Uncle Edward's Offer
GERALD came down late to breakfast the following morning when the
meal was more than half over. One glance at his face was enough to
show Angel that he had not overcome his ill-temper. He muttered a few
apologetic words to the effect that he had overslept himself as he
took his place at the table, and cast a look of disgust at the rasher
of bacon upon his plate.
"You have only yourself to blame if your breakfast is cold," his
father told him; "I am afraid it is not very appetizing now. If you
don't care for the bacon, have some bread and butter and marmalade
instead."
"I am not hungry," the boy replied, as he sipped his lukewarm coffee;
"I don't want any breakfast."
"Are you not well?" Mr. Willis asked, with a glance of inquiry at his
son's sullen countenance.
"Quite well, thank you, father."
"Then I am afraid you must have got out of bed the wrong side this
morning," Mr. Willis remarked; "you had better change your mind, and
eat something, or you will be starving long before dinner-time.—There
seems very little hope of the fog clearing," he proceeded, turning
his attention to Mr. Bailey; "I believe you will have to content
yourself in the house to-day, uncle."
"I can do that very well," was the cheerful response. "Shall you be
very busy this morning, John, or can you spare me an hour? I want
to have a talk with you."
"I can give you as much time as you like, uncle, for there will be
no light for painting. If you will join me in my studio after
breakfast, we shall be quite undisturbed."
Mr. Bailey nodded; and as soon as the meal was over followed his
nephew from the room.
"I wonder what Uncle Edward wants to talk to father about," Gerald
exclaimed curiously, the moment he was alone with his sister. "Do you
know, Angel?"
"No, I haven't the least idea," she replied promptly, "How we shall
miss Uncle Edward when he leaves, shan't we?"
"You will; you've seen more of him than I have. You're his
favourite."
"Oh, Gerald, I wish you wouldn't say that!" Angel cried in vexation.
"Of course I've seen more of him than you have, because you've been
at school all day; but I'm sure he's quite as kind to you as he is
to me."
"He took you to Wreyford with him, anyway."
"You know why that was."
"Because he likes you better than me!"
Angel made no response. She was deeply pained at her brother's
jealous tone, and it was with difficulty she restrained the angry
words which trembled on her lips.
"I suppose it's about time I started for school," the boy proceeded,
"and I'm not perfect in one of my lessons. There'll sure to be a row,
and it'll be all your fault, Angel, for being so selfish and
disobliging last night."
Saying which, Gerald snatched up his bag of books and left the room,
slamming the door after him. His sister listened to his footsteps
descending the stairs, her heart full of indignation. Fond as she was
of her brother, she could not blind herself to the injustice of his
remarks; she had hoped he would have overcome his resentment against
her by the morning, and her grief at the unkind spirit he was
evincing towards her was eclipsed by her anger at his jealousy.
Mr. Bailey and his nephew spent the morning together in the latter's
studio, whilst Angel remained disconsolately in the sitting-room.
It was miserable, depressing weather, and as the little girl gazed
out into the thick fog she sighed regretfully, thinking of the sunny
days she had spent at Wreyford, and wishing it was her lot in life
to dwell in the country.
Towards noon the fog lifted somewhat, so that after the midday meal
Mr. Bailey was tempted by the clearing atmosphere to go out. Angel
was prepared to spend the afternoon alone, for she thought her father
would desire to make the most of the short spell of daylight they
were likely to have; but, much to her surprise and pleasure,
he remained in the sitting-room, and, seating himself in the easy
chair by the fireplace, called her to his side.
"I want to have a confidential talk with you, little daughter,"
he said affectionately, as she took her favourite place on a stool
at his feet, and rested her head against his knee; "tell me some more
about your doings this past week."
She obeyed willingly, delighted to find with what close attention
he listened to her. She told him everything she could think of, and
entered into all the trifling details of her visit, to all of which
he lent an attentive ear, occasionally asking a question, but for the
most part allowing her to talk undisturbed.
"Would you like to live at Wreyford?" he inquired presently.
"Oh, indeed I should!" she replied readily.
"At Haresdown House, for instance?"
"Yes," she nodded; "I think it will be a lovely place when Uncle
Edward has had the house done up, and the shrubs in the front garden
cut down a bit. Mrs. Mickle said she thought it was rather lonely
because it stands by itself, you know, with no other house in sight,
but I am sure I should not be half so lonely there as here
in London."
Mr. Willis gave an involuntary sigh, which caused Angel to glance up
at him quickly. To her surprise he was looking unusually grave and
thoughtful.
"Poor people are generally lonely in London," he remarked a little
sadly. "You are right, Angel. I wish I could afford to make a home
for you in the country, but, you see, it is necessary I should be
in town at present, whilst I have so much illustrating work and
sketches for papers to do."
"Oh, I know, father. I dare say some day, when you are rich and
famous, it will not matter where you live, and then we will have
a beautiful home in the country too."
He smiled, and stroked her hair with a tender hand. Being naturally
of a sanguine temperament himself, he always hoped for the best; and
though success was long in coming, he believed it would come, so he
seldom discouraged Angel when she began to build castles in the air.
"Ah, yes," he said, "but meanwhile I must remain where I am—until my
picture is finished, at any rate. Now I want to tell you what Uncle
Edward was talking about this morning. He was telling me what a
lonely life you lead, my dear, and how wrong it is that your
education should be neglected, and that you ought to go to school
like other little girls."
"Oh, father!"
"He is quite right, but perhaps I had not altogether realized these
facts until he put them to me so plainly. You lead an unnatural life
for a child of your years; if your dear mother had been spared to us
it would have been different. I am afraid I am a bad manager, but
really by the time the household accounts are paid, and Gerald's
school bill, I never seem to have any money in hand." and Mr. Willis,
who was one of the most unbusiness-like men in the world, shook his
head dolefully. "Uncle Edward says I ought to send Gerald to a less
expensive school, and that he is growing up selfish and extravagant,"
he added, after a slight pause.
"Oh, father!" Angel was commencing protestingly, when the remembrance
of her brother's treatment of her since her return the preceding
night made her pause, and reflect that there was some truth in
Mr. Bailey's remarks. Then, too, she knew that though Gerald was
given a generous allowance of pocket-money every week, he was always
asking for more, and rarely spent a penny on any one but himself.
"Uncle Edward is very fond of you, Angel," Mr. Willis told her;
"he says you are so very companionable and sensible. Now, I am coming
to the really important part of what he said. He wants you to make
your home with him at Haresdown House, and then he will send you
to school, and—"
"And what did you say, father?" Angel broke in impetuously. "Didn't
you tell him it was impossible, quite impossible?"
"No, my dear; I don't know that it is."
"Oh, father!" the little girl cried reproachfully, "as though I could
ever bear to leave you and Gerald! You don't want to send me away
from you, do you?"
"No, certainly not; but I must think of your ultimate good. Uncle
Edward is most kind, most generous, and he would give you a happy
home; you would go to school, and have friends of your own age, and—"
"Oh, father!" Angel interrupted again; "I can't bear to think of it.
Nothing would make up to me for being separated from you and Gerald.
I don't think mother would like it, I don't indeed," and her eyes
filled with tears, whilst her lips trembled piteously. "Don't send me
away from you," she said imploringly, as she rose and twined her arms
around his neck; "don't! Who would mend your stockings if I was not
here? And wouldn't you miss me? You said you did when I was
at Wreyford for only one little week."
"Yes," Mr. Willis admitted, looking troubled; "but I must not be
selfish, my dear."
"Oh, father, you couldn't be that! You never are! Then, there's
Gerald. Think of him! Who help him with his lessons, and—"
"Ah, Angel, that is a mistake too. You help Gerald a great deal more
than is good for him; if you remain at home, I must put a stop
to your doing so much for your brother."
"Oh no, father! I like helping him. I do indeed. And I promised
mother before she died that I would be good to him. But do say you
mean to keep me with you. Oh, I wish I had never, never said how much
I liked the country!"
"Don't wish that. Think over Uncle Edward's offer, child. You like
him, do you not? Yes, I know you do. Of course you would feel the
separation from Gerald and me at first, but consider what a pleasant
time you would have at Wreyford. You would have everything that your
heart could desire; it's my opinion that Uncle Edward would spoil you
terribly."
"I could not bear it, I could not!" Angel cried, the tears coursing
down her cheeks. "Oh, father, do let me stay with you! How can you
think of sending me away when you know it would break my heart?"
And overcome with grief the little girl sobbed bitterly.
Much distressed at the sight of her emotion, Mr. Willis soothed her
as best he could. He kissed her tenderly, at the same time assuring
her she should not leave him against her will.
"I told Uncle Edward the acceptance or refusal of his offer must rest
with you," he said, when, much comforted, she reseated herself on the
stool at his feet; "still, I could do no other than point out to you
the many advantages you would reap by going to live with him
at Haresdown House; but I shall not part with my little daughter
without she herself wishes it, because she is very dear to me, and
though it wouldn't break my heart to send her away if it was for her
good, yet I should feel doing so very deeply."
"How glad I am to hear you say that!" Angel exclaimed, her
tear-stained face brightening into a smile. "Because, sometimes,
I wish I was clever like Gerald, and it makes me unhappy to think how
stupid I am; but if only you love me, father, and let me stay with
you, I don't care for anything else."
"You are not stupid," Mr. Willis told her with an amused laugh;
"indeed, you have a very wise head upon a young pair of shoulders."
"But I can't draw," Angel said, "and I know you are sorry I can't.
I have heard you say lots of times that I have missed the artistic
temperament."
"Well, perhaps I am a little disappointed on that account,"
Mr. Willis allowed with an amused twinkle in his eyes; "but you have
other excellent qualities which may serve you as well, if not
better."
"Mother used to say God gave different talents to different people,"
Angel remarked thoughtfully, "but I don't know that I have any
particular talent."
"I believe you have one—perhaps more; but I am certain you have one."
"What is it?" she asked eagerly.
"A talent for happiness," he replied, with a smile.
"Oh, father, that is nothing!" she cried in disappointed tones.
"Nothing, is it? I think it's something worth cherishing with the
greatest care. To possess a talent for happiness you must be blessed
with a contented spirit."
"Mother used to say that if we believed God did everything for the
best we should always be contented."
"She was right. You must never forget her teaching. I love to hear
you quote her so often."
Father and daughter spent the remainder of the afternoon very happily
together; the time passed so quickly that both were surprised when
Gerald returned from school, although he was later than usual. His
temper had not improved, for he had been in hot water on account
of his not having prepared his home-work properly, and he had
consequently a long imposition to do that evening, besides his usual
lessons. When informed by his father of Mr. Bailey's offer to Angel,
and her refusal of it, he expressed great surprise.
"I only wish Uncle Edward would ask me to go and live with him
at Haresdown House!" he exclaimed. "Don't you think I might go
instead of Angel, father?"
"I should not dream of suggesting it," Mr. Willis replied, at which
the boy's face fell.
"You wouldn't like to leave us, would you, Gerald?" Angel questioned
somewhat reproachfully.
"Wreyford is not so very far from here," he said evasively,
refraining from giving a direct answer. "It would be so much jollier
in the country. It's a pity we can't all leave London. What a silly
you are not to want to go with Uncle Edward, Angel; still, I'm glad
you've made up your mind to stay at home; it isn't like the same
place when you're away!"
The little girl's eyes shone with happiness at this remark;
she failed to grasp the vein of selfishness running through it,
but her father did, and his face expressed the displeasure he felt.
A short while later Mr. Bailey returned, and Mr. Willis at once told
him Angel had decided to remain in her London home.
"It is not that I don't love you," Angel said, as she saw the
disappointment in her uncle's countenance, "because I do. But I can't
leave father and Gerald; I can't indeed. Oh, please don't
think I don't understand how kind you are, and how good—"
"Kind! Good! Nonsense!" Mr. Bailey cried. "I am nothing of the kind.
I'm a selfish old man, my dear, that's what I am. I think I knew
in my heart what your decision would be; I won't say though I'm not
disappointed, because I am. I should have tried to make you happy
at Haresdown House; but never mind, never mind. You shall come and
visit me—all of you—whenever you like. John—" turning to his nephew
with a beaming smile— "when the great picture is finished you'll
deserve a holiday, and I mean to see you take it."
Gerald had listened to all this with great interest, half hoping
Mr. Bailey would transfer his offer from Angel to himself, but such
an idea apparently never crossed his uncle's mind. The boy was very
silent during the evening, but when his sister offered her assistance
with his lessons, he was only too glad to accept it; and after his
work was finished, he grew better tempered, and Angel, being not
in the least resentful, was only too glad to make friends with him
again, and thus peace was restored.