An Overshadowed Happiness
DURING the week which followed Mr. Bailey's arrival Angel saw but
little of him, for he was much engaged upon business of his own, and
was in consequence away most of the days; but after a while he had
more leisure time on his hands, and the weather being unsettled and
chilly, was glad to be able to remain by the warm fireside. Thus one
cold morning at the beginning of December found him seated in an easy
chair near the fireplace reading the newspaper, whilst Angel pored
over a story-book in which she was deeply interested.
For a long while silence prevailed, but by-and-by Mr. Bailey turned
to his companion, and seeing how absorbed she was in her reading,
observed her with closer scrutiny. Surely, he thought, it was unusual
for a child of her years to be so very quiet. Had she no friends, he
wondered, no companions of her own age? And why was it she did not go
to school? Presently, becoming conscious his eyes were upon her, she
glanced up, and met his earnest gaze with a look of inquiry.
"Is that a very interesting book?" he asked kindly, with his pleasant
smile.
"Yes," she replied, "very. Mrs. Steer lent it to me."
"Do you do nothing but read all day long?" he questioned curiously.
"Why, you are a regular little bookworm! But I think you spend too
much time indoors! Little girls should have roses on their cheeks,
and you have none. You are far too pale! Have you no young friends,
my dear?"
"No, Uncle Edward; but I don't want young friends—at least sometimes
I think I should like some, not many, just a few, you know! I have
father, and Gerald, and—"
"But your father has his painting, so you really see but little
of him; and Gerald is at school. Why, you must spend the greatest
part of your days alone. How is it you don't go to school yourself?"
"I am going to school later on," she informed him hurriedly. "I—I
don't mind much not going now. You mustn't think I do!"
He surveyed her in puzzled silence, passing his hand through his
thick, grizzled hair, as she had noticed he had a trick of doing
if he failed to understand the situation.
"Youth is the time for learning," he remarked at length, "but, of
course, children do not realize that themselves. I remember when I
was a schoolboy how I used to idle the precious hours away; and many
a time since, I've regretted the opportunities I foolishly lost. Now,
my brother—your grandfather, you understand, Angel—was quite
different to me; he was always studying, and if he had lived long
enough he would have made a mark as a clergyman, for he was a fine
preacher, and popular with all who came in contact with him, besides
being most zealous in the work he had chosen. But it was not to be,
as you know, my dear; God took him away from his earthly labours when
he was barely thirty years of age."
"Yes; father has often told me how his father died when he was a
baby, and his mother did not live many years afterwards. It was very,
very sad!"
"It was God's will," Mr. Bailey said reverently, "and He knows best,
though we cannot always see His reasons for all He does; but it was
a great loss for your father to be thus bereft of both parents
at such an early age."
Angel had put down her book, and taken a chair close to Mr. Bailey's.
Already she was beginning to find out that he was a most interesting
companion.
"I know how good you were to father when he was a boy," she said
gently, "and that you paid his school-bills, and gave him
pocket-money, and—"
"Pooh, child! That was nothing. I was doing well in Australia and
could well afford to do the little I did for him. I must confess,
though, I was disappointed and vexed when I came home to England—more
than twenty years ago it was now—and found your father so set upon
being an artist. I would have liked him to join me in Australia, and
he should then have had a partnership in my business."
"Father would not like to be anything but an artist," Angel replied.
"He is a genius, and some day he will be famous!"
"Perhaps so, perhaps so! I am no judge of pictures myself, so I
cannot say; but the road to fame is not an easy one, my dear."
"No, indeed!" the little girl agreed readily, with a mournful shake
of her head. "We have always been poor," she proceeded with a sudden
burst of confidence, "always! And it is not nice to be poor, and owe
people money! Mother used to say our debts haunted her; she thought
of them the first thing in the morning and the last thing at night!
Oh, I ought not to tell you this, but—" And Angel broke off suddenly,
a burning blush dying her face from brow to chin, whilst her grey
eyes were suffused with tears.
Mr. Bailey laid a kind hand on her shoulder, and gave her a
sympathetic pat; his ruddy face evinced much concern, but no
surprise.
"Never mind, my dear," he said, and his voice sounded deeper than
ever, "you're a brave little maid, and there are brighter days
coming, I hope."
"I'm not brave at all," Angel responded, with a rather tearful smile,
"but mother was. She never let father see when she was worried,
because it troubled him if she was unhappy, and she never bothered
him about things more than she could help."
"I should have liked to have known your mother," Mr. Bailey remarked
thoughtfully, "I believe she and I would have been friends. I wish
I had returned to England sooner; perhaps I might have made things
easier for her, but as it is—" He paused abruptly for a moment, then
asked, "Did you ever hear of a place called Wreyford, Angel?"
"No—yes—I am not certain. I seem to know the name."
"Wreyford is the town where your grandfather and I were born and
bred, a quiet country town it was then; it may be altered now. Our
home was called 'Haresdown House'; once it was our own property,
but it was sold at my father's death. I've a mind to see the old
place once again, and so I've determined to go and have a look at it,
and ascertain if it is as desirable a residence as I used to consider
it in my early years. What do you say to going with me, my dear?"
"Oh!" cried Angel in great astonishment, "do you mean it, Uncle
Edward? Oh, I should like it! Is Wreyford near London?"
"No; it is a good distance away, in the west of England—in Somerset.
I should like to have a look around the district, so we should be
away several days. It would be a nice little trip for you, eh?"
"It would be delightful! Oh, I hope father will let me go! How kind
of you, Uncle Edward! I have never been away from London all my
life."
"Is that really so, Angel? Yes, you poor child! Well, I will tell
your father what I propose doing, and hear what he has to say.
I suppose he and your brother will be able to get on without you
for a short while?"
He spoke banteringly, but Angel took his remark seriously, and
answered with great gravity—
"I don't know, but I should think they might. What will Gerald say
when he knows where I am going? He will want to go instead of me."
And a slight shadow dimmed the happiness of her face.
"He will not be so selfish, I should hope," Mr. Bailey returned,
"and, besides, he has his duties at school to attend to. No, if you
cannot go with me, my dear, I most certainly shall not dream
of taking Gerald."
"And you think we shall be away several days, Uncle Edward?"
"Most probably. If the weather is fine, and not too cold, we need not
hurry over our trip. Wreyford is beautifully situated, and has a mild
climate. How strange it will be going back after so many years."
Angel was silent. In reality she was in a great state of excitement,
but she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, and her eyes fastened
on the shabby carpet, whilst she thought of the treat in store
for her. The idea of a change of scene had all the charm of novelty.
How wonderful to think that a month ago she had not known Uncle
Edward! Already she trusted him implicitly, and felt he was her
sincere friend.
By-and-by they went upstairs to the studio and unfolded their plans
to her father. Mr. Willis listened good-humouredly; the prospect
of his uncle and Angel going for a holiday together appeared to
amuse him.
"Why, what makes you want to take Angel, Uncle Edward?" he exclaimed.
"Oh, I don't mind her going in the least, but—"
"The change will do her good," Mr. Bailey interposed hastily; "she
leads a dull life, I fear, with no companions of her own age. Give
her into my charge for a few days; I will take good care of her."
"That I am sure you will!" Mr. Willis agreed readily. "Well, child,"
he proceeded, laying his hand on his little daughter's shoulder,
"do you want to desert me?"
"No, father; but if you think you can spare me I should so like to go
with Uncle Edward," she answered, lifting a pair of wistful eyes
to his face. "I should like to see the house where grandfather lived
when he was a boy, and—oh, it would be such a treat altogether!
Do say I may go," she added coaxingly.
"Well, then, I suppose I must. Uncle Edward is right, you have a dull
life; but it will be different when I send you to school."
"Oh yes," she agreed happily, "you must not think I mind being dull.
Of course, I can't help feeling lonely when you are at work up here
and Gerald is at school. Have you ever been to Wreyford, father?"
"No, my dear, but perhaps I may go there some day. I, too, should
like to see the place where my ancestors lived. You must keep your
eyes open so as to be able to tell me all about it."
"Indeed I will. To think I am really going into the country! It seems
too wonderful to be true! I wonder what Gerald will think!"
Angel was soon to know what Gerald thought, for when he returned from
school she naturally greeted him with the news of her impending
journey. She Was alone in the sitting-room when she heard him come
running upstairs, whistling softly the while and as he entered
she cried excitedly—
"Oh, Gerald! Guess where I am going! But no—you never will. Uncle
Edward is going to take me to Wreyford with him—that's where
grandfather was born, you know—and we shall be away several days."
"Uncle Edward is going to take you with him!" he exclaimed.
"Nonsense, Angel! You're joking!"
"Indeed I am not! It's quite true! Father says I may go. Won't it be
nice for me? Wreyford is in the country—in Somerset." Angel paused
suddenly seeing a cloud upon her brother's brow. "I shan't be away
long," she continued, "only a few days. And you won't miss me much,
because you will be at school."
Gerald, who was reflecting that he would have to do his lessons
without assistance during his sister's absence, made no reply.
He looked rather sulky, wondering why Uncle Edward wanted Angel's
company, and a feeling of jealousy crept into his heart, for he would
have much liked to go with Mr. Bailey to Wreyford himself.
"Aren't you glad, Gerald?" his sister asked, a trifle wistfully.
"You don't mind because we are not both going, do you?"
"Of course not!" he snapped irritably. "But I can't think how you got
around Uncle Edward to make him ask you instead of me," he added with
a frown.
"I didn't get around him at all," she protested indignantly. "What do
you mean? He said if I could not go he should not dream of taking
you." Then, noting that he was considerably taken aback at this piece
of information, she was regretful she had repeated Mr. Bailey's
words, and said quickly, "I am so sorry you are not going too,
Gerald."
"I don't believe you are!" he retorted. "Girls always get the best
of everything," he went on in grumbling tones. "See what easy times
you have when I'm working hard at school all day long!"
"I would far rather be at school," she assured him eagerly; but he
only shook his head and declined to believe her statement.
She was disappointed, and hurt that her brother evinced no joy at the
thought of the pleasant trip she was anticipating with such delight;
but she reminded herself that it was quite natural he should be vexed
at having to remain at home, and tried not to let his lack of
sympathy damp her spirits. Perhaps Gerald was rather ashamed that he
had allowed his sister a glimpse of the real state of his feelings,
for he was more than usually gracious to her during the evening which
followed; and after his lessons were finished, challenged her to a
game of draughts, and showed no ill-humour, as he frequently did when
she beat him.
Then the projected journey to Wreyford was discussed again, and
Mr. Bailey waxed eloquent as he talked of his early home, and told
amusing anecdotes of his young days, when he and the children's
grandfather had been mischievous spirited boys.
"I hope the place is not much altered," he said, "but I suppose
I must expect to find it is. I sometimes think I should like to end
my days in my native town."
"Do you mean you contemplate living there?" Mr. Willis asked,
regarding his uncle with some surprise. "From what I have heard
of Wreyford, I imagine it is a very quiet place."
"I do not care for bustle," Mr. Bailey answered; "but I shall see,
I shall see! I have not yet settled what my plans for the future
will be. To-morrow, Angel, you and I must decide when we shall go."
Angel met his kindly glance with a smile which faded, however, the
instant she turned her eyes to her brother's face. Gerald was looking
cross and envious again, as though he begrudged the pleasure in store
for her, and her happiness was overshadowed immediately. She felt she
would rather remain at home, and let him take her place; but she did
not like to suggest the change after Mr. Bailey's decisive remark
to the effect that he should not take Gerald with him anyway.
Later in the evening she found an opportunity of speaking to her
brother without being overheard by her father or uncle.
"Gerald," she whispered, "if you would rather, I will not go
to Wreyford with Uncle Edward, I will stay at home."
"What would be the good of that?" he asked impatiently, never
guessing what a sacrifice it was she was willing to make. "I shan't
go if you don't. Oh, don't make a fuss Angel!"
She had no intention of doing that, but she felt as though Gerald
had spoilt her happiness. She told herself he was selfish and unkind,
and shed a few bitter tears after she was in bed at the remembrance
of his manner and words; then her heart softened towards him, and she
determined not to be resentful to him the following day. Had she not
solemnly promised her dying mother to be loving and patient with
Gerald? Angel had a very faithful heart, and she meant to keep
her word.