STELLA'S ARRIVAL AMONG HER COUNTRY COUSINS
A WEEK later excitement reigned in Dr. Knight's usually quiet
household. The children had a holiday in honour of the stranger
expected that day—their cousin Stella, who for the future was
to make her home with them.
Singularly enough, Dr. Knight had been left Stella's guardian by the
woman who in the days of her prosperity and health had always
regarded him with dislike. When upon her sick-bed she had been told
she must face death, she had thought over the list of her so-called
friends, and because they had been of the world worldly, she had
hesitated to entrust one of them with her little daughter, and the
fortune that would be hers. Then her thoughts had reverted to her
dead husband's brother. He had never approved of her; nevertheless
she had trusted him. With the world slipping away from her she had
instinctively turned to the only man of her acquaintance with whom
she knew the world was of little account; and to him she had confided
her child's future, conscious that she was acting as her dead husband
would have desired. And so it was that the one who had stood by
Stella's father in death, had ministered to her mother also when her
turn had come to enter the valley of shadows.
It had been arranged when the funeral was over, and business matters
satisfactorily settled, that Stella should return home with her
uncle. This plan pleased Stella greatly, for she had taken a great
liking to Dr. Knight, and was curious and eager to know the aunt and
cousins she had never seen.
It must be confessed that Stella's grief for her mother's death was
not very great; it could hardly have been otherwise, for the dead
woman had paid little attention, lavished little tenderness on her
daughter. Stella had always been gaily dressed, and encouraged to
think a great deal of the luxuries money can buy. She had been
brought up with the one idea that she must look pretty, and be very
quiet in her mother's presence, the consequence being that she had a
rather reserved manner, and a little air of artificiality about her.
As the time drew near for the arrival of the travellers, the doctor's
children stationed themselves inside the window of their mother's
room, which commanded a view of the road, and talked expectantly
of their cousin.
"She is ten years old," Dora remarked. "I am only eight. I expect she
will be ever so tall."
"She's sure to bully you," George assured his sister; "she'll look
down on you as a kid, see if she doesn't!"
"My dear George," his mother interposed, "what nonsense you talk!
I have no doubt Stella will be a shy, timid little girl; and I shall
expect you all to be very considerate and kind to her, and treat her
gently. I am afraid your boisterous ways may alarm her. And remember,
she has just lost her mother. I fear she will be very sad and
sorrowful!"
The four young faces at the window looked sympathetic, and the merry
voices were hushed for a while.
"I shall be glad when father is home again," David said at length.
"It is so dull when he's away. Mr. Gray will be glad too; he has not
had a minute to call his own this last week."
"Oh, Stella's room does look pretty!" Dora broke in. "I helped Miss
Clarke arrange it this morning, and we put a bunch of chrysanthemums
on the little table in front of the window, and—"
"Dora kept on going in and altering first one thing and then
another," George interposed; "I believe she'd be there now if Miss
Clarke had not forbidden her to touch anything again."
"Dora is naturally anxious her cousin's first impressions should be
pleasant ones," Mrs. Knight said with a smile; "but listen, children,
surely I hear the wheels of the dogcart!"
"Yes! yes! They're coming! They're coming!"
The children flew downstairs, whilst the mother waited patiently,
a little flush of excitement on her usually pale face, a look of glad
expectancy in her eyes. Presently her husband entered the room, and
in a minute his arms were around her, and his tender voice asking how
she was.
"Oh, John, what a trying time you have had, dear! We have all missed
you so much! It has seemed a year since you went away! Where is
Stella? I am anxious to see the little town mouse."
"I have delivered her over to the tender mercies of Miss Clarke and
the children. They will see to her, and after she has had some tea
she shall come upstairs and make your acquaintance."
"Yes, I daresay after the long journey she will want her tea at once.
But are you sure, John, that she will not be shy or nervous with
strangers?"
"My dear Mary, when you have seen the child you will understand that
it is not in her nature to be shy or nervous in the way you mean.
Nothing discomposes her. Our young ones are much more likely to be
shy with her than she with them."
"Really? How strange!"
"I should say she is rather a strange child, from what I learnt from
the nurse who attended her mother. It seems my sister-in-law brought
her up in what we should think an odd manner. For instance, Stella
thinks a deal of fine clothes, and jewellery, and the appearances
of things generally. I assure you, the first time I saw her I felt
she was looking me through and through!"
"Surely she must be a disagreeable child, John!"
"No, on the contrary, she is charming. She is very pretty, with dark
bright eyes, and gentle courteous manners. She did not feel her
mother's death—cried hardly at all."
"Oh, John!"
"It is not to be wondered at. I believe she thought of her mother
as a sort of superior being, very wealthy, very beautiful, queening
it over others, and exacting implicit obedience. When she came in
to take her last look at her mother it was as though she looked on a
strange face."
"Oh, how dreadful! How sad! And your poor sister-in-law herself?"
"I will tell you about her another time, dear Mary. She had a
splendid woman for a nurse, a true Christian, who was, I have no
doubt, a great help to her. And I do not think she faced Death alone,
for the last articulate words she uttered were, 'Create in me a clean
heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me!'"
There was a silence, broken only by the entrance of Anna with a tray.
"Anna is going to allow me to have tea up here with you to-night,
Mary, as a treat," the doctor said, smiling. "How is the little
stranger getting on downstairs, Anna?"
"Very well, I fancy, sir."
"Ah! I thought she would. Is she not a pretty child, Anna?"
"Handsome is as handsome does, sir. If Miss Stella is as good as she
is pretty, why then she'll be very good indeed." And having given her
opinion with the freedom of an old and valued servant, Anna left the
doctor and his wife to themselves again.
Meanwhile downstairs matters were progressing happily enough. Stella
sat at Miss Clarke's right hand sipping her tea, but eating little.
She was too excited to have much appetite; and was fully occupied
in watching her cousins, whom she considered good-looking but dowdily
dressed children. Her observant eyes took in everything, from the
shabbiness of the worn Brussels carpet to the texture of the
table-cloth, which was far coarser than she had been accustomed to.
She answered politely when addressed, and was most certainly not shy;
but it was evident that she meant to make friends with her cousins
at her own discretion.
"If you have finished tea, my dear," Miss Clarke said at length,
"I think your aunt would like to see you. Dora, take your cousin
upstairs to your mother."
Dora came forward obediently, and taking her cousin's hand the two
children left the room together. On the landing upstairs Stella
paused and drew back, for the first time since her arrival showing
signs of nervousness.
"Am I tidy?" she asked anxiously. "Do I look nice?"
"Oh, yes!" in accents of surprise.
"Will she be cross?"
"Cross! Mother cross! Oh, no! Why do you ask?" in amazement.
"I thought she might be. She is ill, is she not? When mother was ill,
or tired, I hated to go near her!"
"Come in, Stella!" called Dr. Knight's voice. "What are you two
whispering about outside the door? You can't have any secrets to tell
already, I'm sure," laughing. "Bring your cousin in, Dora! Don't you
know your mother is all expectation, longing to see her?"
Turning her eyes eagerly towards the door, Mrs. Knight saw a slight
little figure clad in a black frock. Stella advanced towards her aunt
with outstretched hand, the faint artificial smile on her lips with
which she had been in the habit of greeting her mother's visitors,
her eyes full of doubts.
"So this is Stella," Mrs. Knight said. "This is my new little
daughter!" Her voice was so tender and kind that it sent the tears
to Stella's eyes. "Sit down here by my side, little one, and tell me
how my big romping children have been behaving."
"Oh," said Stella, "they have been very polite."
The doctor laughed, and he and Dora went downstairs to join the
others, leaving Stella alone with her aunt. Mrs. Knight continued
to talk about her children, hoping Stella would make friends with
them, and have a happy home in their midst. The little girl listened
quietly and attentively. She watched her aunt with her large,
starlike eyes, and presently a pleased smile flickered around her
lips. When the time came for her to say good-night, and go to bed,
she was genuinely sorry.
[Illustration: "SO THIS IS STELLA. THIS IS MY NEW LITTLE DAUGHTER!"]
"Good-night," she said softly, "good-night. And thank you for being
so kind to me."
It was with a feeling of pleasurable excitement that Stella lay down
to rest that night, and she fell asleep to dream she was living the
events of the day over again, and in her dreams she was quite
content.
Such was the advent of the little town mouse, as her aunt had named
her, among her country cousins.