HER NEW-FOUND AUNT
A short, stout, well-dressed woman stood upon the door-step, and the
cabman was just hauling a box off the roof of his cab.
"Mr. Gray's 'ouse?" demanded the stout lady. "Ah, pore thing! I see
it's all over. Pore thing! Well, I'm sorry, of course, though I don't
suppose 'e'll be much loss to any one; pore, dreaming, shiftless thing!"
"Miss Sarah is here, mum," said the old nurse, pointing severely towards
the door of the sitting-room.
"Miss Sarah--oh, the child! Eh, well, my dear," going into the room,
and taking Sarah's limp and shaking hand, "I'm sorry to come on such an
errand the first time ever I see you; but that was your pore pa's fault,
not mine. I never was one to turn my back on my own flesh and
blood--never, though perhaps I say it that shouldn't; but your pore pa,
he was that awkward when he got a crotchet into his 'ead, that there was
no doing aught with him. I think you favour your ma, my dear," she
continued, with a complete change of tone. "Your pore pa-- Eh? What?
oh, the cab! Yes, I'll come," and then she bustled out, fumbling at the
fastening of a small leather bag which hung over her wrist, and leaving
poor Sarah struck dumb with astonishment.
The child crept to the door and watched her new-found aunt settle with
the cabman; and it is certain that never had Sarah seen a cabman settled
with in that fashion before. They had not indulged in many cabs during
the course of her short life; but, on the few occasions that they had
enjoyed such luxuries, her father had paid for them with the air of a
prince, and with a liberality such as made dispute out of the question.
Alas, poor child! if the loving father now lying white and silent in the
room above had had less of that princely air, and still less of that
princely instinct of hospitality and generosity, life would at that
moment probably have been very different for her. But all this was
beyond Sarah, who was very young, and therefore not likely to see the
advantages of the lengthened haggling process going on just then at the
gate. A moment later Mrs. Stubbs entered the house again in triumph.
"Lot of thieving vagabonds them cabmen are, to be sure!" she remarked,
with an air of indignation mingled with satisfaction. "But he don't get
the better of me, not if I know it; and so I told him. But, dear! dear!
_'Ow_ like your pore ma you are, child! Stubbs 'll be glad of it--he
never could abide him as is gone, pore thing! Well, well, we needn't
say aught again him now, for he won't trouble us no more; only, as I
say, Stubbs 'll be glad of it."
"Please, who _is_ Mr. Stubbs?" Sarah asked plaintively, feeling
instinctively that she had better not try to argue with this strange
relative.
Mrs. Stubbs, however, was so taken aback at so unexpected a question,
that she was obliged to sit down, the better to show the extent of her
astonishment.
"Well, I don't 'old with it!" she exclaimed to the nurse, who had come
in to spread the cloth for a cup of tea which the visitor had expressed
herself able and willing to take. "It's bringing up the child like a
'eathen in ignorance of what her own flesh and blood's very names
is--'pon my word it is; it's 'eathenish."
"_Miss Sarah_ doesn't understand," put in the old nurse pointedly.
For a moment Mrs. Stubbs gasped, much as she might have done if the
older woman had dashed a pail of water in her face; but she took the
hint with a very good grace, and turned to Sarah again.
"Your pore ma, my dear, was Stubbs' own sister," she said.
"Then Mr. Stubbs is my uncle--my own uncle?" Sarah asked.
"Your own uncle, and I'm your aunt; not your own aunt, of course, Sarah,
but that's no matter. I've a good and a feeling 'eart, whatever other
faults I may have to carry; and what's Stubbs' flesh and blood is my
flesh and blood, and so you'll find. Besides, I've seven children of my
own, and my 'eart feels for them that has no father nor mother to stand
by 'em. And I believe in sticking to your own--everybody's not like
_that_, Sarah, though maybe I say it that shouldn't. There is folks
that believes in wearing yourself to the bone for other people's
advantage, and letting your own flesh and blood starve in the gutter, so
to speak. Ah, well, I ain't one of that sort, and I'm thankful for it,
Sarah."
Poor little desolate Sarah, with her suddenly empty life and great
aching void in her heart, crept a shade closer to her new-found aunt,
and rested her tired head against her substantial arm.
"And I have seven cousins of my own?" she said, the shadows in her eyes
clearing away for a moment.
"_Seven_ cousins of your own!" cried Mrs. Stubbs, in an ecstasy of
enjoyment. "_Seven_, Sarah, my dear! Why, I have seven children!"
"And have I some more aunts and uncles?" Sarah asked, feeling not a
little bewildered.
"Why, dear, yes, three aunts and two uncles on your pore ma's side, to
say naught of all there may be on your pa's side, with which I'm not
familiar," said Mrs. Stubbs, with a certain air such as conveyed to
Sarah that her ignorance was a decided loss to her father's family in
general.
"There's your Uncle Joe--he 'as five boys, and lives at 'Ampstead; and
there's your Uncle George--he 'as only three girls, and lives in great
style at Brighton. He's in the corn trade, is your Uncle George."
Instinctively Sarah realized why once, when they had been going to the
seaside for a fortnight, her father had said, "No, no, not Brighton,"
when that town was suggested; and as instinctively she kept the
recollection to herself.
"And then there's Polly--your Aunt Mary, Sarah! She's the fine lady of
the family--very 'aughty, she is, though her and me 'as always been very
good friends, always. Still, she's uncommon 'aughty, and maybe she 'as
a right, for she married a gentleman in the City, and keeps her carriage
and pair and a footman, too. Ah, well! she 'asn't a family, 'asn't Mrs.
Lennard; perhaps if she 'ad 'ad seven children, like me, she'd have 'ad
to be content with a broom, as I am."
"We have a broom, too," said Sarah, watching the visitor stir her tea
round and round; "indeed, we have two, and a very old one that Jane uses
to sweep out the yard with."
For a minute Mrs. Stubbs was too thoroughly astounded to speak; then she
subsided into weak fits of laughter, such as told Sarah she had made a
terrible mistake somehow.
"A very old one to sweep out the yard with!" Mrs. Stubbs cried in gasps.
"Oh, dear, dear! Why, child, you're just like a little 'eathen. A
broom is a carriage, a close carriage, something like a four-wheel cab,
only better. Oh, dear, dear! and we keep three, do we? Oh, _what_ a
joke to tell Stubbs!"
"Miss Sarah knows," struck in the old nurse, with some indignation; "the
doctor's carriage is what Mrs. Stubbs calls a broom, dearie."
Sarah turned her crimson face from one to the other. "But Father always
called that kind of carriage a _bro_-am," she emphasized, "and I didn't
know you meant the same, Aunt."
"Well, never mind, my dear; I shouldn't 'ave laughed at you," returned
Mrs. Stubbs, stirring her tea again with fat complaisance. "Little
folks can't be expected to know everything, though there are some as
does expect it, and most unreasonable it is of 'em. Only, Sarah, it's
more stylish to say broom, so try to think of it, there's a good girl."
"I'll try," said Sarah, hoping that she had somewhat retrieved her
character by knowing what kind of carriage her aunt meant by a "broom."
Then Mrs. Stubbs had another cup of tea, which she seemed to enjoy
particularly.
"And you would like to go upstairs, mum?" said the nurse, as she set the
cup down.
"Why, yes, nurse, it's my duty to go, and I'm not one as is ever
backward in doing 'er duty," Mrs. Stubbs replied, upheaving herself from
the somewhat uncertain depths of the big chair, the only easy chair in
the house.
So the two women went up above together to visit that something which
Sarah had not seen since the moment of death.
She sat just where they left her--a way she had, for Sarah was a very
quiet child--wondering how life would be with this new-found aunt of
hers. She was very kind, Sarah decided, and would be very good to her,
she knew; and yet--yet--there was something about her from which she
shrank instinctively--something she knew would have offended her father
beyond everything.
Poor Sarah! At that moment Mrs. Stubbs was standing beside all that was
left of him that had loved her so dearly during all the years of her
short life.
"Pore thing!" she was saying. "Pore thing! We weren't good friends,
nurse, but we must not think of that now; and I'll be a mother to his
little girl just as if there'd never been a cloud between us. Pore
thing, only thirty-six! Ah, well, pore thing; but he makes a pretty
corpse!"
[Illustration: "Pore thing!" she was saying. "Pore thing!"]