MRS. MORLAND’S TRIO.
Mrs. Morland, in a sober evening dress of black silk, inhabited her
sitting-room in solitary state. The nest her children’s love had
prepared for her was fresh and sweet as an Altruist spring-cleaning
could make it; and its occupant, surrounded by pretty and dainty
things, looked in no want of pity as she sat by her cosy fireside,
a volume of Tennyson in her hands. Yet on this particular evening
the leisurely reader seemed not entirely at ease. Her eyes wandered
continually from her book, and the expression of her face had for once
lost its satisfaction with self and impatience with the rest of the
world. In thought as in act Mrs. Morland was slow to admit novelty;
but a simple occurrence of the afternoon had touched her imagination,
and inclined her to observe intelligently various matters which helped
to make the small sum of her daily experience.
A little earlier she had been entertaining visitors--only Muriel and
Edward Carlyon. But those young people possessed alert and vigorous
individualities which were apt to leave a track where they had been.
They talked well on a good many subjects, and had the pleasant knack of
choosing those subjects with due regard to their company. Mrs. Morland
liked them both, and was by no means insensible to the kindness which
had made Frances and Austin their pupils still. So she had listened
graciously, and spoken a few appropriate words of thanks when the
brother and sister had warmly commended her children’s progress.
“How proud you must be of them!” Miss Carlyon had exclaimed, determined
to do her favourites justice. “Do you know, I think no one ever had a
brighter trio than yours.”
Mrs. Morland stiffened perceptibly as she heard the word “trio”.
“My two children always have given me every satisfaction,” she replied
with emphasis.
“Never more than now, I am sure,” said Muriel gently.
“Jim is a first-rate fellow,” remarked Edward. “Boyish for his years,
perhaps, and overpoweringly conscientious. But I believe, when he goes
out into the world, he will make his mark.”
“He is a worthy, unassuming lad,” said Mrs. Morland indifferently. “I
should hardly have credited him with more than an average share of
brains. Of course, I readily admit that he has had no advantages.”
Edward gaily contested the point, arguing that in learning to use his
hands as well as his head, Jim had provided himself with two forces
instead of one to aid him in doing battle with difficulties. Mrs.
Morland declined to show interest in Jim, but she listened courteously
to her stepson’s praises, and left her combatant in possession of the
field.
The two visitors were disarmed, and began to think they might hitherto
have done their hostess injustice on some points at least. They had
walked out of set purpose to Rowdon that afternoon, after stirring up
each other, as their habit was, to undertake a doubtful errand. They
were wondering now whether they might not hope--with the mother in this
gracious mood--to make that errand something of a success.
“And how is Frances, our own dear Altruist?” questioned Muriel
presently. “I thought yesterday that she was looking pale and tired.”
“Indeed! I have not heard her complain. She has excellent health,
fortunately, and is altogether stronger than Austin.”
“Oh, Austin will make a sturdy fellow by and by,” said Carlyon cheerily.
“Meanwhile,” said Muriel tentatively, “I hope our pair of pickles
aren’t overdoing it? You will forgive me, Mrs. Morland, I’m sure, if
I intrude on you with selfish anxieties. You see, Edward and I can’t
contemplate with equanimity the loss of our pupils, and Frances
has been telling me that she is afraid she must give up some of her
studies.”
Mrs. Morland flushed angrily. “She has said nothing of the kind to me.”
“She would not wish to worry you,” added Muriel in haste; “and she did
not speak definitely--only, I understood it was a question between home
duties and school lessons. As Frances has passed the Oxford Junior
Locals, I wanted her to get ready for the Senior; but if she has not
time for the necessary preparation, there is no more to be said.”
“I had a scholarship in view for Austin,” said Carlyon, before Mrs.
Morland could speak. The brother and sister felt themselves on thorny
ground, and feared a retreat might be forced on them. “It would help to
take him to the University. Still, he is right to stick to his sister.”
“You mustn’t let our foolish ambitions vex you, dear Mrs. Morland,”
said Muriel, rising to lay her hand with a pretty gesture on the elder
woman’s arm. “If our young people choose the better part, we can only
love them all the more, and be all the more proud of them. They will
learn a great deal in helping Jim. Do you know, I am quite jealous of
Frances’s success as a rival teacher? Now, Edward, you and I must run
away. We are due at the rectory at six o’clock.”
The visitors said good-bye to a very stately, monosyllabic hostess,
whose geniality had vanished, and left moroseness behind. At first Mrs.
Morland was strongly moved to summon Frances for a severe lecture,
but she felt herself handicapped by her ignorance as to the truth.
She had no real knowledge of the manner in which her children spent
their days; and had objected to the work they had undertaken, in
Elizabeth’s place, on account of its nature, not because she realized
its amount. But if it were indeed the case that sweeping and scrubbing
had absorbed the hours due to Latin and mathematics, in what direction
could she exercise her authority? Somebody must sweep and scrub, if
the spotlessness on which Mrs. Morland tacitly insisted were to be
maintained at Rowdon Cottage.
For a time, indignation with her “trio” and their too officious
friends occupied Mrs. Morland’s thoughts entirely; but compunctions
were stirring her memory, and she began to recall more exactly, and to
examine more thoroughly, the few remarks her late visitors had made.
She wondered whether she had indeed left it to an outsider to notice
that Frances looked “pale and tired”, and why her girl and boy should
not have come first of all to their mother with their doubts as to
their ability to keep up their lessons. Mrs. Morland had seen plainly
that the Carlyons had spoken with some trepidation and fear of giving
offence. She felt obliged to admit that they had not willingly broken
the laws of good taste, but had made an honest effort to serve their
young friends by letting fall such hints as might induce the children’s
mother to give more attention to their affairs.
Mrs. Morland’s thoughts were still dwelling on these matters, when the
door opened softly and Frances entered, carrying a snowy table-cloth
of finest damask, such as it was Elizabeth’s pride to handle. Next
came Austin, with a folding-stand and butler’s tray, which he set up
close to the door. Mrs. Morland was seated so that she could face her
children, and she watched them furtively from the cover of her fan. The
young pair were so unaccustomed to attract their mother’s notice while
about their daily duties that they behaved as though she were as deep
in Tennyson as they supposed her to be.
Frances deftly spread the cloth, while Austin fussed gravely over his
tray. Presently they began to lay the covers for two, and to deck the
table with pretty crystal and silver. There were no “specimen” vases,
but they had a big bowl filled with white narcissus and ivy for a
centre-piece.
“Is Jim ready?” questioned Frances in a low voice. “I have no soup
to-day, but Mr. Carlyon brought a lovely pair of soles, and I have
fried them most beautifully. Mamma likes fried soles. Jim is so
thoughtful, he is sure to remember to say he won’t have any; then there
will be one left for Mamma’s breakfast.”
“Good!” said Austin laconically. “Isn’t there anything for Jim?”
“Silly! Of course there is! I made rissoles out of that cold beef.”
Austin sighed.
“I have kept one back for you, dear,” said Frances quickly. “I know you
hate cold beef. You shall eat that delicious rissole while I dish the
pudding.”
The two now wrangled in undertones as to which should enjoy the
comparative dainty of a rissole, and Mrs. Morland laughed behind her
fan until she feared detection. Finally, Austin decided that the morsel
should be halved, and the preparations then proceeded in uninterrupted
solemnity.
“Is Jim ready?” inquired Frances again. “My soles will be spoilt if
dinner is kept waiting.”
“Oh, Jim’s all right. He’s turning out the potatoes.”
“Austin! Last time Jim meddled with the potatoes he let one drop into
the ashes--and he nearly spoiled his best coat!”
“Well, if he’s such a duffer he must go without, himself.”
“I shall fly to the rescue. Oh, Austin, you promised to mix the fresh
mustard!”
“Crikey! So I did! I’ll do it now, in half a jiffey.”
“Come then; it’s half-past eight already!”
Frances retired in haste to the kitchen, packed Jim off to the
sitting-room, and served up her three courses in fine style. Mrs.
Morland, intent on observations, dined almost in silence; and Jim,
amazed to find neither his mind nor his manners undergoing improvement,
wondered nervously of what heinous offence he had been guilty unawares.
Austin brought in the dishes, and waited at table with the utmost
confidence and resource. It was his little joke to call himself
Adolphus the page-boy, in which character he indulged in various small
witticisms, chiefly, it must be owned, for the benefit of Frances.
When he had placed a scanty dessert before his mother, he went off, to
reappear immediately in Frances’s wake in his own character of Master
Austin Morland.
He wore an evening suit of black velvet, which, having been made
eighteen months before, was an exceedingly tight fit for its owner.
Mrs. Morland now became aware of the fact, and felt a sudden qualm as
she anticipated the time when the children’s stock of good, well-made
clothing would be finally worn out or outgrown. She determined to put
off, for that evening at least, her intended demand for the immediate
re-engagement of Elizabeth, and the release of Frances from “household
drudgery”. She would hardly have acknowledged that a part of that
forbearing resolution was due to the awakened eyes with which she now
regarded the third of her “trio”. Jim’s face was pale and tired beyond
all possibility of concealment.
The meal was ended. Mrs. Morland returned to her Tennyson, and the trio
returned to their various tasks. For more than an hour the solitary
woman sat on by her fireside deep in thought. Glancing up, at length,
she saw that her clock pointed to a quarter-past ten, and it occurred
to her that the children had not yet come to bid her good-night. Rising
with a little shiver, for the room was growing chilly, she crossed the
passage to the study, and, opening the door gently, peered in. The
three students were gathered together, to share the light of the single
small lamp. Frances was correcting an exercise for Jim, who listened
intently while she lucidly explained his mistakes. Austin struggled
with Greek verbs, repeating them under his breath, while he held his
hands to his ears, and rocked his body to and fro, after the familiar
fashion of industrious schoolboys.
Consternation took the place of contentment when Mrs. Morland made the
young folks aware of her presence by inquiring whether they knew the
hour.
“It is a quarter-past ten,” she remarked, her voice falling on a guilty
silence. “You know, Frances and Austin, I do not like you to be up
later than ten.”
“We have nearly finished, Mamma. We go to Woodbank to-morrow, and we
shall not have our lessons ready unless we do them to-night.”
“Why not, pray? Are there no morning hours before you? And what is
this I hear from Miss Carlyon, Frances? Have you really taken it
upon yourself to tell her, without first consulting me, that you are
prepared to dispense with her kind help?”
“Oh, Mamma,” exclaimed Frances, “Miss Carlyon could not have thought--.
Indeed, I didn’t say it that way!”
“Perhaps not,” said Mrs. Morland, half-ashamed of her injustice; “but
you said it in some way, and I am very much annoyed. A child like you
has no business to decide for herself whether she will or will not
accept so great a favour.”
“I only didn’t want to worry you, Mamma; and I didn’t think--I didn’t
guess you would mind about my lessons.”
“I dare say your intentions were good, Frances,” said Mrs. Morland less
sharply; “but you certainly should have come to me first. You cannot
really have been so foolish as to suppose that I am indifferent about
your studies. They may be of the utmost importance to you some day.”
“I know,” said Frances eagerly. “So, won’t you let me sit up a little
later sometimes?”
“I can’t do that, for the best of reasons. You rise--as I know to my
cost--very early; and I must insist on your taking proper rest. But I
see no obstacle to your finding plenty of opportunity for study in the
daytime. What is it that comes in the way?”
Frances glanced up at Jim, and meeting his troubled look answered
pleadingly:
“I’ll tell you all about it when you come upstairs to-night, Mamma
dear. Won’t that do?”
“Very well,” replied Mrs. Morland, feeling a new and strange reluctance
to prolong the discomfort she had brought to the industrious little
group. Memory again spoke in her ears with Miss Carlyon’s voice the
familiar words about choosing the better part. She went back to her
room, stirred the smouldering fire, and sank into her luxurious chair.
Something--could it be conscience?--was stirring fiercely within her;
and qualities long dormant rose up and cried her shame.
She had been alone but a few minutes when Jim came into the room. The
lad, still white and weary-eyed, moved with his quiet, undisturbing
step to Mrs. Morland’s side.
“I wanted to tell you something,” he began diffidently; “something
perhaps you don’t know. It is that, for a good while back, the
children have been helping me--teaching me, I mean, besides learning
their own lessons. I wanted so much to learn, that I’m afraid I forgot
how I was taking up their time; but indeed I never guessed that Missy
was going to leave off any of her lessons with Miss Carlyon. Of course
I will manage so that she need not. I hope you won’t worry, or be vexed
with Missy. It’s all my fault.”
“And how do you propose to ‘manage’, as you say?”
Mrs. Morland’s keen gaze fell steadily on her stepson’s face.
“I will not let Missy be troubled with me,” said Jim. “That will make
some difference.”
“But you want to learn?”
“Ay. I will learn, too, somehow, but not at the children’s cost. I can
do a smith’s work without Latin; but my brother and sister are to be
something different.”
“You are resolved on that?”
“Ay.”
“And if they do not teach you, they will have time for their own
studies?”
“I cannot tell that; but I can easily get up an hour earlier and help
more in the house.”
“When do you rise now, James?”
“Not till five,” replied Jim eagerly. “It would be nothing to rise at
four.”
“But if my ears haven’t deceived me, I’ve heard stealthy steps going to
your bedroom at one, and even two, in the morning.”
Jim stood detected and confused.
“Well,” said Mrs. Morland calmly, “I’ll think over matters and let
you know if I agree to your ingenious plan. Meanwhile, James, I would
rather you went to bed a little earlier and rose a little later. And
I object to your giving up your lessons with the children. I have no
doubt that in helping you they help themselves; but in any case I wish
you to go on remembering that if you are a blacksmith you are also a
gentleman.”
Mrs. Morland enjoyed the knowledge that her stepson was utterly
astonished and subdued; and she went on in the same level tone:
“I never was more convinced of the latter fact than I am this evening.
Now, good-night, James! Go to bed, and get rid of that headache.”
* * * * *
During the whole of the following couple of days Mrs. Morland displayed
an unwonted activity, though in a direction her children found terribly
discomfiting. On this or that pretext she contrived to maintain a
careful watch on everybody’s movements, and some of the youngsters’
most cherished and harmless secrets were dragged to light. Thus,
Frances was surprised by her mother in the act of “washing out” certain
dainty frills which it always had been supposed were left to Mrs.
Macbean’s tender mercies. Austin was discovered peeling potatoes in the
study, whither he had been banished for fear of draughts, while Jim
cleaned the kitchen windows. And Jim’s feelings may be imagined when
his workshop was invaded by the stately presence of his stepmother,
who had donned a shawl and wandered through the darkness merely to
inquire if he happened to know whether a quarter to ten were the
correct time.
Mrs. Morland’s inspection was thorough enough to supply her with a
basis of facts whereon to build further meditations and resolutions.
Perhaps the latter were confirmed by a conversation she overheard
through a door left ajar accidentally:
“I say, Frances, isn’t the Mater getting awfully spry? She has been
going about no end the last two days.”
“Yes. She seems ever so much better and stronger, doesn’t she? Wouldn’t
it be jolly if she would come for a walk with us sometimes, and go
visiting a little, as she used to? She wouldn’t always be so dull if
she had more change.”
“She came and watched me feed my chickens this morning. Fancy! she said
she had no idea I had gone in for poultry rearing! I believe I must
have forgotten to tell her about it. I showed her my ducklings, too,
and promised her one for dinner soon.”
“Mamma asked me where I had learned to make such nice puddings.
Wasn’t it dear of her to notice? I shall turn out lovely pancakes
to-night--she likes pancakes.”
“Anybody would like your pancakes. May I have the little burnt one at
the end?”
“You unkind boy, it isn’t always burnt! Perhaps I’ll give you a whole
proper one for a treat, as you provide the eggs.”
On the third day after the Carlyons’ visit, Mrs. Morland once more
surprised the little housewife and her male servitors. They were at
breakfast in the kitchen; for Frances, to save coal, had decreed that
the study fire should not be lighted in the early morning.
“Is this an innovation, young people?” demanded the newcomer amiably.
“Thank you, James; I will take Austin’s chair, and he can fetch
another. Really”--and Mrs. Morland glanced critically round the bright,
clean kitchen--“you look remarkably comfortable here. Your copper pans
do you credit, Frances.”
“Jim scoured the pans, Mamma dear,” said the girl, recovering from the
shock of discovery. “And I do think they’re pretty. Mayn’t I give you
some tea? Oh no! not this, of course--I’ll make some fresh.”
“Nonsense! I’m sure you can spare me a cup of yours. That tea-pot has
immense capacity, and if these lads haven’t drained it--”
“Why, there’s lots,” said Austin, lifting the lid of the big brown
pot. “Only, you see, Mater, it’s--it’s a little nurseryfied. Frances
doesn’t approve of strong tea for our youthful digestions. I’ve plenty
of boiling water in my kettle, and you shall have a special brew.”
Jim had risen quietly and placed a small clothes-horse, over which he
had thrown a cloth, between Mrs. Morland and the fire. Meanwhile his
stepmother, with a swift glance that escaped detection, had surveyed
the young people’s fare. A home-baked loaf, a plate of scones, butter,
and marmalade. For Austin alone, a boiled egg. All set out with
exquisite cleanliness, and appetizing enough in itself, but hardly
sufficient preparation for a long and hard day’s work.
“Frances has found some dainty for my breakfast-tray each morning,”
reflected Mrs. Morland, and at that moment Frances spoke.
“Your kidneys are still in the larder, Mamma. Would you like them
cooked sooner than usual since you are down so early?”
“They will do nicely for dinner,” said Mrs. Morland. “I am going to
breakfast with you, and cannot possibly resist those scones any longer.”
The amazed silence of the group may not have been entirely
complimentary, but Mrs. Morland seemed unconcerned, and forced speech
on “James” by inquiring whether he were responsible for the shining
dish-covers as well as the copper pans. The freshly-made tea was
praised generously; and altogether Mrs. Morland showed a welcome
disposition to admire everything.
Breakfast over, the workers of the family prepared to set about their
usual duties. Jim went off to the forge, Austin departed to feed his
chickens, Frances began to clear the breakfast-table.
“I have been thinking,” said Mrs. Morland, while she helped to gather
together cups and plates, “that for the future Jim and I will dine with
you children in the middle of the day.”
“Mamma!” exclaimed Frances, standing statue-like in her amazement.
“It would be at least an hour’s saving of your time--oh! more than
that. However simple your cookery, it must require a good deal of
attention; then, there is the serving, and after all the washing of
dishes and pans. Why, child, we have hit in a moment on the solution of
your difficulty.”
“You never have been used to an early dinner,” said Frances in a
troubled voice; “you would hate it.”
“It could not really make the slightest difference to me now,” declared
the mother. “When I visited and received visitors, things naturally
were arranged according to custom.”
“But, Mamma,” said Frances wistfully, “why should you not visit again?
The people worth knowing wouldn’t like us a bit the less because we
live in a cottage instead of at Elveley. It is not as though we had
done anything wrong. All your favourite friends have called since you
have been here--”
“Called!” interrupted Mrs. Morland vehemently “yes--to pry into my
affairs and gossip over my changed circumstances. Ah! Frances, you
don’t know the world yet, thank Heaven; you look on it still with a
girl’s eyes, thoughtless and ignorant. No, you must not attempt to
question my judgment in such matters. I could not endure to be pitied.”
“Nor I, Mamma.”
“Then don’t put your acquaintances to the test,” said Mrs. Morland
bitterly.
Frances looked up with clear, wondering eyes.
“Would you rather I did not go to our Altruist meetings, then, Mamma?
You know, I’ve joined our little club again lately. Of course, all the
girls understand that I can be with them only once in a way, and that
I can’t make things for our stores, but they don’t seem to mind.”
A smile of pleasure brightened the girl’s face as she recalled the
enthusiasm which had greeted her return to the Altruists.
“By all means go to your meetings, child. It was not by my wish that
you left off doing so. And by all means attend regularly, and get
what fun you can in your dull life. As to the work, you shall not be
entirely empty-handed. You and I will set up a work-basket between us;
and if we have no new material, we can alter and cut down our own old
clothes.”
“Oh, Mamma, that would be lovely!” said Frances gratefully.
“I will look over your wardrobe this afternoon and bring down some
of the things you have quite outgrown. And, my dear, I wish you to
consider the matter of our meals as settled. We will all dine together,
and we shall have nice long evenings. Why, the Altruist work-basket
will be a positive blessing to me. You young people mustn’t be
surprised if I pay a visit to your study sometimes; it is just a little
lonely in my room after dark. I will sew while you are busy with your
lessons, and then we shall save a fire. We might let the kitchen fire
go out now and then after tea, and keep one in the sitting-room, so
that we could have an hour or two’s music. James has a nice voice--you
must teach him to sing.” ...
“Mamma!--mamma darling!” Frances had flown to Mrs. Morland. Their
cheeks were pressed together, their arms were about one another.
“There--you silly child! I have been thinking the old mother has been
out of everything long enough. Run away to your bedrooms; and before
you go, lend me your biggest apron. You shall see that I will soon
master the professional manner of washing breakfast-cups.”