AN UNWELCOME GUEST.
Denys had undertaken, at the earnest request of the woman at the
Landslip Cottage, to take care of Harry as far as to Mixham Junction,
where his uncle would meet him.
She was on her way to the Landslip cottage to make sure that the
arrangements for meeting Harry at the station the following day were
all complete, a duty which had obliged her to give up a two hours'
drive with Mrs. Henchman, Audrey and Gertrude, who had all gone with a
friend of Mrs. Henchman's.
Denys had, however, scarcely entered the Landslip road when she
encountered little Harry and his kind friend, and being thus saved
more than an hour's walk, she arrived back at Mrs. Henchman's house
much sooner than she had expected.
Mary opened the door for her, and Denys was struck by her woebegone,
weary face. For a moment Denys hesitated, thinking of that accusation
of interference, thinking of Mary's constant ungraciousness to her,
but she pushed the remembrance aside and said kindly, "Is anything the
matter, Mary? You look so sad."
Tears sprang into Mary's eyes at the unexpected interest.
"It's my head, Miss," she said, "one of my bad headaches, and its so
unfortunate to-day, because my brother is just coming home for this
one evening, and Mrs. Henchman was going to let me go special, and by
after tea I sha'n't be able to hold my head up, and I've not seen him
for two years, and he's my favourite."
"Perhaps you can see him to-morrow," suggested Denys.
"No, Miss; he's a gentleman's servant, he is, and he's always
travelling about. It was just this one chance, and now I've missed
it."
"I've some headache pills--they are wonderful for nervous headaches.
You would not like to try them, would you?" asked Denys. "Mother has
these dreadful nervous headaches and nothing else has ever been any
good to her."
"I'd try them, Miss, and be thankful."
Denys ran upstairs and came back to the kitchen, "Could you not just
lie down for half-an-hour's sleep?" she said, "you might wake up with
it all gone."
Mary shook her head dolefully.
"It's the milkman, Miss, and I wouldn't hear the door bell in my
room."
Denys laughed.
"I have attended on the milkman before now, and I can open the front
door if necessary," said she cheerfully. "Now run away upstairs, and
I'll call you in plenty of time to get the tea ready. I don't suppose
I had better undertake that!"
"You are real good, Miss," said Mary gratefully, "if I do see my
brother to-night, I shall tell him it was all your doing."
Denys smiled to herself happily as she went back to the dining-room,
and sat down to write to Charlie and to listen for the door bell. She
had hated to go away with the remembrance of Mary's unpleasant looks,
and the little bit of sympathy she had offered had turned Mary into a
friend.
When Denys and Gertrude arrived at the station the next day, little
Harry was already there, smiling and radiant. He greeted Denys as
a very old friend, and did not appear to be the least homesick. The
journey was of the most intense interest to him, till at last the rush
and roar of the train made him drowsy, and he climbed contentedly into
Denys's arms and fell asleep.
Denys sat watching him for a long time, wondering what his new life
was to be, and she was somewhat surprised to find Gertrude's eyes also
fixed upon the little face.
"I hope the people that child is going to will be good to him," she
said. "What do you know about them?"
"Nothing!" said Denys. "His mother said her brother had promised to
take him, but she had never seen the wife. Perhaps we shall see her
at Mixham, but anyhow, we can't do anything except look him up now and
then."
"Humph!" said Gertrude, "I should pity anybody who was in charge of
the woman who washes at the house at the bottom of our garden. _She_
comes from Mixham; Pattie used to be engaged to her brother. She looks
a perfect vixen."
"Used to be engaged?" repeated Denys, startled. "You don't mean to say
it is broken off? Poor Pattie!"
"Not poor Pattie at all," answered Gertrude sharply. "_He_ was as poor
as anything, and his isn't the sort of trade where they ever get much
money. Why, here's Mixham! Where's that child's hat? Wake up, Tommy,
or Harry, or whatever your name is!"
Jim Adams, as he had promised, had come down to meet Harry, and if he
had been asked what sort of a child he was going to look for, he would
have pointed to one of a dozen little urchins, playing up and down his
own street, and said that boys were all alike.
So, as he was looking for a nondescript boy in knickers and jacket and
cap and heavy boots, it was little wonder that he looked in vain
among the crowd of travellers who poured out of the big train on the
Junction platform, and he was proportionately surprised when a young
lady with red-brown hair and a sweet face touched him on the arm.
"Do you happen to be Mr. Jim Adams?" she asked in her soft, pretty
voice.
Jim gasped as he looked down at her, and saw the child she was holding
by the hand. A child in petticoats, almost a baby it seemed to him,
with a little black kilted frock and sailor coat, and a big white hat
with a black ribbon, and underneath it, golden curls and the sweetest
little face he had ever seen since last he saw his sister Nellie's
face!
He knew it in a moment, and his heart went out to the child with an
intensity of love that astonished even himself, and an awful sort of
choke came into his throat as he stooped and lifted Nellie's child in
his arms.
"Hullo! little chap! I'm Uncle Jim," he said.
Harry looked at him approvingly.
"I'm going to live along with you!" he said. "Mother's gone away," he
added mournfully.
The clasp of Jim's arms tightened on the little fellow.
"I'm going to look after you now," he whispered. Then he remembered
Denys's presence and he turned to her.
"Thank you for bringing him up, Miss. They say as you was very kind to
my poor sister, and I thank you for that too. I'll do my best by the
little chap."
"There was one thing," said Denys, hesitatingly. It did not seem
so easy to say as she had thought. The handsome, tall young workman
before her took away her breath somewhat, and she wished she had
written what Nellie Lyon had particularly asked her to impress upon
Jim.
"Yes, Miss," said Jim wonderingly.
"She wanted him to be brought up an abstainer," explained Denys, "as
she and you were brought up."
Jim's eyes dropped.
"Yes," he said after a moment, "Yes, he shall, and so shall my own
baby! I'll give 'em all the chance I can to start right. I've been
trying to do without anything myself for this two months," he added,
with a shy little laugh.
"I'm glad of that--we were all brought up so," said Denys, heartily,
"now Mr. Adams, I may come and see Harry if I am in Mixham any time,
mayn't I? He's such a dear, lovable little chap."
"That you may, Miss! any time," cried Jim earnestly, "and I thank you
once again, and I'll do my best--every way."
He strode off with Harry still in his arms, well pleased with his new
possession, and turned his steps towards home. But as he drew nearer
to his own door, his speed slackened. What sort of a welcome would
Jane give him--and the child?
He had the sense to put him down and let him walk into his new home,
and so, hand in hand, the big uncle and the little nephew presented
themselves before Jane.
She looked at the pair for a moment in silence, and then burst into a
loud, ironical laugh.
"I always knew you were a cheat, Jim Adams! You talked enough about
your sister's _boy_ and you've brought a baby in petticoats."
"I'm not a baby--I'm going in four," said Harry gravely, "that's a
baby in there," pointing to the cradle. He crossed the room and looked
curiously down at the baby, and the baby, pleased with the kind little
face, laughed and threw out its arms.
"Can't I have him out to play with? He likes me," cried Harry, "look,
Uncle Jim, he's pulling my finger."
Jim lifted out his baby and sat down, and Harry stood beside him, lost
in admiration.
"Well, this _is_ a nice set-out," said Jane crossly, as she looked at
the happy little trio, "the first thing you do, Jim Adams, is to get
that boy some breeches. _I'm_ not going to wash a lot of petticoats."
She stooped and lifted Harry's frock--the little black frock that
Nellie had prepared weeks ago, ready for this very time, knowing that
there would be no one to buy mourning for her child.
Jane examined the petticoats, and her face relaxed a little.
"Humph!" she said, "they're not such bad petticoats! They'll do for
baby finely. You can sell the frock, if you like, Jim Adams, _that's_
no good to me, and it will help towards the breeches."
"Indeed I won't," answered Jim fiercely, "if I part with the frock,
I'll _give_ it away. Who made your pretty frock, Harry, boy?"
Harry looked down at himself proudly.
"My mother made that," he said, "that's my bestest frock. She made it
ages ago, but she wouldn't never let me wear it."
Jim's eyes filled and he turned hastily to the window that Jane might
not perceive it.
"Don't you part with that frock, Jane," he said.
Jane snorted.
"Tea's ready!" she said ungraciously.
The meal was about half through when she started a new subject.
"Where's the brat's bed?" said she.
"His bed?" repeated Jim, helplessly.
"His bed," she reiterated, "I suppose you thought he'd share the
baby's cradle!"
Jim kept what he had thought to himself.
"You must go and get one somewhere," decreed his wife.
Jim rose obediently and went downstairs. In about half an hour he
returned with his arms full of irons, blankets and bedding.
"Here, Harry, boy," he said, "uncle's got a jolly little bed for you!"
"Where did you get that?" demanded Jane.