HOW THE CHRISTMAS ROSES BEGAN TO TAKE ROOT.
OLLIE GARLAND had been very happy making his daisy chain sitting on the
ragged grass plot which formed the so-called garden in front of Ralph's
house. He was too innocent, and so was Ruth, to be aware of the danger
he incurred by playing in the streets with the little urchins of his
own age, whom he met there; it was not exactly the school one would
have chosen for a child hitherto kept rather too much apart. But he had
taken no harm as yet. As water runs off the feathers of a water-bird,
so evil failed to penetrate the soft armour of the boy's innocence.
Still, he was happier in the Forest with Ruth, or even here, alone
among the daisies. Presently his chain was so long that he determined
to lay it along the gravel path, in order that its full magnificence
might be seen by Ruth as she came out. But while thus occupied, he
heard a voice calling:
"Boy! Little boy! You there—come here, I want to speak to you."
Ollie looked up; there was the fat old woman who had called him and his
sister beggars; and it was to him she spoke, he perceived.
"Come here," she cried again, beckoning with her hand. "Come here,
child. Bless the boy! I shan't eat you; I only want to speak to you."
Ollie took up his daisy chain and scrambled over the low stone wall
which divided the gardens. Rather slowly and reluctantly, he went up
the white steps and stood before Mrs. Short, whom he regarded with
considerable disfavour, expressed in his large dark eyes.
"Here's a piece of luck!" murmured Mrs. Short. "Now I shall find out
everything, in spite of old Crusty. Come in, child; don't bring that
trumpery in to spoil my carpet, though."
She snatched the daisy chain from the child's unwilling hand, breaking
it, of course, for daisy chains are not made to bear rough handling;
throwing it down on the steps, she bore her captive off triumphantly,
pushing him along before her. She took him to her parlour, and lifting
him suddenly in her short, stout arms, plumped him down rather roughly
on one of the least ornamental of her chairs.
Now, Ollie was a very quick child, and sensitive too, as quick children
generally are; her muttered words about finding out everything had by
no means escaped him, and had enlightened him as to the reason of his
capture, of which he disapproved in every way, entirely disliking Mrs.
Short's manners. So he quickly determined that whatever questions this
dumpy dame asked him, he would answer in French, which came as natural
to him as English, if not more so; but which he surmised would be quite
the reverse of natural to Mrs. Short: at least, Mrs. Cricklade had
failed to understand it.
"Well, child," said Mrs. Short, seating herself snugly in her padded
chair, panting a little after her exertions, "Tell me now, what is your
name?"
"Oliver Garland," replied Ollie, making the name sound very unlike an
English one.
"Laws, now! Olivia Golong—what a name! And a boy to be Olivia, too!
Bless us! You're a furrineer, then, I do suppose?"
Ollie rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
"And where do you come from, Olivia?" inquired Mrs. Short.
Ollie assured her in French, that he came from the moon.
Mrs. Short desired him to speak English, "Which I know you can speak
it," said she.
"I can," replied Ollie.
"Then tell me where you come from," cried the tantalized lady.
Ollie relapsed into French, and this time stated that he came from the
Red Sea.
"Look here," said Mrs. Short, impressively. "You tell me what I want to
know, and I'll give you a piece of cake. See if I don't now. I'll show
it to you."
She repaired to a corner cupboard, and produced a rich cake, off which,
with a deep sigh, she cut a very thin slice, and laid it on the table
before the child.
"Now, Olivia," said she, "tell me."
"I am not hungry, thank you, madame," said Ollie.
"But this is cake!" screamed Mrs. Short. "Lovely rich pound cake, made
with my own 'ands. It's delicious—that's what it is."
"Then eat it up, madame," answered Ollie, mildly.
Mrs. Short could have danced with rage, only that her figure was not
suited to such violent exercise.
"You unmannerly cub!" said she. "Answer my questions in good English,
or I shall box your ears soundly."
"I shall not speak any more English at all," said Ollie, gravely. "But
if you touch me, I shall roar, and Ruth will hear me."
And to this determination, he adhered. Mrs. Short tried bribes and
persuasions in vain, and she was afraid to strike him. Ollie sat
quietly on his perch, pouring forth replies to everything she said, but
all in what she called his nasty furrin' tongue; and not one word of
common sense could she get out of him, as she afterwards remarked. At
last the knock at the door, of which I have already spoken, concluded
this vexatious interview.
"That's Ruthie!" cried Ollie, dropping off his chair and making for the
door; but, remembering himself, he turned and made a polite bow to Mrs.
Short, saying:
"Mille pardons, madame—adieu!" And then Mrs. Short, watching in dumb
dismay from her window, saw the party return to Ralph's house.
"Did Mrs. Short ask you many questions?" asked Ralph.
"A great many; she never stopped, sir!"
"And did you answer? But of course you couldn't help it. What a
plague," thought he, "the old woman will be, if she has got the whole
story from the boy."
"Yes, I answered her," replied Ollie with a grave smile. "Only—I spoke
in French; and she did not like it, sir."
Ralph actually laughed, for the first time for many years, so that the
sound almost startled him.
They went to church together, and I cannot say that Ollie's behaviour
there was edifying, though he was quiet enough; for he fell fast
asleep, and lay with his head in Ruth's lap, looking like a beautiful
picture. Mrs. Short would hardly have recognised her saucy tormentor
in this lovely sleeping cherub. Ralph's heart grew softer with every
glance; he could not fix his mind on the sermon at all; but I think the
two children were the text to an unspoken sermon, preached to Ralph
alone.
Ruth and Ollie went home after church, thanking him so heartily for
their pleasant day, "and all the trouble you are going to take for us,"
Ruth added, that poor crusty old Ralph felt wonderfully happy.
Next day, after a good deal of thought, he wrote his letter to Mr.
Mordan, and then left home, but not, as usual, to wander aimlessly
about the country. He went up the hill, and betook himself to the
curate's house. Somewhat to his surprise, he got away without being
pounced upon by Mrs. Short; but in truth, that good lady felt a little
shy of him, not knowing what he might say about Ollie's enforced visit
the day before.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Cloudesley were at home, and Ralph was at once taken
to their pretty little sitting-room. May sprang up gladly,—
"Have you come to see me at last, Mr. Trulock, to make up for your
being always out when I go to see you?" she said; and as she spoke she
found a comfortable chair for him.
"You are very kind, madam," he said, in his formal way, "and I am very
glad to see you look so well. But I only ventured to call on a little
matter of business—or not business exactly, but to ask Mr. Cloudesley
something."
"What is it, Trulock?" said Mr. Cloudesley, pushing aside his
writing-desk. "Anything that I can do for you?"
"Not for me, sir, but for a little boy—his name is Garland, and I want
to know if he can go to the Greatrex school for a time. I know it is
intended for the children of Fairford people only, and, as far as I can
make out, this child does not belong to Fairford; but it is a pity that
he should be running idle about the streets."
"Garland! I don't know the name," said Mr. Cloudesley.
"No, sir; it is not a Fairford name. These children—for the girl is no
more than a child herself, Heaven help her!—came over from France with
their father, who said he was coming to Fairford to see his father.
The poor young man died at Southampton, and from the girl's story I
should conclude that he had given up his situation, and undertaken the
journey, having reason to believe that his life was near an end. He did
not tell the child this,—it is only my own idea. With his last breath,
he urged her to come on here to her grandfather, and she obeyed, of
course; but no one of the name was ever known here."
"Have they been here long?"
"Since the early part of April, sir. They lodge at Mrs. Cricklade's;
she keeps a baker's shop half-way down the hill."
"Ah! That accounts for my not hearing of them. Mrs. Cricklade contrives
to keep out of my way, or to be wonderfully busy when I call."
"I met the girl in Price's shop, sir: she works for them, and what she
earns is nearly all they have to depend on. I have undertaken to write
to Bordeaux, and to advertise for the grandfather, but meantime it
seems a pity that little Oliver should be running about the streets."
"Nor is Mrs. Cricklade's the best place for them," remarked May.
"No; but until we get an answer from Bordeaux, I thought they might as
well stay there, as the old woman is very kind to them."
"Well, perhaps you are right," replied May, and was going on to say
that she would call and see the children, when to her surprise her
husband gave her a look which she knew meant "don't." And if this
surprised her, how much more was she amazed to hear Gilbert making some
difficulty about admitting the boy to the Greatrex school.
"I fear he hardly belongs to the class for which the school is
intended," he remarked. "Most likely, when you have found the
relatives, they will be indignant that he should have been sent to a
school of this kind. Perhaps we may as well wait a bit, at least."
"Well, sir, I hardly like it for him. He is a fine little fellow, and
very innocent. His sister cannot spare time to see after him."
"Still, considering that the grandfather may turn up any day, I hardly
like to take the responsibility."
"I will take it upon myself, sir. I have been advising the girl, and I
will advise her to send him."
"Oh, very well, then. There is a penny a week to pay, I suppose she can
manage that? And threepence a week extra secures to the children a meal
in the middle of the day—a good dinner, too, for it is partly provided
by Lady Mabel's bequest. That's fourpence a week; you will tell the
girl, and the child can begin to-morrow. I will see Mr. Manders about
it in the evening."
"Fourpence a week," said Ralph with a sigh. "I will remember, sir."
Then he said good-bye, and departed.
"Gilbert, why did you stop me just now? And why did you not admit this
poor child free? You can, can you not?"
"I can; but don't you see how interested old Trulock is in them?
Is it not the very thing we could have wished for the poor old
fellow—something to draw him out of his shell? And would you interfere
with him? You'll find that this fourpence a week will be paid by Ralph
himself, and that by degrees he'll give more care and thought to these
children than if we took them up. Then he would feel that they were
all right; but if we leave them to him, he won't neglect them. Why, he
looked quite softened when he spoke of them."
"I should never have thought of all that!" cried May admiringly.
"It is not for nothing that you come from the North, sir. You are a
long-headed personage. Poor old Ralph! I do like him, Gilbert."
Ralph went to see Ruth, and found her hard at work, and Ollie sitting
beside her, looking, with his soft bright eyes and restless movements,
not unlike a newly-caught bird in a cage. Ruth explained his presence
by telling her friend that some of the boys had had a fight, and
had hurt one another, and Ollie had run home quite horrified. This
smoothed the way for the mention of the school, at the idea of which,
particularly when the "good dinner" was mentioned, Ruth's sweet brown
eyes glistened with joy. Ollie was glad, too, for he liked learning,
though he was nervous at the notion of going among strangers alone.
"But you must go alone, for I could not spare time to go with you,
Ollie. And besides, I don't know them any more than you do," said Ruth.
"I will come for you and go with you the first day, Ollie," said Ralph,
not without a feeling of surprise at himself.
"Mr. Trulock, I do think you are the kindest person in the world!"
cried Ruth earnestly.
"You won't find many to agree with you there," replied Ralph drily.
"That fat woman called you Old Crusty," remarked Ollie.
"You should not have said that Ollie," Ruth said reprovingly. "She did
not mean Mr. Trulock to hear it. Well, sir, I hope our grandfather may
turn out to be just like you," she added, turning to Ralph.
Mr. and Mrs. Cloudesley were at breakfast the next morning, when past
the window went Ralph Trulock, and by his side, holding by his hand,
and chattering gaily, with dark eyes raised fearlessly to the stern old
face, was the loveliest boy, May declared, that she had ever seen.
"See how well the spell works," said Gilbert.
"I knew Trulock had a kind heart," she replied, "if I could only get at
it. He speaks of his wife so tenderly."
"These children are finding their way to it, I suspect," answered Mr.
Cloudesley. "Now, May, let them quite alone. Trulock will be the better
for being left to manage everything for himself."
"Oh, yes," said May; "but I suppose I may look at that boy when I go to
the school for the singing!"
In a few days, Ralph received the following answer from Mr. Mordan:
"DEAR SIR,—"
"I know nothing more of the late Frederick Garland than the facts
with which, from your letter, I suppose you to be already acquainted.
Thirteen or fourteen years ago, he saved my son's life, the ship in
which they had taken passages for Canada being wrecked off the coast of
Ireland. My son did not go to Canada at all, and therefore saw nothing
of Garland until I became the senior, and he the junior partner of our
firm, and then he begged of me to find a situation for this young man,
as he had ascertained that he had not got on well in America. Garland
came to Bordeaux at once; but as he was no accountant, though evidently
an educated man, I could give him nothing better than a place as what
you call a storekeeper, which he filled for eight years, giving every
satisfaction as to honesty and general good character. I know nothing
more of him, and my son, who is at present absent, travelling in the
East, does not, to the best of my belief, know anything that could
assist you in your search for his relatives. The girl he married here
was an orphan, and had no relatives living. Garland stated to me that
he hoped to remain in England with his father; but he said no more than
this. He left no debts here, nor is there anything due to him; but I
always fancied he was saving money, as, though in receipt of a good
salary, he lived in a very economical way. He must have had some drain
upon his income of which I am ignorant."
"I remain,"
"Your obedient servant,"
"OLIVER MORDAN, Senior."
And the advertisement in the Times was put in again and again, till
it had cost quite a little fortune, and yet it never was answered.
Ruth and Ollie seemed to be abandoned by all the world, except poor
"crusty" Ralph Trulock, who at first grudged every sixpence they cost
him. But Ruth had crept into his heart, and Ollie was such a bright,
innocent, creature—the more he saw of them, the more he loved them. And
they loved him, which was not wonderful, as every little pleasure they
enjoyed that summer came from him. The Sunday dinner party became quite
an institution: first came church, then dinner, then a long walk in the
Forest.
Ruth worked hard all the week, but as Ollie got his dinner at school,
and many a little present came from Ralph, she got on very well. Her
black calico wore out, and she did not replace it, but wore a coloured
dress; quietly remarking that "Father would not mind, because he knew
she loved him as well as ever." Ralph said something about her father
"not knowing," but Ruth, after a little distressed thought, smiled and
answered,—
"Would not the angels tell him? You know they come and go still, though
we cannot see them; and he would be sure to ask questions about Ollie
and me. They will have told him that although we could not find our
grandfather, God has given us a good friend."
The rector came home presently, and then Mr. Cloudesley had a holiday,
and went away for awhile. Mr. Barton had a great deal to do, and was
not a great visitor; and seeing Ralph in church every Sunday, he was
quite satisfied about him.