Good-bye
Catherine wrote two long letters next morning--one to Brian, the other
to Uncle Ross--to acquaint them with her new prospects. She concluded
the letter to her uncle in this way:--
'I shall be sorry if my going to live at Redan Cottage displeases
you, but I know you will be glad for me to do anything I can to
serve my kind friend, Mrs. Arderne,--and remember, you promised not
to quarrel seriously with
'Your affectionate niece,
'CATHERINE CARMICHAEL.'
In the course of the same day she received his reply, brought down to
her by a groom. Her uncle assured her of his esteem for Mrs. Arderne,
and his unalterable affection for herself, and expressed satisfaction
that the proposed change in her circumstances would be of pecuniary
advantage to her. Redan Cottage was not so much as mentioned, nor was
Uncle Jack nor Agatha.
Brian's reply, which was lengthy, greatly comforted Catherine. Not only
did he thoroughly approve Mrs. Arderne's plan, but he sent such earnest
sympathy, combined with encouragement, on the subject of the colonel's
state of health, that his promised wife felt that she possessed in him a
consoler upon whose perfect understanding and stable judgments she could
always rely. And, in advising her to hope for success in her efforts to
effect reconciliation, he alluded to 'your happy faith, which you have
taught me to share.'
During the following days Uncle Jack and Mrs. Arderne, Agatha, and the
children, met many times, and inaugurated friendships, greatly to
Catherine's delight.
'That old man is a hero and a darling!' the vivacious little lady told
her companion one evening, after they had spent some hours at Redan
Cottage.
'Yet you once wanted me to give up his friendship, to refuse his offer,
to practically behave as though I did not love him, and all for the sake
of Uncle Ross's money!'
'Cath, don't throw my past folly in my face! I didn't know your uncle
then, and I felt sure you were championing the one because he was the
poorer,--out of a mingling of quixotic chivalry and obstinate pride.'
'What is your opinion of my poor little Agatha?'
'I don't like her--I've not advanced far enough in the study or practice
of universal charity to feel sure that I love her, as we are told to
love all men! As for loving her specially, as you seem to do, that is
quite out of the question for me,--a thing far beyond the bounds of
possibility.'
'She only shows you her outward self,--the bad manners and forgetfulness
of others of a spoilt child; if she had shown you her heart, with all
its pathetic longings, fears, and affections, all its contradictory
beauty and ugliness, you would be just as fond of her as I am.'
'I can't think so. The only reason why I feel the least tenderness
towards her is the fondness she shows for my babies.'
'The more you see of her the faster will grow that tenderness. She is
one of the many girls who suffer countless deprivations on account of
their unconciliatory manners, and who remain lonely and morbid because
no one ever loves them well enough to gain their confidence.'
'But supposing there seems nothing worth loving?'
'That can't ever be--not to a person who sees God's
handiwork--something, therefore, of God's own beauty--in every human
face,' said Catherine.
Before the day came for Mrs. Arderne's departure from Beverbridge, she
had become genuinely interested in Agatha, and much more friendly
towards her. Ted and Toddie, with the impulsiveness of their youth, had
forced their passage into Agatha's love. 'We only just wanted to be nice
at first, 'cause we was sowwy for you, 'cause you can't get up,' Ted
announced once; 'but now we weally loves 'oo.'
And after a speech of this description, delivered by a truthful,
confiding, kissable urchin six years of age, and echoed by his more
demure but equally kissable sister, what could Agatha's pride do but
yield? She was always happy, even when suffering pain, if Ted and Toddie
were playing about the room, running up to her couch every few minutes
to ask her opinion or advice, or to bestow a 'weal good cuddle' upon
her.
'Muvver, you've _no_ idea how _vewwy_ nice Ag'tha is,' declared Toddie.
Ted one evening determined to break the ice between his mother and
Agatha, and proceeded to act upon his intention with his usual
all-subduing bluntness.
'Ag'tha,' he announced, 'you like muvver, don't you? and muvver, you
like Ag'tha, don't you? So s'pose you just kiss one anover an' be fwends
ever afterwards?'
The kiss was given, laughingly; indeed, it could not well be refused.
Agatha wondered if Ted were right, if Mrs. Arderne did really like her;
and this thought made her manner gentle and timid, the consequence of
which was that the child's surmise was proved accurate, even though it
had been a mistake at first.
The time for the mother's departure arrived all too rapidly. She had
superintended the fitting up of Ted and Toddie's nursery in Redan
Cottage, had found out, with pride, that the little people were already
beloved by all the household, and knew that they were certain to be
quite happy with Catherine. Perhaps her heart suffered a few pangs
because of her knowledge that they would have grieved far more, had it
been Catherine who was obliged to leave them; but this reflection she
resolutely put away from her, as one likely to encourage selfishness.
After all, the fact was not strange. It was Catherine who had appealed
to the souls of the babies, taken notice of their young emotions,
studied their characters, helped and consoled them in their troubles;
she, the mother, had petted them egregiously when they pleased her, and
banished them without remorse when their prattle had tired her. By
assiduously caring for their health, she had imagined that her duty had
been fully done, but now, when it was too late, she realized that even
small children should be taught to respect the justice of praise and
blame, punishment and reward, and that they turn naturally with the
greatest affection to those who appeal to their generosity. While
Catherine had taught them 'Be good, or you will grieve your loving
Father in heaven, who sees you every minute of the day and night, who is
sorry when you are naughty, and glad when you are trying to please Him,'
Mrs. Arderne had ruled by alternate bribes and threats, such as, 'If you
are naughty, you shall not have that picture-book I promised you,' or,
'_Do_ be good, Ted and Toddie, then you shall have those nice chocolates
out of the cupboard.'
Often and often had Ted's spirit failed to be subdued by these means; he
had been known to answer, 'Don't care! do wivout choc'lates'; but a few
minutes' talk with Catherine had never been found to result in anything
but meekness and repentance.
It was the old story--when worldly measures proved worthless, God's love
produced wonders.
The day of farewells came at last, after a few days which had seemed to
lag because they had been filled with sorrow. Mrs. Arderne was to start
very early for London, so the parting with Ted and Toddie was a silent
one. Bending over them where they lay happily asleep in their cots--Ted
pouting and Toddie smiling seraphically--the mother would not waken them
to gratify herself at their expense. 'It's best that they don't know,'
she whispered, 'for they would cry, though you could soon comfort them.'
Then she kissed the rosy cheeks, laid her hands on the golden head and
the brown one, and let Catherine lead her out of the room.
'Oh, Cath, Cath, be good to them!'
'You know I will, dearest.'
'Don't let them forget me. Try to make them remember their mother's good
points only, if she has any. I have not been the best of mothers, but it
was through ignorance; and, please God, I'll learn all about Him, so
that the children may not find me wanting in sympathy when I come home
to them.'
'Pray for them night and morning, just when you feel sure they are
saying their prayers and asking God to bless "muvver."'
'Oh, their dear little lisps! They won't be babies any longer when I see
them again, my darlings!'
This was the worst parting; though the little woman clung to Catherine
at the last moment in the railway carriage, and felt, as she owned, that
she could scarcely bear to let her go, the mother's sorrow was naturally
the stronger, as was proved by her last words.
'Be good to them, Cath, take care of them.'
As the girl returned alone to the villa, to superintend the removal of
herself and the children to Redan Cottage and to part with the nurse,
she was conscious of a feeling of dread at the responsibility she had
adopted, as well as of a loneliness due to the loss of her friend; and
it was only by means of prayer that she regained courage.
Not until Ted and Toddie were installed in their new home did Catherine
break the news to them of their mother's departure.
'_Oh, Carr, she's not gone'd?_'
The pathetic cry, the startled look went straight to the girl's heart.
'Ted, she is coming back again!' she cried, clasping him to her breast,
'and you must try ever so hard to grow good, wise, and clever, that she
may be really proud of her boy!'
Toddie sat down on the floor and began to weep, refusing utterly to be
comforted until she had had her cry out, when she displayed healthy
curiosity regarding her new doll's cradle, her mother's parting gift.
Ted had by far the more affectionate disposition, and grieved trebly as
much as his sister, as Catherine had expected. He tried to hide his
unhappiness, even from her, until night, when she found him sobbing
pitifully in the dark, and had to spend a long while in endeavouring to
soothe him.
At last he cried himself to sleep in her arms.
It was many days before the little fellow ceased to fret, and at one
time Catherine began to fear for his health; but she and Agatha managed
him so adroitly that he was surprised into laughing over a new game one
evening, and after that laugh his spirits gradually returned to him.
'His mother will cry over the letter I have sent her, describing Ted's
way of bearing his first big sorrow,' said Catherine to Agatha; 'but
they will be tears that will do her heart good.'
Toddie was quite placid again by this time, and was becoming the idol of
all but Agatha and Catherine, who could not help loving Ted best, though
they tried to show no preference.
'Uncle Jack' was the tiny girl's favourite friend, and he spent most of
his leisure in her company, which never failed to cheer him.
How greatly he was in need of cheering, Catherine now began to discover.
She loved him so well that her power of character-reading was greatly
aided in his case. When Agatha thought him merely tired, Catherine knew
that he was dejected; when he was laughing aloud over his games with the
children, Catherine saw the weary look in his eyes, detected a wistful
cadence in his voice, and knew that he was thinking of the quarrel which
was as a dark shadow over these years of his old age.
Morning and night, at family prayers, a petition was offered up for the
reconciling of all family feuds, the forgiveness of injuries between
friends, the health and happiness of relatives. And one day some time
after Christmas the colonel turned to those around him, saying simply:--
'This is the anniversary of the day when I and my brother Ross
quarrelled, when he told me we could live together no longer. Will you
all pray silently for his welfare, here and hereafter, and for our
reconciliation, if God in His mercy wills it? I know I have always
prayed aloud for this before, in other years; but to-day--my courage
fails me.'
'Catherine, if I should die suddenly,' he said when next alone with his
niece, 'I trust to you to tell Ross I have never borne him any ill-will,
and that I hope to meet him in the kingdom where all the secrets of
men's hearts will be made plain, and where the God of love reigns for
ever and ever.'
'I promise to bear your wish in mind, dearest uncle,' was her answer.
And she resolved that not another day should pass before she made one
more attempt to soften her other uncle's heart and overrule his pride.