A Glimmer of Light
THE boys were delighted to have their little sister back again. After
tea they all sat round the nursery fire on the hearthrug, and talked as
only children can. Claud's foot was nearly well, but he made the most
of his accident, and was most anxious that Gypsy should hear all about
it.
"You see it has been a beastly job, and it was really all through you,
Gypsy, that I did it. Of course, when you were lost, Don and I meant
to find you. And when we came home late on your birthday, and Gubby
cried, and all the servants turned out, and the Ogre looked as black as
thunder and ordered his horse, Don and I thought we would get horses
too, and that old Ogre actually collared us in the stable, and marched
us into the house and locked us in up here, just think of that!
"Serve him right that he was out all night, and never found you!"
exclaimed Donald, wrathful at the remembrance of this indignity.
"And just fancy his packing us off to lessons the next morning, as if
nothing had happened! We tore away to Sir Perceval, and he was in a
fume! He said he only wished he could get out of his chair, and look
for you, and he said he thought you might have gone after the Holy
Grail. He said there was a look in your eyes that made him think you
would, when the chance came, and you did, didn't you?"
"Yes, I really did," nodded Gypsy, with a grave importance.
"Well, he's an awfully good chap, you know, so he raced us over our
lessons, and then let us go, and we weren't going home—we went out in
the farm-yard and got two of the cart horses, and Don said we were
now knights in earnest, riding out to rescue a stolen damsel. We rode
on ever so far, and then we had to ford a river, that's what the Ogre
calls it, and Don got across all right, but my stupid beast, I think he
twisted round and turned head over heels, anyhow I came over his head,
and he kicked me, and I lay in the water nearly drowned to death, and
in exasperating pain!"
"Yes," put in Donald, with a little chuckle, "he looked like a fat
shark, bellowing on his chest, and the water not covering him. I had to
get off my horse and drag him out, and he was yelling all the time; a
fine knight he made!"
"And what did you do then?" asked Gypsy with much interest. "Did you
get on your horse again and carry him home?"
"He couldn't get on his horse, it was too big for him, we had climbed
on them at the farm from a gate," said Claud. "He ran down the road and
fetched a man out of a cottage, and he carried me home, and the doctor
was sent for, and Gubby made no end of a fuss. I was awfully hurt, I
can tell you, and I'm not well yet!" Claud clasped both his arms round
his ankle as he spoke, and Gypsy expressed great pity for him.
"We never saw the Ogre in such a stew before," said Donald; "he marched
up and down the hall, and gave orders in a regular bellow to the grooms
and people looking for you! And when three days passed, and you hadn't
been heard of, Claud and I made up our minds you weren't coming. And
Claud marched up to the Ogre and told him not to fuss himself any more
about you, for you had gone like Galahad after the Holy Grail, and if
you had really found it, you wouldn't come back!"
Gypsy opened her eyes widely at this.
"Well, you know, we did follow a light. Perhaps if we'd been a little
quicker, we shouldn't have lost it as we did. Oh, I wish I had found
it, I wish I had!"
And then she began to give them her adventures in detail, the boys
listening with wonderful patience. Somehow or other Gypsy's escapade
had raised her in their respect. They admired her for her pluck in
going off on such a pilgrimage when darkness was surrounding her. And
when they went to their lessons the next morning, they were full of
what had befallen her.
Sir Perceval listened, and his eyes twinkled as they invariably did at
any of the boys' recitals.
"We very nearly lost the little elf," he said; "and I fancy she has
been very close on Galahad's track!"
"Do you think she really was? How?"
"I think she was very nearly through the river, from what I hear."
"Do you mean she nearly died? Gubby told us that, but Galahad didn't
die, he just disappeared!"
"Ah, well, so they say; but what is death but just disappearance?"
"I shouldn't like to die," said Claud thoughtfully, "I'm afraid I'm not
good enough. Would you like to die, Sir Perceval?"
Sir Perceval heaved a sigh, then gave a short laugh.
"I think I should have liked to die when I was Gypsy's age. Come,
youngsters, where are your books? Remember you are here to learn, not
to talk!"
It was not long before Helen Scott came over, but she was accompanied
by Mrs. Webster, and Victor happened to be at home, so he, and not the
children, entertained them. Gypsy was still far from strong, and the
cold weather setting in, was kept much in the schoolroom. Helen came
to her there for a short time, and promised to come again before long.
This she did, but she never came alone, and the two ladies were so much
in and out, that the children soon began to hear some unwise gossip
amongst the servants.
Donald marched into the schoolroom one afternoon as tea was just
commencing with his head in the air; a sure sign that he had something
important to communicate.
"What do you think cook was saying to Jane just now?" he said, slipping
into his chair, and addressing Miss Gubbins with great solemnity. "She
said there would be a new missis here before long, and she hoped it
would be the dark one, not the golden head, but it was difficult to
tell!"
"The Ogre won't have any housekeeper while Gubby is here," said Claud
confidently.
"Who is dark, and who has a golden head?" asked Gypsy.
Then Miss Gubbins spoke.
"Hush, children. Donald, what were you doing in the kitchen? You know
how much I dislike your listening to the servants' talk."
"I wasn't in the kitchen, I was in the yard feeding the puppy, and cook
was talking at the door. What a stupid you are, Gypsy! Of course it was
your Miss Helen and her sister they meant. The Ogre is going to marry
them!"
"Both?" gasped Gypsy.
"Yes," went on Donald delightedly, "he's going to have two wives—Ogres
always do. He'll keep Miss Helen for a kind of best Sunday wife, and
Mrs. Webster will do all the work in the week."
"Who is going to do all the work?" asked a voice suddenly, and Victor
stood in the doorway.
He was a very frequent visitor in the schoolroom about this time. He
liked to come in and have a cup of tea and a little chat with Miss
Gubbins, and even the boys were beginning to find that he was not
always so formidable as they loved to consider him.
Gypsy on the impulse of the moment made a rush at him, and in a tearful
voice sobbed out, "Oh, say you aren't going to do it! You won't marry
both, will you? Let Mrs. Webster go away, and never come back again!
Don't let her live here!"
Poor Miss Gubbins flushed a deep crimson; she tried to call Gypsy to
the table, but Victor frowned ominously, roughly detached Gypsy's
clinging little hands from his own, and with the words: "I wish to
goodness, Miss Gubbins, you would stop such impertinent talk!" He
quitted the room instantly, slamming the door vigorously behind him.
"There's a fury!" exclaimed Donald.
"You are very naughty children to talk about such things," said Miss
Gubbins, trying to recover herself, "and I shall be very angry if you
mention it ever again to anybody."
But the mischief was done. Victor was gloomy and preoccupied for the
next few days, and was away from the house when the ladies called. Then
their visits ceased, and Gypsy began to wonder if her new friend had
deserted her altogether.
When she was quite well again, she was allowed to go over and spend a
long day with Irene, who welcomed her with much warmth and affection.
Her governess, a tall, grave-looking person, kept a close watch over
their actions, for after such an escapade, she received Gypsy with
great distrust.
"Were you very glad to get home again, Irene?" asked Gypsy, as the
little girls were sitting in a corner of the schoolroom playing with
some toys.
"No, I wasn't. But I wasn't punished. I was only scolded."
"And what did your father and mother say?"
"I don't think they properly knew about it; Miss Carr told them a
little. They were in London, you know. I wish I hadn't been found. Do
you remember at the seaside long ago you told me to run away, Gypsy?
Well we did it, didn't we?"
"Yes; I wonder if those people in the cart were gypsies. They stole
our boots, Gubby says. She says she thinks I've been punished pretty
hard for running away, for do you know, Irene, I've lost all three of
my birthday presents. My gold sovereign, and my bow and arrow, and my
lantern. And I've been ill too."
"Being ill isn't a punishment, it's very nice. I wish I could be
ill," said Irene; "people make a fuss over you. Baby was ill over his
teething, and mother sat up with him all night. She didn't go to bed at
all, and she took him in her lap, and she had on her best black satin
dress, and father ran all the way in the rain for the doctor himself.
I've never sat in mother's lap all my life, even if she has on dresses
that don't matter tumbling. I wonder if I was ill whether she would
nurse me?"
"Of course she would."
"I wished I could live with that nice lady at the doctor's—Mrs.
Webster—she was so kind to me, but I think she got tired of me the last
day, when your brother came to see you. She pushed me away from her,
and said I had made her so untidy, and she hardly said good-bye to me
when the time came."
"I like Miss Helen best," said Gypsy thoughtfully.
"Gypsy, do you mean what you said, that it's no good ever looking for
your Holy Thing again? Is it all a make up?"
"Oh no," said Gypsy, a little hesitatingly, "I'm only rather afraid
people don't see it now. Miss Helen has talked a lot with me about it,
and now I'm seven years old, I'm going to read the Bible by myself
every morning before breakfast. She says that will show me what Galahad
looked for more than any light out of doors. I don't know what she
means. But she says the Bible leads people to Jesus."
Irene said no more, but presently took her little friend to the
nursery, and Gypsy was enchanted by the bonnie boy that sat on his
nurse's knee, and crowed and laughed with delight when he saw his
sister.
"I should love him ever so!" she said afterwards when they were again
alone.
"So I do. I like him better than I did. But he makes me naughty. The
other day he put out both his hands and pulled my hair dreadfully. I
screamed, he hurt so, and I slapped his cheeks to make him leave go,
and then he screamed, and nurse hit me, and Miss Carr sent me to bed
for the rest of the day. And when mother kisses and loves him, it makes
me feel as if I'm more and more a mistake. I know I am. I'm no good at
all. I don't know what will happen to me when I grow up, for no one
wants me!"
Irene was in one of her dismal moods, but Gypsy soon dispelled it, and
they parted firmer friends than ever.
Gypsy spent another pleasant day away from home, and this was at Sir
Perceval's. He sent a formal invitation to her to come to lunch one
half-holiday, and with a radiant face she was taken there by Miss
Gubbins. Next to Miss Helen "Sir Perceval" held a warm place in the
little maiden's heart.
The boys were on their best behaviour; the meal was a sumptuous one;
and after it was over, Sir Perceval turned the boys out into an empty
barn to have half an hour's romp.
"You must have some exit for your spirits, which have been bottled
up so successfully for nearly an hour, and my room has not the
capabilities you require. No, I am not going to let the little elf go
with you. She looks as if the wind is waiting to blow her away from us,
and I want to talk to her and show her some of Bob Bogus' pictures."
So, quite content, Gypsy remained with him, and her merry laugh rang
out at all the comicalities she was shown. But presently Sir Perceval
showed her a very different kind of picture, and Gypsy's face got soft
and grave as she looked at it.
It was a sketch in black and white, of the shepherds finding their way
to Bethlehem. The dark night, the bright star, and the poverty-stricken
manger, all were faithfully depicted, and the Holy Child in His
mother's arms was receiving their humble homage.
"Do you like it, wise eyes? You have seen many pictures like it. I am
doing it for a magazine. Christmas is close at hand, you know."
Gypsy gazed and gazed, and then a brightness came into her eyes.
"They were out in the dark, like Galahad and me; they were looking for
something, too, weren't they? And the star led them instead of the Holy
Light."
"Yes; but they knew what they were looking for, which is more than most
of us do."
There was a little bitterness in the young man's tone.
Gypsy looked up at him wonderingly.
"Are you looking for anything, Sir Perceval? Are you looking for the
Holy Thing, like me?"
"I've been chasing shadows most of my life, I believe."
"Oh, but that is great fun. We do that in the schoolroom when the fire
blazes, and when it is dark. You never can catch them; that's the worst
of it!"
"No. One ought to have learnt that lesson by this time."
There was silence, which Gypsy broke by saying, "It's very hard and
difficult to understand. Miss Helen told me the Bible was the Holy
Light. But God sent the wise men a star; it says so; and it led them
all right. And Galahad didn't have the Bible."
"Oh, you children!" said Sir Perceval, resting his chin in his hands,
and looking steadily into Gypsy's expressive little face. "With such
a jumble of facts and fictions in your busy brains, it must be hard
indeed to understand."
"I'm trying to do it," said Gypsy, looking up at him earnestly. "Miss
Helen told me a text about the Holy Light. She said, 'Thy Word is a
lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.' And she said that meant
the Bible. Are you looking for a light, Sir Perceval?"
"I've been in the dark for many a long year, I'm beginning to find, and
I've never yet been successful in my search."
Then in a lighter tone he said,—
"Never mind, little elf. You have set out on your search more earnestly
than I have. Perhaps Miss Helen may be wiser than both of us. You have
been unsuccessful so far and so have I. We might do worse than try her
remedy. How is the Ogre?"
The subject was turned, and the boys soon came back, and then there was
no more gravity amongst them.