"To the glory of God, in memory of Edgar Cunningham, and in thanksgiving
for undeserved mercies, this window is given by all concerned in the
losing and the finding of the jewels hidden in Ashcroft Wood."
Lilian Carleton, Alwyn Cunningham, Harry Whittaker, Florence, and Wyn
had all in their very different proportions contributed to the offering.
When in after life the three children looked back on their Confirmation
day, it was lighted up for them by that wonderful colouring, and sweet
with the recollection, for Florence, of the first person she had eared
to please; for Geraldine, of the first she had much eared to help; and
for Wyn, with a far deeper, tenderer memory of one who had not perhaps
had the best things to give him, but who had given him all he could, the
love of the beautiful things of Nature, and the example of uncomplaining
courage and endurance.
Before that day came Alwyn had gone back to Boston, intending to return
in the spring and bring his wife to visit Ashcroft. There was a great
deal in his future life that would be difficult of adjustment, and
perhaps those parts of it which he would spend under his father's roof
would not be the easiest to manage. But pardon and reinstatement were
worth much, and he knew well that if his father had really disinherited
him, apart from the obvious loss, the bitterness would have been
unspeakable. And, as the sorrow of his brother's loss turned into a
sweet and tender memory, he felt that those three months with him had
been worth any pain. He might well say:
My days with others will the sweeter be For those brief days I spent in
loving thee.
To Mr Cunningham the reconciliation had cleared away a cloud of which
he had never acknowledged the blackness. It was perhaps inevitable that
the sense that poor Edgar had no more to suffer should transcend the
grief for his loss; but Geraldine had a much kinder father in the
future, and her welfare became his chief consideration, as she tried to
brighten his home. She rode and walked with him; the occasional visits
of Alwyn and his lively, earnest-tempered wife would oblige society and
friendly intercourse, and Miss Cunningham of Ashcroft bade fair as time
went on to find her life full of interest and occupation.
Sir Philip and Lady Carleton settled permanently at Ravenshurst, and one
great anxiety was lifted off Wyn Warren's shoulders when a happy home
was found there for poor Dobbles, who drew the nursery donkey-cart or
carried little Lily on his back through the woodland walks once so
familiar to his steady feet.
For Wyn will never forget Mr Edgar, though he prospered at school, and
found many hopes and interests open to him. He treasured the botany
books that had been given to him as a remembrance; and if, as his new
masters think, a career as a naturalist should be open to him in the
future, he will never make a new discovery in wider fields, never see
with his own eyes the wonders he has read of, without feeling an echo of
Mr Edgar's pleasure when some specimen which he was sure could be found
in the wood actually came to light there.
When Florence went home to Rapley before she sailed for America, her
father said that she had grown into a woman. The naughty-girl period
was over. She looked at everything from a different standpoint; and
Miss Mordaunt never received such a surprise in her life as when
Florence Whittaker called to say good-bye, and to thank her, with
manners learnt at Ravenshurst, for all past kindness. Now that she knew
how to be polite her broad and genial smile and warm-hearted, outspoken
voice were pleasant, and in after days it is not certain that Miss
Mordaunt did not look back on Maud Florence Nellie as having had her
good points after all. She had a satisfactory parting also with Mrs
Lee. She was not so entirely a changed character as to receive her Aunt
Stroud's good advice with perfect submission, and the form in which she
couched her excellent resolutions for the future was:
"Well, I shall be as meek as any lamb to Alberta, and `fly round,' as
Harry calls it, whenever she tells me, just because Aunt Stroud declares
I shall make them repent of their kindness! And if I were you, Mattie,
I'd say yes to Mr Clements to-morrow, for the very reason that Aunt
Stroud says you'll never have the sense to see which side your bread's
buttered."
Whether Mattie availed herself of this ingenious excuse, whether on a
closer acquaintance Mr Clements developed traits in common with her
favourite heroes, or whether, as was most probable, fiction finally
faded before fact, Mattie did bring herself to a favourable answer
before Florence sailed.
"And who's going to look after Sybil and Ethel?" said Florence
virtuously. "My lady and Aunt Charlotte would say it was a great
disadvantage to them to be left to themselves."
"Well, Florrie," said the aggravated Sybil, "I don't see as _you_ were
much the better for having Mattie to look after you."
"Florrie is just like Aunt Stroud," said Ethel. "She'll be just as
_good advicey_ when she's old enough."
For energy will have a vent, and Florence had expended some of her
new-found wisdom in endeavouring to regulate her younger sisters'
conduct.
"Don't quarrel, girls," said Mattie, "when Florrie's going away so soon.
I'm not going away from you yet--perhaps not till Sybil's near as old
as I was when Aunt Stroud married."
Nobody expressed a desire that Florence should give up her new prospects
to undertake the responsibility.
"No, Martha Jane," said Mrs Stroud, "that would never do. I grant that
Florrie's a much better girl than I ever thought to see her. But
nothing ever will eradicate the snap and the bounce of her altogether.
It's very well for Henery that he has his hands full, and I hope he'll
fill up hers. She'll do a turn of work in her day. But young people
should be managed quiet and peaceable, and as for the girls--George may
marry or Mary Whittaker, your cousin, might want a home. Or, at any
rate, there'll be my eye and your eye on them, to keep them straight."
But on the evening before she was to start--she was to go to Ashcroft
for a day, and meet her escort in London afterwards--Florrie, as she
stood in her little room for the last time, felt the awe of a great
change coming over her. If he came back after long years as Harry had
done, perhaps the younger ones wouldn't know her; perhaps she would feel
strange and uncomfortable as he did.
Florrie went downstairs and back into the sitting-room, acting at once,
as was her way, on the thought that came into her mind. "Father," she
said, "I'm very sorry I was such a naughty girl. Harry and Mr Alwyn
came home to say they were sorry--but--but--I'd rather say it before I
go. And please, father, don't forget what I'm like. I'll have my photo
took every year and send you."
"My dear, I didn't forget Harry," said her father; "you mistake--and
certainly I'm not going to forget you."
"Oh, Florrie dear," said Mattie, taking her in her arms and crying, "I
thought you didn't care a bit about leaving us all."
"Oh yes, I do," said Florrie, sobbing; "I never said I didn't care. But
when things have got to be done they've got to be gone through with
whether people care or not!"
And with this sentiment, which no one could say was not a turning of her
bold spirit to the use for which it was given to her, Maud Florence
Nellie Whittaker went out to her new life.