RALPH'S DINNER PARTY.
IT was a lovely day, and the road through the remains of the great
forest had never looked more beautiful. Some hawthorn blossoms still
lingered in the hedges, and under the trees the ground was blue with
wild hyacinths. Here and there a delicate tuft of stellaria, or a
carpet-like patch of the pale blue speedwell, varied the colouring, and
wild roses of wonderful size and beauty, some of quite a deep crimson,
waved in the soft warm breeze. Over all this, the green light coming
through the trees shed its own peculiar beauty.
Ralph was not insensible to the loveliness of the scene, though he
could not have talked about it. He walked on and on, looking up every
glade that opened upon him; but not seeing the children, was just about
to turn back when a merry shout of laughter met his ear. The ground
rose suddenly on the left side of the road, and it was from that side
the sound came. Ralph easily crossed the low wall, climbed the steep
bank, and looked round.
A little way back from the road a tree had been felled, or had fallen,
and it was now nearly buried in ferns and bluebells. On the trunk of
this tree, face to face, with their feet tucked up under them, sat the
two children; a small basket lay between them, and each of them had a
large piece of bread in one hand. Ollie had a bunch of watercress in
the other, and the girl a cup without any handle. She was in the act of
making a beautiful bow to Ollie, and Ralph heard the words,—
"So I conclude by wishing you many happy returns of the day, Mr. Oliver
Garland; and I drink your health, sir, once more."
Ollie laughed—such gleeful music as his laugh was!
"Thank you, Mam'selle Garland; you are very polite. That was a
beautiful speech, Ruthie. I can't make speeches—not in English at
least, and you will not let me talk French."
"No; for you must learn to speak English always. It vexes people to
talk to them so that they don't understand."
"Mrs. Cricklade was vexed, certainly," replied Ollie. "Ruthie, if you
had plenty of money, what present would you give me to-day?"
"A pair of shoes," was the prompt reply.
[Illustration: MRS. SHORT WAS SUNNING HERSELF AT HER OPEN WINDOW.]
"No, no, you stupid Ruthie," the boy cried, with another laugh. "If you
had plenty of money, you would have bought me new shoes when that great
hole came," peeping at his foot as he spoke. "Something for pleasure,
Ruthie."
"Should you like a book—with coloured pictures, of course?"
"Yes; but I would rather have a knife with two blades in it."
"Very well," said Ruth, "I would give you a knife with two blades in
it; and you, Ollie, would cut yourself badly before night; so it is as
well for your sake that I have not plenty of money."
How long Ralph would have stood watching them—he had never noticed
children much before, not even his own son—I do not know; but at this
moment Ollie caught sight of him.
"Ruthie, here is a man," said he.
"Oh! It is the gentleman who sent me the money," cried Ruth, springing
up, and running to Ralph's side with glowing cheeks and brilliant eyes.
"I never saw you again, sir, to thank you. It was very kind of you; I
felt so rich!"
"Not rich enough," said Ralph, with a grave smile, "to buy a knife with
two blades."
"No," she answered, smiling; "and this is poor Ollie's birthday. He is
seven years old to-day, and he begged me to come out here instead of
going to church. I don't think," she added, in a low tone, "that Ollie
cares much about going to church yet. So we put our dinner in a basket,
and we found watercress; and it has been so pleasant."
"I came this way to look for you," said Ralph. "I went to your
lodgings, and saw Mrs. Cricklade," he added, looking at Ruth.
"Yes," she said, answering the look frankly. "Oh, but it is a pity! She
is always so on Sunday. And yet she is such a kind woman, sir."
"I want to talk to you," Ralph said, slowly. He was pondering a grave
question. The children's dinner had consisted, he perceived, of bread
and watercress. Now he had at home a certain meat-pie, which was his
usual Sunday dinner, because he could buy it on Saturday, ready baked,
and just warm it up in his little oven on Sunday. Generally, he left
enough for his Monday's dinner too, and he never had meat on any other
day. Still, he felt inclined to bring the children home, and to give
them a good dinner and a cup of tea.
"I will!" thought he. "The poor little creatures." Then he said aloud,
"Will you come home with me, both of you? Come and dine with me."
"Thank you, sir, but we have had our dinner," said Ruth.
"Ruthie, I could eat another dinner quite well," said Ollie from his
perch on the tree.
"Then come along," said Ralph.
Ruth looked embarrassed for a moment, but he added, "Do come, it is
not very far," and I suppose his kind intentions were plainer from his
manner than from his words for she smiled, ran back to the tree and
packed up the remains of the feast (the cress and the cup, for the
bread was all gone), took a huge bunch of flowers from behind a bush,
and professed herself ready to set out.
"Where do you live, sir?" inquired Ollie, perching his hat on the top
of such a mass of black curls that the hat seemed quite unnecessary.
"Ruthie, give me the basket, it is not too heavy for me now, you know."
"I live in Lady Mabel's Rest," said Mr. Trulock.
"Sir," said Ruth, "is there any one there named Garland?"
"No, child. Not one."
"So the man at the gate said when I asked him; but he seemed so cross
that I almost thought he might have said it to get rid of us."
"Mrs. Cricklade told me that you expected to find some relatives in
Fairford."
"Yes; one at all events—our grandfather. But I can find no one of the
name at all. There don't seem to be any Garlands in Fairford."
"What has been done to discover them?" asked Ralph.
"Mrs. Cricklade got the clerk to look in some books that are kept
in the church, and they said if any Garlands had been married, or
baptized, or buried in Fairford, it would be written in those books."
"And a very stupid book that must be," interrupted Ollie, gravely.
"And Mrs. Cricklade spoke to Mr. Needham, the lawyer, and to one or two
old people, and to the police; and she says when the rector comes home
she will speak to him too."
"Well, we'll ask leave to look over the list of the people who have
lived in Lady Mabel's Rest for the last twenty years; and then when we
have had our dinner, we will have a talk and see what more may be done."
By this time they had reached the open road, and in a few minutes more
they arrived at the gate of the Rest. Ollie asked rather nervously
if the man at the gate would surely let them out again; but Ruth was
delighted with the orderly look, the gardens and neat houses.
Mrs. Short was sunning herself at her open window, having just eaten
her dinner, and very like a large tortoiseshell cat she looked, as she
sat blinking in her easy chair, half asleep. But she was wide awake in
a moment when she saw Ralph and his two companions; in fact, having
perceived that Ralph did not return home as usual after church, she had
stationed herself in the window to watch for him, and to discover, if
possible, why he had so far departed from his usual custom.
"Bless us all! Two young beggars, as I'm a living woman! And he
carrying a posy as big as a broom! Why, neighbour! Mr. Trulock,—I say,
don't be in such a hurry; where ever did you pick up them two little
beggars?"
"We are not beggars," cried Ollie, indignantly. "We didn't ask for
anything."
"These are friends of mine who are going to dine with me," said Ralph,
while Ruth quieted Ollie.
"Friends!" squeaked Mrs. Short. "I didn't know you had any friends
here—not such young ones as that, at least. Who are they? What's their
name?"
Ralph had by this time got the key into the lock of his door, and
opening it for the children to pass in, he said:
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Short, but I'm in haste, and a little hard of
hearing, as you know;" and in he went, shutting the door behind him.
"Nasty, crusty creetur' he ever was and ever will be! Says he's in
haste, no—but likes to keep a body wondering. But I'll know who he's
got with him before I'm very much older."
She rolled herself off her arm-chair, and waddled to the hall door;
down her own garden and up that belonging to Ralph in less time than
one could reasonably have expected her to take. Her knock was heard by
the trio in Ralph's kitchen. Ralph went to the window—then strode to
the door.
"Oh, Mr. Trulock, it's not often you have company," began Mrs. Short,
in her oiliest voice, "and so I says to myself, 'So short of china and
sich as he is, very like he hasn't a plate a piece for 'em,' so I came
to offer a loan (I know you'll be careful) of anything you may require.
Now ain't I a good-natured neighbour?"
"Thank you, but I have all I want," said Ralph. "Good morning, ma'am,"
and again the door closed.
Mrs. Short retired, fuming.
When Ralph returned to his kitchen, Ruth and Ollie had taken off their
hats and were standing before the little oven, from which there came
forth a most appetising smell. Ralph began to look about for plates,
etc., but before he could bring them to the table, Ruth came up to him
and said with a smile:
"May I set the table, sir?"
"Do, child. I am tired, and shall be glad to sit down."
He watched the child from his corner. Ollie, after a moment's
hesitation, came and climbed upon his knee. Poor Ralph felt a strange
thrill at his heart. Poor Fred! Poor lost Fred! How often, when he was
a handsome little fellow with fair curls, had he climbed up just as
Ollie did, and laid his head where Ollie laid his now! If the boy had
had fair hair, Ralph would have broken down.
Ruth looked about presently and said,—
"Where do you keep your table-cloths, sir?"
"I have none, Ruth."
"And a very good plan too," said Ollie; "then if one spills things it
does not so much matter;" and Ollie nodded his head gravely, like one
who has made up his mind.
Ruth said nothing, though her prejudices were decidedly in favour
of table-cloths; but she looked at the table, which was stained and
soiled. She got a cloth and some water in a quiet, business-like way,
washed the table, dried it, laid the knives and forks in order, and
then carefully heated the plates with hot water. Ralph felt a curious
pleasure in watching her, she moved so quietly and was so handy-like
Annie. Then she said, "May I take the dinner out of the oven, sir?"
"You'll burn yourself, I'm afraid," said Ralph.
The girl laughed—a little comfortable chuckle of amusement—at such a
foolish notion. She opened the oven and peeped in, and in half a second
the pie was safe on the table.
"I knew it was a pie!" said Ollie, triumphantly.
Ralph brought out bread, and filled a jug with water; they all sat
down, and very soon the pie-dish only remained to witness that there
had been a pie!
"Now, Ruth," said Ralph Trulock, when dinner was quite over, "I want to
have a little talk with you. I want you to tell me all about yourself
and your father, for perhaps I may be able to help you to find out your
people; but to do that I must know all about you. We must lose no time;
for when winter comes what are you to do?"
"Winter's such a long, long way off," said Ollie. "What is the good of
thinking of it yet? Don't fret, Ruthie!" and he stroked her cheek with
his little brown hand.
"No, Ollie, I won't fret; but Mr. Trulock will help us, perhaps, to
find our grandfather. May Ollie go and play in the garden, sir? he'll
like that better than sitting quiet."
Ralph assented, and the boy went off quite happy. He had seen a lot
of daisies in the ill-kept grass, and was soon at work making a daisy
chain.
"If we talk about father, Ollie would cry," Ruth said. "He is so
little, that if I don't talk, he forgets; and so I pretend to forget
too. But I cannot help thinking very often how sorry father would be
that we should be so poor, and that Ollie should not go to school any
more. I have talked to Mrs. Cricklade, but though she is kind, she does
not help me—she does not always understand. But I am sure, sir, that
you will know what to do; and I am very, very grateful to you," she
added, earnestly. She had such a pretty voice, low and gentle; Ralph
felt more drawn to her every moment.
"Your father brought you to Southampton, Mrs. Cricklade told me," he
said. "But, Ruth, do you tell me the whole story—all you know about
yourself."
"We came from Canada first. I think I was born there, and I know my
mother died there, though I don't remember it. I only remember father,
even when I was quite young,—younger than Ollie is now. Father did
everything for me; we were very poor, I think."
"That was in Canada?" asked Ralph.
"Yes, in Montreal. Father was in an office, but he was very badly paid,
because he was a bad accountant. Then he got a letter. I remember
that day well, because he was so pleased. He told me that when he was
coming to Canada, the ship was wrecked, and many of the passengers
lost. He could swim well, and when he had got my mother on shore, he
went back and saved others—among them a young Frenchman, who must have
been drowned but for him, because he couldn't swim at all. This young
gentleman was very grateful, and he promised that when he became his
father's partner, he would do something for father if he wanted help.
So he wrote for him to go to Bordeaux."
"And you went? Was Ollie born then?"
"Oh no!" Ruth said, opening her eyes wide. "Why, this was years and
years ago! Father was caretaker of the great stores; we lived in rooms
in the stores. And he married Ollie's mother, and I loved her very
much. But she only lived a little while, she died when Ollie was a
baby. She told me she gave Ollie to me, and that I must take care of
him."
"Had she any relatives in Bordeaux?"
"She was an orphan; I don't think she had any relatives at all."
"Then you were father's little housekeeper?" said Ralph.
"Yes, but we had a servant. Ah, we were very happy; only father never
was merry, you know. He said—"
"Well, child, go on."
"But you didn't know him, so you may think he had done something wrong.
Nov, father couldn't have done anything really wrong. But he used to
tell me that he deserved all his sorrows, and that the reason we were
so poor was that he was saving money to pay some one; and 'then,' he
said, 'I may be forgiven.'"
"Did he ever mention the name of his creditor?"
"No, never, sir. Well, one day father came home looking quite unhappy
and excited. He said to me, 'Pack up all your clothes, and Ollie's and
mine, in the big American trunk; for we must go to England, and perhaps
we may never come back here again.' I asked why; but he said I would
not understand, but that he had heard something which made him want to
go to his father. I remember he said, 'I will wait no longer; surely he
will forgive me now.' And he wrote cards to put on the trunk, and we
came to Southampton in a ship belonging to the firm."
"And the address he wrote was to Southampton?"
"No, no, to Fairford, —shire."
"And at Southampton, he was taken ill, Mrs. Cricklade told me."
"Yes; but the doctor said he must have been ill a long time. He seemed
to me just the same until in the night (the ship had sailed for
Bordeaux again, and he had been on board getting some things we had
forgotten) I found him standing beside my bed. 'Get up, Ruthie,' he
said, 'but don't wake the boy;' and he stooped and kissed Ollie. 'I
don't feel well,' he said, and went back to his room. I got up quickly
and ran to him. He was lying on the bed, his face was grey-looking and
not as usual. I rang the bell, and they sent for a doctor and gave him
brandy. It was all of no use. He was in such pain—pain in his heart,
he said, that he could hardly breathe, and very soon we found that he
could not speak. He tried so hard, and tried to write too."
"I have the paper still, but there are no plain words on it. He said,
'Fairford'; and I said; 'I am to go there with Ollie,' and he seemed
content. Then he said, 'My father!' and I said I would go to him. But
he began about something else; he said, 'You lock,' and I thought he
meant lock the box, because he had a small box with some money in it;
so I locked it, but I'm afraid that was not what he wanted done, for
though the doctor was begging him to be quiet, he sat up suddenly and
tried again to speak—and then—then he was dead."
Quiet tears ran down her cheeks, and the old man, all unused as he was
to such offices, took her little hand in his and dried her eyes with
his handkerchief.
"I must not cry," Ruth sobbed out, "or it will fret Ollie. They gave
me all the money that was left after paying every one, and a servant
from the hotel came part of the way with us. But I could not find my
grandfather; and what I shall do I don't know."
"The first thing to do, Ruth, is to write to the firm in Bordeaux.
They may be able to explain, perhaps, or there may be letters for your
father lying there at this moment."
"I don't know; Monsieur Oliver is away, and old Monsieur Mordan never
liked father, though he had saved his only son. He would not give him
a holiday. Father had to give up his place. Another man came the day
before we left."
"Still, no doubt he will tell us if he knows anything that can help
us. And we will put an advertisement in the newspaper, to find your
grandfather. We can write that now."
He got paper and pencil, and began to write:
"'The children of—' What was your father's Christian name, Ruth?"
"Frederick, sir."
"'The children of Frederick Garland, late of Bordeaux, who died
suddenly at Southampton on the —. What day of the month, Ruth?"
"The thirty-first."
"The thirty-first of March last, are at Fairford, —shire, and are
anxious to communicate with their grandfather. Do you know his
Christian name?"
"No, sir, I never heard it."
"'Mr. Garland,' then, 'whom they expected to find in Fairford. Apply to
Mr. Ralph Trulock, Lady Mabel's Rest, Fairford.' There, I'll pay for
this, Ruth, so you need not think about it."
"Pay for it! Do you pay for things being put in the paper? I never knew
that. Thank you, sir. And will you write for me to Monsieur Mordan?"
"I will; give me his address now."
"'Oliver Mordan, Esq.,' you must not say Monsieur, mind, for he is
an Englishman by birth, and hates to be mistaken for a Frenchman. I
have heard father say that he fancied one reason of Monsieur Mordan's
dislike to him was that when he first came to Bordeaux, he thought
Monsieur was a Frenchman. Monsieur Oliver did not mind—his mother was a
Frenchwoman."
Mr. Trulock wrote the address, which Ruth had to spell for him, and
then he said,—
"Now we will have tea."
"Won't you let me get it ready, while you sit quiet and rest? And may I
wash the dinner things?"
Ralph had no objection, for it must be confessed that these constant
washings and arrangings were a great burden to him. It was very
pleasant to sit there and watch the neat-handed little maid as she
polished and rubbed, and set everything straight and tidy.
"Now I will call Ollie, for if we don't mind, we shall be late for
evening church," said Ruth. She ran to the door, and came back looking
a little alarmed.
"Oh, Mr. Trulock, Ollie is not there. Nor is he anywhere inside the
wall, for I looked well all about."
Ralph came to the door, looked out, meditated, and men remarked,—
"Don't be frightened, Ruth; I suspect I know where he is. I ought to
have remembered she was sure to pounce upon him."
He walked off, with anxious Ruth beside him, and knocked at Mrs.
Short's door. On the steps lay a broken daisy chain.