It is a trite axiom, but no less true than trite, that we are always
happiest when we are most unconscious of happiness,--when the simple
fact of mere existence is enough for us,--when we do not know how, or
when, or where the causes for our pleasure come in, and when we are
content to live as the birds and flowers live, just for the one day’s
innocent delight, untroubled by any thoughts concerning the past or
future. This is a state of mind which is generally supposed to vanish
with early youth, though there are some few peculiarly endowed natures,
sufficiently well poised, and confident of the flowing in of eternal
goodness everywhere, to be serenely joyous with all the trust of a
little child to the very extreme of old age. But even with men and women
not so fortunately situated the days when they were happy without
knowing it remain put away in their memories as the sweetest time of
life, and are recalled to them again and again with more or less
poignancy, when pain and disappointment, deceit, cruelty, and harshness
unwind the rose-coloured veil of romance from persons and things and
show them the world at its worst. Boy, in the house of Miss Letitia
Leslie, was just now living the unconscious life, and making for himself
such a picture gallery of sweet little souvenirs as were destined to
return to him in years to come sharpened with pain, and embittered by a
profitless regret. Every morning he rose up to some new and harmless
delight, among surroundings of perfect sweetness and peace,--order,
cleanliness, kindness, good-humour and cheerfulness were the hourly
investiture of the household,--and after he had been with “Kiss-Letty”
two or three days Boy began dimly to wonder whether there really was
such an individual as “Poo Sing,” or such a large lady as “Muzzy,” in
the world. Not that the little fellow was forgetful of his parents,--but
the parents themselves were of so hazy, and vague, and undeterminate a
character that the individuality of the servant Gerty was far more real
and actual to the infant mind of their son than their distinguished
personalities. It is to be feared that Boy would have been but faintly
sorry had he been told he was never to see his “kind good Muzzy” any
more. This was not Boy’s fault by any means; the blame rested entirely
with the “kind good Muzzy” herself. And probably if Boy had felt any
regrets about it they would have been more for the parting from the “Poo
Sing” gentleman who was so often ill. For the delusive notion of chronic
illness on the part of “Poo Sing” had got firmly fixed into Boy’s
little head,--he felt the situation to be serious,--he was full of a
wistful and wondering compassion, and he had a vague idea that his Dads
did not get on so well without him. But this he kept to himself. He was
for the present perfectly happy, and wished for no more delightful
existence than that which he enjoyed in the company of “Kiss-Letty.” He
was going through some wonderful experiences of life as well. For
instance, he was taken for the first time to the Zoo, and had a ride on
an elephant,--a ride which filled him with glory and terror. Glory that
he could ride an elephant,--for he thought it was entirely his own skill
that guided and controlled the huge beast’s gentle meanderings along the
smoothly rolled paths of the gardens, and terror lest, skilful and
powerful though he was, he should fall, deeply humiliated, out of the
howdah in which he was proudly seated. Then he was taken to Earl’s Court
Exhibition, and became so wearied with the wonders there shown to him
from all parts of the world,--there were so many wonders--and the world
seemed so immense,--that he fell fast asleep while going round a strange
pond in a strange boat called a Venetian gondola, and Major Desmond took
him up in his arms, and he remembered nothing more till he found himself
in his little bed with Margaret tucking him up and making him cosy. Then
there were the days when he was not taken out sightseeing at all, but
simply stayed with Miss Letty and accompanied her everywhere, and he was
not sure that he did not like these times best of all. For after his
dinner in the middle of the day, and before they went for their drive,
“Kiss-Letty” would take him on her knee and tell him the most beautiful
and amazing fairy stories,--descriptions of aerial palaces and
glittering-winged elves, which fascinated him and kept him in
open-mouthed ecstacy,--and somehow or other he learned a good deal out
of what he heard. Miss Leslie was not a brilliant woman, but she was
distinctly cultured and clever, and she had a way of narrating some of
the true histories of the world as though they were graceful fantasies.
In this fashion she told Boy of the discovery of America by Christopher
Columbus,--and ever afterwards the famous navigator remained in Boy’s
mind as a sort of fairy king who had made a new world. Happy indeed were
all those first lessons he received concerning the great and good things
done by humanity,--sweet and refining was the influence thus exerted
upon him,--and if such peaceful days could have gone on expanding
gradually around his life the more that life needed them, who can say
what might not have been the beneficial result? But it often seems as if
some capricious fate interfered between the soul and its environment;
where happiness might be perfect, the particular ingredient of
perfection is held back or altogether denied,--and truly there would
seem to be no good reason for this. Stoic philosophy would perhaps
suggest that the fortunate environment is held back from the individual
in order that he may create it for himself, and mould his own nature in
the struggle,--but then it so often happens that this holding back
affects the nature that is not qualified either by birth or
circumstances to enfranchise itself. A grand environment is frequently
bestowed on a low and frivolous character that has not, and never will
have, any appreciation of its fortunate position, while all rights,
privileges, and advancements are obstinately refused to the soul that
would most gladly and greatly have valued them. And so it was fated to
be with Boy. The happy days of his visit to Miss Letty came, as all
happy days must do, to an end; and one morning, as he sat at breakfast
eating a succulent slice of bread-and-jam, he was startled to see
“Kiss-Letty’s” blue eyes brimming over with tears. Amazing grief and
fear took possession of him,--he put down his bread-and-jam and looked
pitifully at his kind friend and hostess.
“Zoo kyin’, Kiss-Letty,” he said: “Where does it hurt oo?”
Miss Letty tried to smile, but only feebly succeeded. She could have
answered that “it” hurt her everywhere. “It” was a letter from Mrs.
D’Arcy-Muir requesting that Boy might be returned to his home that
afternoon. And Miss Letty knew that this peremptory summons meant that
her wish to adopt Boy was frustrated and that the cause was lost. She
looked tenderly at the sweet little face that was turned so wistfully
to hers, and said gently though with a slight quiver about her lips,--
“Muzzy wants you, darling! I am to take you home to her to-day.”
Boy gave no reply. It was the first difficult moral situation of his
life, and it was hardly to be wondered at that he found it almost too
much for him. The plain fact of the matter was that, however much
“Muzzy” wanted him, he did not want “Muzzy.” Nor did he at all wish to
go home. But he had already a dim consciousness of the awful “must” set
over us by human wills, which, unlike God’s will, are not always working
for good,--and he had a glimmering perception that he was bound to
submit to these inferior orders till the time came when he could create
his own “must” and abide by it. But he could not put these vague
emotions into speech; all he did was to lose his appetite for
bread-and-jam and to stare blankly at “Kiss-Letty.” She meanwhile put
Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s letter in her pocket, and tried to assume her usual
bright and cheerful air, but with very poor success. For in truth she
was greatly disappointed,--and when she lifted Boy out of his chair at
the table and set him down on the floor with a very fascinating toy in
the shape of a ‘merry-go-round’ moved by clockwork, which however he
contemplated this morning with a faint sense of the futility of all
earthly pleasures, she was vaguely troubled by presentiments to which
she could give no name. The hours wore on languidly--and it was with a
sense of something like relief that she heard a sharp rat-tat-tat at the
door, and a minute afterwards Major Desmond’s cheery voice in the hall.
She went out to meet him, leaving Boy with his toys in her
morning-room,--but one glance at his face confirmed all her worst fears.
“It’s no go, Letty!” he said regretfully, as he shook hands. “I’ve done
my best. But I’ll tell you where the trouble is. It’s the woman. I could
manage D’Arcy-Muir, but not that stout play-actress. When D’Arcy-Muir is
sober he sees clearly enough, and realizes quite well what a capital
chance it is for the little chap; but there is no doing anything with
his jelly-fish of a wife. She bridles all over with offence at your
proposition--says she has her own ideas for Boy’s education and future
prospects. Nice ideas they are likely to be! Well! It’s no use
fretting--you must resign yourself to the inevitable, Letty, and give up
your pet project.”
Miss Letty listened with apparently unmoved composure while he
spoke,--then when he had finished she said quietly,--
“Yes, I suppose I must. Of course I cannot press the point. One must not
urge separation between mother and child. Oh yes, I must give it
up”--this with a little pained smile--“I have had to give up so many
hopes and joys in life that one more disappointment ought not to matter
so much, ought it? Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir has written to me--I am to take Boy
back this afternoon.”
The Major’s tender heart was troubled, but he would not offer his friend
any consolation,--he knew that the least said the soonest mended in such
cases,--and he saw that Miss Letty was just then too vexed and grieved
to bear many words even from him. So he went in to Boy, and wound up his
clockwork ‘merry-go-round’ for him, and told him fabulous stories of
giants,--giants who, though terrible enough to hold the world in awe,
were yet unable to resist the fascinations of “hasty pudding,” and
killed themselves by eating too much of that delicacy in an unguarded
moment. Which remarkable narratives, in their grotesque incongruity,
conveyed the true lesson that a strong or giant mind may be frequently
destroyed by indulgence in one vice; though Boy was too young to look
for morals in fairy legends, and accepted these exciting histories as
veracious facts. And so the morning passed pleasantly after all,--though
now and then a wistful look came into Boy’s eyes, and a shadow crossed
the placid fairness of “Kiss-Letty’s” brow when either of the two
chanced to think of the coming parting from each other. Boy however did
not imagine it so much of a parting as Miss Letty knew it would be; he
had a firm belief that though he was going home to “Muzzy” he should
still see a great deal of his “Kiss-Letty” all the same. She on the
contrary knew enough of Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s obstinate disposition to be
quite certain of the fact that because a hint had been thrown out by
Major Desmond as to the advantages of her adopting Boy, she would be
forced to see less of him than ever. Strange it is, and in a manner
terrible, that the future of a whole life should be suspended thus
between two human wills!--the one working for pure beneficence, the
other for selfishness, and that the selfish side should win the day!
These are mysteries which none can fathom; but it too often happens that
a man’s career has been decided for good or evil by the amenities or
discords of his parents, and their quarrels or agreements as to the
manner of his education.
It was with a sad and sinking heart that Miss Leslie took Boy
accompanied by the faithful “Dunny” back to the home of his progenitors
that afternoon. He had more luggage to carry away than he had arrived
with--a brown paper parcel would not hold his numerous toys, nor the
pretty little suits of clothes his kind hostess had presented him with.
So Major Desmond bought him an astonishingly smart portmanteau, which
fairly dazzled him, and into this most of his new things were packed by
Margaret, who was sincerely sorry to lose her little charge. The
‘merry-go-round,’ being a Parisian marvel of clockwork, had a special
case of its own, and “Dunny”!--well, “Dunny” was a privileged Cow, and
Boy always carried it in his arms. And thus he returned, Biblically
speaking, to the home of his fathers,--the house in Hereford Square, and
his large “Muzzy” received him with an almost dramatic effusiveness.
“You poor child!” she exclaimed. “How badly your hair has been brushed!
Oh dear!--it’s becoming a perfect mop! We must have it cut to-morrow.”
Miss Leslie’s cheeks reddened slightly.
“Surely you will not have his curls cut yet?” she began.
“My dear Letitia, I know best,” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with an irritating
air of smiling condescension. “A boy--even a very young boy--looks
absurd with long hair. You have been very kind and nice to him, I am
sure,--but of course you don’t quite understand----”
Miss Leslie sat down opposite her with a curiously quiet air of
deliberation.
“I wish to speak to you for a few minutes,” she said. “Is your husband
at home?”
“No. He has gone into the country for a few days. I am quite lonely!”
and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir heaved a lazy smile. “I felt I could not possibly
be a day longer without my son in the house.”
The extraordinary air of grandiloquence she gave to the words “my son in
the house,” applied to a child of barely four years old, would have
made Miss Leslie laugh at any other time, but she was too preoccupied
just now to even smile.
“I think,” she went on in a methodical way--“I think Major Desmond did
me the kindness to mention to you and Captain D’Arcy-Muir an idea I had
concerning Boy----”
“Oh yes, a most absurd idea,” interposed Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, with quite a
solemn reproach in her voice. “Pardon me for saying so, Letitia, but I
really am surprised at you. A preposterous idea!--to separate my boy
from me!”
“You mistake,” answered Miss Leslie; “I had no wish to separate you. You
would have seen quite as much of Boy as you see now, or as you will see
when in the natural course of things you send him to school. My sole
desire in the proposition I made, and which I asked Major Desmond to
explain, was to benefit your dear little child in every possible way. I
am all alone in the world----”
“Yes, I know! So sad!” put in Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir in a tone of
commiseration that was almost an insult.
“And I have a large fortune,” pursued Miss Letty with unruffled
composure: “when my time comes to die, I shall probably leave more than
one-hundred-thousand pounds----”
“No! You don’t say so! Really, Letitia, you are indeed fortunate! Why
ever don’t you marry? There are lots of poor fellows who would only be
too delighted.”
“We can pass that question,” said Miss Leslie patiently. “What I wish to
point out to you is that I am what the world calls a fairly wealthy
woman, and that if you could see your way to letting me adopt Boy and
educate him, everything I possessed would be his at my death.”
“Oh, I don’t wonder at all,” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir expansively, “that
you have taken such a fancy to my boy! That’s quite natural. And really,
Letitia, if you don’t know how to dispose of your fortune otherwise, I
cannot imagine anything more pleasant for you than to make him your
heir. But to adopt him for the purpose of educating him according to
your notions! Oh dear no! It would never do!”
“If he is not educated according to my notions he will certainly not be
my heir,” said Miss Letty very firmly. “He is just now at an age when
anything can be done with him. Give me leave to take him out of the
radius of his father’s unfortunate example, and surround him with all
that is healthy and good and useful, and I am sure you will not regret
it.”
“Dear me! I am so sorry for you!” and “Muzzy” smiled blandly; “I feel
for you with all my heart, and I quite understand your wish to have Boy!
It would be delightful for you, but I cannot possibly hear of it! I am
his mother,--I could not part with him under any circumstances
whatever!”
“You are quite resolved, then?” and Miss Leslie looked at her steadily.
“Quite! I have my own ideas of education, and I could not possibly allow
the slightest interference. My son”--and here she swelled visibly with a
sense of her own importance--“will have every chance in life!”
“God grant it!” said Miss Letitia fervently. “No one in the world
desires his good more heartily than I do. And if ever I can be of any
assistance to him in his career, I will. But for the present I will say
good-bye,--both to you--and to him.”
“Are you going away?” enquired Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with but a faint show of
interest.
“Yes, I shall go to Scotland for the rest of the summer, and I have
arranged to join a party of friends in Egypt this winter. So I shall not
be here to interfere”--and Miss Letty smiled rather sadly as she
emphasised the word--“with Boy. I hope he will not quite forget me.”
“I hope not,” said “Muzzy” with bland commiseration. “But of course you
know children never remember anything or anybody for long. And what a
blessing that is, isn’t it?”
Miss Letty made no answer; she was down on the floor kissing Boy.
“Good-bye, darling,” she whispered,--“good-bye! I shall not see you for
a while, but you will always love me, won’t you?”
“Alwiz love ’oo!” murmured Boy earnestly, with a vague sense that he was
experiencing a very dreadful emotion which seemed quite to contract his
little heart--“Alwiz!” and he threw his chubby arms round Miss Letty’s
neck and kissed her again and again.
“Dear little man!” she said with almost a half-sob. “Poor little man!
God bless you!”
Then she rose, and turning to Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir held out her hand.
“Good-bye!” she said. “If you should ever change your mind about Boy,
please let me know at once. I shall be glad to have him at any time
between now and till he is seven,--after that it would be no use--as all
his first impressions will have taken root too deeply in his nature to
be eradicated.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed “Muzzy” with a wide smile. “You are really
quite a blue-stocking, Letitia! You talk just like a book of philosophy
or degeneration--which is it?--I never can remember! I always wonder
what people mean when they try to be philosophic and talk about
impressions on the mind! Because of course impressions are always coming
and going, you know--nothing ever remains long enough to make a lasting
effect.”
Miss Letty said no more. It was useless to talk to such a woman about
anything but the merest commonplaces. The ins and outs of thought--the
strange slight threads of feeling and memory out of which the character
of a human being is gradually woven like a web,--the psychic influences,
the material surroundings, the thousand-and-one things that help to
strengthen or to enervate the brain and heart and spirit, all these
potentialities were unknown to the bovine female who waxed fat and
apathetic out of pure inertia and sloth. She was, as she was fond of
announcing, a ‘mother,’ but her ideas of motherhood consisted merely in
feeding Boy on sloppy food which frequently did not agree with him, in
dosing him with medicine when he was out of sorts, in dressing him
anyhow, and in allowing him to amuse himself as he liked wherever he
could, however he could, at all times and in all places dirty or clean.
A child of the gutter had the same sort of maternal care. Of order, of
time, of refinement, of elegance and sweet cleanliness there was no
perception whatever; while the Alpha and Omega of the disordered
household was of course “Poo Sing,” who rolled in and rolled out as he
chose, more or less disgraceful in appearance and conduct at all hours.
However, there was no help for it--Miss Letty had held out a rescue, and
it had been refused, and there was nothing more to be done but to leave
Boy, for the present at any rate, in his unfortunate surroundings. But
there were tears in the eyes of the tender-hearted lady when she
returned home alone that day, and missed the little face and the gay
prattle that had so greatly cheered her loneliness. And after dinner,
when the stately Plimpton handed her her cup of coffee, she was foolish
enough to be touched by his solemnly civil presentation to her of a
diminutive pair of worn shoes set in orderly fashion on a large silver
tray.
“Master Boy left these behind him, my lady,” he said,--he always called
Miss Letty ‘my lady’ out of the deep deference existing towards her in
his own mind. “They’re his _h_old ones.” Plimpton was fond of aspirating
his h’s,--he thought the trick gave an elegant sound to his language.
“Thank you, Plimpton,” said Miss Leslie, with a faint smile. “I will
send them to his mother in the morning.”
But she did not send them to his mother. When she was quite alone, she
kissed each little shoe tenderly, and tied them up together in soft silk
paper with a band of blue ribbon,--and then, like a fond weak creature,
put them under her pillow when she went to bed and cried a little,--then
slept and dreamed that her “brave true Harry” was alive and wedded to
her, and that Boy was her very own darling, with no other “Muzzy” in the
world.