
"Yes," Peggy agreed, colouring hotly in her confusion. "I am glad you
are not angry, though, because I did not mean to be rude, and I am
afraid I must have been," she added deprecatingly.
"I think you are prejudiced against me." Miss Leighton paused
momentarily, and sighed, then continued, "Well, it is natural you
should be. I am sorry, nevertheless. Cannot you dismiss all you have
heard of me from your mind and take me as you find me?"
"I—I will try. I have not heard much about you, indeed! I never heard
of you at all till after my accident! Then Billy told me who you were,
and I was so surprised! Billy and I have often talked of you since!"
"Really? I dare say you heard Mrs. Tiddy ask me to take tea with her
one afternoon, soon? I shall hope then to hear you play. I hear you are
quite a musician."
"Oh, no! But I love music. I play to Mr. and Mrs. Tiddy every night."
The mantle of reserve was falling from Peggy and the brightness was
returning to her face. "Do you love music too?" she inquired, lifting
her sightless blue eyes to her companion's countenance.
"Indeed I do; so we have that much in common, at any rate."
"Oh, we have more than that, for I am sure you love flowers, and so
do I. Do you know, there are such a lot of sea-pinks growing on the
cliffs—"
"You do not go on the cliffs alone?" Miss Leighton interposed.
"Oh, no! But I have been several times with Mr. Tiddy, and I hold fast
to his hand. There is a sheep-track along the cliffs, you know, and
it is quite safe if you keep to that. I could find my way alone, I am
sure, but I never mean to try, because I have promised, I won't."
"That's well. Perhaps you and I might walk there together some day. Do
you think you could put up with an old woman for a companion?"
"Yes, Miss Leighton," Peggy answered, smiling.
"And you shall show me the sea-pinks, and we will take Wolf to protect
us both. But do not call me 'Miss Leighton,' child; call me 'Aunt
Caroline,' for you are my great-niece and—and I should like to be kind
to you."