AN AFTERNOON'S EXPERIENCES.
HALDON village consisted of about a score of thatched cottages, dotted
around a large square of waste ground always spoken of as Haldon Green.
At one side of the Green was the parish church. Close by, between the
churchyard and the vicarage, was the schoolroom, a modern red brick
building where the entertainment for the villagers was to be held on
Christmas Eve.
As Mrs. Coker's well-known pony-carriage, drawn by the no less
well-known brown pony, Bess, drew up before the post office, which
was also the one shop of the place where groceries and household
commodities could be obtained, heads appeared at the cottage windows;
and a group of children, who had been playing a game of "last-touch"
on the Green, drew near in anticipation of being spoken to by the
occupants of the carriage—Mrs. Coker and Miss Lilian.
"Will one of you hold Bess, please?" Mrs. Coker asked with a smile. And
immediately a roguish-looking urchin stepped forward and took up his
post at the pony's head.
Mrs. Coker and Lilian alighted. The former had a word for each of the
children; and the latter, though she only smiled upon them, left behind
her a pleasant impression of sweetness and goodwill as she followed her
mother into the post office.
"My! Don't I wish I was Miss Lilian to have such grand clothes to
wear!" exclaimed one little maiden, who had been struck with admiration
by Lilian's fur-trimmed jacket and cap to match.
"Oh, you forget!" cried another. "For my part, I'd rather be without
the grand clothes, and be able to see. She has been blind all her life,
as we all know, and always will be—my mother does charing at the Hall,
and the servants there told her so."
A hush fell upon the little group, and no one spoke further of envying
the blind child. And when she appeared again, they regarded her with
a kind of reverence, wondering how, when God had laid such a heavy
affliction upon her, she could appear so bright and happy.
The children watched with the greatest interest as Mrs. Coker and her
little daughter went from cottage to cottage, the latter running to and
from the pony-carriage with the various parcels she herself had helped
to pack.
In the last cottage they visited was a very old woman, who sat by the
fireside, bent nearly double with rheumatism. Her name was Nannie
Davey. She lived by herself, and had the unenviable reputation of being
the worst-tempered person in the parish. For her there was a small
Christmas pudding, and some warm garments which Mrs. Coker had made.
"Are you coming to the entertainment in the schoolroom on Christmas
Eve, Nannie?" inquired Mrs. Coker, after Nannie had thanked her with
real gratitude for her kindness.
"I'm too old, ma'am," Nannie responded, as she felt the comfortable new
clothing she held on her lap. "A poor, helpless body like me is best at
home."
"Oh, no!" cried Lilian eagerly. "You must come, Nannie, if you possibly
can, indeed you must! It will quite spoil my pleasure to know that you
are spending Christmas Eve alone!"
"Oh, my pretty dear, it's good of you to care about me," said the old
woman, "but—"
"I want you to be happy," Lilian interposed, "especially at Christmas
time! Oh, I hope you'll make up your mind to come!"
"I'll come missie," Nannie replied—"that is, if I'm well enough; but I
never can tell one day how I may be the next."
The old woman hobbled out to the door of her cottage after her
visitors, and saw them take their seats in the pony-carriage and drive
off. Lilian smiled and waved her hand to the children, who watched
their departure, and called out to them in her bright clear voice:
"Good-bye! Mind you're all at the schoolroom in good time for tea on
Christmas Eve! Don't forget!"
"No fear of that," remarked the little girl whose mother did charing at
the Hall. "As though we should be likely to forget, indeed!"
Then her eyes fell upon Nannie Davey standing in the doorway of her
cottage, with a gentler expression upon her face than it usually wore,
and she said to her: "Miss Lilian doesn't look blind, does she? And yet
they say she will never see as long as she lives!"
"Poor dear," murmured the old woman; "but there, she doesn't need
pity—she's one of the happiest children I ever knew, and so thoughtful
for other folks, too!"
Meanwhile Mrs. Coker and Lilian were homeward bound, and Bess, being
fully conscious of the fact, trotted over the ground as fast as she
could go—not so fast as she would have liked, perhaps, for the roads
were slippery with frost, and the driver had to keep a tight hand on
the reins, especially going downhill.
"Shall we stop and see Mrs. Wills?" inquired the little girl, as they
approached Westhill.
"No, not this afternoon, my dear. I should like to be home before dark,
and the light is fading fast."
So they drove past Westhill, to the disappointment of Lilian, who
had looked forward to a chat with Mrs. Wills. But, just beyond, Mrs.
Coker pulled up to speak to an aged man, who, accompanied by a large,
fierce-looking sheep-dog, was making his way slowly-towards the farm.
"It's Jeffry," she said to Lilian. "How are you, Jeffry?" she inquired.
"Quite well, thank you, ma'am," he replied. "I hope you and Miss Lilian
are the same?"
"Yes, thank you," Mrs. Coker answered. "You are not to be at the
entertainment on Christmas Eve, I understand," she proceeded. "Mrs.
Wills told me, when I last saw her, that you had kindly offered to
remain at home in order that the rest of the household may be at the
schoolroom. You will not be forgotten, however; Mrs. Wills will bring
you a present from the Christmas tree."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Jeffry. "Yes, I've promised to keep house
during the others' absence," he went on; "the farmer doesn't like to
lock up."
"You will have Wolf for company," remarked Lilian. "Is Wolf here?" she
asked.
"Yes, missie," the old man replied. "Ah, he heard you mention his name!
There he is, close to you, hoping you'll give him a word."
The dog had approached Lilian's side of the carriage, and was waiting
with an expectant expression on his face for her to notice him. The
little girl put out her hand and patted his rough head, speaking to him
in endearing terms, whereupon, he licked the bare patch of skin between
her glove and the sleeve of her jacket.
"You wouldn't think he was savage, would you, ma'am?" said Jeffrey.
"No, indeed!" responded Mrs. Coker. She was watching the child and the
dog with smiling eyes.
"Savage?" cried Lilian. "Why, he's a dear quiet old fellow!"
Jeffry chuckled. "He may be to you, missie—I see he is—but he's not to
everyone. He won't allow a stranger in the yard after dusk, and folks
about here are mostly in fear of him. He's been keeping guard over my
coat all the afternoon, and if any one had dared touch it, he'd have
flown at that body in a minute."
Jeffry was a faithful old servant who lived at the farm. Age prevented
his doing hard labour now; but he was a much-valued dependent, for
he was thoroughly trustworthy, and Mr. Wills found him light jobs of
work about the place. This afternoon he had been trimming hedges, and
carried a reaping-hook in one hand.
"I'm sure he is a faithful doggie," said Lilian; and Wolf raised his
eyes to her face and beamed at her.
"Oh, yes, he's faithful," Jeffry agreed, "and he can be very gentle
and sweet-tempered on occasions; but he looks just like a wild animal
when he shows his teeth and snarls. Why, here's Miss Nellie!" he cried
with an abrupt change of tone, as a small figure came flying round the
corner. "Where's she running at such a rate, I wonder!"
"Something has happened, I fear!" exclaimed Mrs. Coker, in accents
of alarm. "What is it, Nellie?" she inquired anxiously, as the child
approached them.
Nellie was breathless and her cheeks were nearly as red as the
"tam-o'-shanter," she wore, which had slipped far back on her curly
head.
"Oh," she gasped, as she stopped by the side of the pony-carriage, "I
mustn't stay a minute, I must get on! I'm going to Westhill to tell
Mrs. Wills—we're afraid she'll be dreadfully angry, and it was really
my fault—"
"What was your fault?" interposed her mother. "What has happened?
Explain, Nellie."
"Bob Wills has met with an accident, mother. He might have been
drowned, but he wasn't; he's all right, except that he's soaking wet,
and all of a shiver. Oh. I do hope he'll hurry and not catch his death
of cold! If he does, I-I shall never get over it!" And Nellie finished
her sentence with an excited sob.
"You have been to the pond in the lower meadow, and Bob has fallen into
the water?" questioned Mrs. Coker.
"I pushed him in," admitted Nellie. "Oh, mother, I didn't think the ice
would give way."
"What took you to the pond? I quite thought you had gone with your
father this afternoon!"
"Yes, mother. Father took us to see the Christmas tree cut down, and
Bob was there and Farmer Wills too. We selected the tree—such a pretty
shape it is, not too tall, but with nice thick branches. And, after it
had been cut down, father and Farmer Wills went off together and told
us to go home—father had asked Bob back to tea with us. Then Bob said
there was a coating of ice on the pond in the lower meadow, and we
thought we'd go and have a look at it; so we did. It looked quite firm,
and the stones we threw at it just slid along and didn't go through;
but I remembered that father had said it wouldn't bear properly for a
few days, so I wouldn't go on it, though the boys did. They laughed
at me and said I was afraid, but I think they were a bit afraid
themselves, for they kept close to the edge. I didn't say anything,
but I was vexed, and by-and-by, when Bob came up close to where I was
standing, I gave him a push—just a very little push—and he fell and
went right through the ice into the water!"
"Oh, Nellie!" cried Lilian. "If it had been a deep part, he might have
been drowned!"
"Yes, I know," said Nellie, her eyes drooping beneath her mother's
reproachful gaze. "But he clutched hold of a clump of grass at the edge
of the pond, and Rupert and I managed to pull him out. They told me to
hurry on and tell Mrs. Wills; they're coming behind."
Even as she spoke, the boys appeared round the corner of the road. Bob
was in a pitiable condition. He was soaked to the skin, his teeth were
chattering, and he was shivering with cold. His eyes flashed wrathfully
as they encountered Nellie's.
"Oh, mother, it was not Bob's fault," Rupert was commencing, as they
neared the pony-carriage, but his mother cut him short.
"I know all about it, Rupert," she said. "I will go with Bob to the
farm and you can go home with Lilian—that is, if Jeffry will be so
obliging as to drive you home?"
"Certainly, ma'am," replied Jeffry.
"Thank you, Jeffry. You can bring back the pony-carriage to Westhill;
Miss Nellie and I will wait there till you come."
Mrs. Coker now got out of the pony-carriage, and Jeffry took her place,
whilst Rupert jumped into the seat opposite, secretly much relieved at
the turn matters were taking. Two minutes later, the pony-carriage had
disappeared from sight, with Wolf following behind.
Bob felt he had just cause for anger against Nellie; but when she
apologised to him very humbly for the rude action which had been the
cause of his accident, he could not but be magnanimous and forgive her,
especially as her mother, too, seemed very upset. So he told her not
to worry, that he was sure he would not catch cold, and that the only
thing he was vexed about was that he feared his aunt would not allow
him, after he had changed his clothes, to return with them to Haldon
Hall to tea.
"You shall come another day," said Mrs. Coker. "Mrs. Wills will be sure
to put you to bed as soon as you get home."
This proved to be the case. When Westhill was reached and Mrs. Wills
caught sight of her nephew, without waiting for explanations, she
ordered him to bed. The copper warming-pan, which hung against the
kitchen wall, was taken down and filled with wood coals from the
hearth, and in a very short while Bob was lying between hot blankets, a
glow of pleasant warmth creeping through his chilled frame.
"I think he'll be all right—don't you, mother?" Nellie questioned, a
half-hour later, as she and her mother were driving home.
Mrs. Coker assented. "I hope this will be a lesson to you, Nellie,"
she said, "and that you will not let your temper get the better of you
another time."
"It was such a little push I gave him, mother."
"I daresay, my dear, but great consequence spring from little causes
sometimes. In this case, I don't imagine much harm has been done; and,
as you say, I think Bob will be all right."
It cheered Nellie to hear this, but she remained somewhat depressed in
spirit till the next day, when, accompanied by her brother, she went
to inquire for their friend and found him in his usual health. He had
never felt better in his life, he assured her, and her sense of relief
was intense.