The school-room at Number 19, Norfolk Terrace, was not, it must be
confessed, a particularly attractive room. To begin with, it looked out
upon the little garden at the back of the house, and this same little
garden was not much to look out upon. The modest, old-fashioned name of
"green" would have suited it better. Some of the gardens of the
neighbouring houses were really pretty and well cared for, but Mrs
Waldron had long ago decided that to attempt making of "our garden"
anything but a playground while the boys were still "such mere boys," so
irrepressibly full of high spirits and mischief, would be but to add
another and unnecessary care to the long list of household matters which
she found already quite as much as she could manage. So the garden
remained the green, and the school-room the plain, rather untidy-looking
room it had always been. It was not really untidy--a radical foundation
of order and arrangement was insisted upon. But any room which is the
ordinary resort of four boys and a girl, not to speak of occasional
inroads from two "nursery children," cannot be expected to look as if no
one lived in it.
"We are invisibly tidy," the Waldron boys used to say with a certain
pride. "We do know where our things are, and the cupboards and drawers
are really not messy at all. But of course we can't rig boats, and oil
skates, and paint, and carve, and all that, without the room showing it.
Not to speak of Ted's stamp-album, and Arthur's autographs, and _all_,
our lessons at night."
"Yes, that's all very fine," Charlotte would reply. "But if it wasn't
for Jerry and me I wonder how long you _would_ all know where your
things were, and how long the cupboards and drawers would pass mamma's
inspections!"
Whereupon would ensue a series of "Of course, dear Charlotte" cries, and
"You are awfully good, we know" cries--for the three elder boys knew
that it would be a very bad look-out indeed for them if their sister
were to relax in her constant efforts in their behalf.
"And really if it weren't for Jerry, I don't think I _could_ keep on
tidying for them so," Charlotte would sometimes say. Jerry was the
youngest of the four big boys, in the middle of whom came Charlotte. He
was lame, poor fellow, and as a small child he had been very delicate.
That happily to a great extent was past now, but the gentleness and
quickness of perception which often accompany delicate health had
remained. Jerry was as good as a sister any day, Charlotte used to
declare, and yet not the least "soft" either; considering his lameness
it was wonderful what Jerry could do.
There were two tiny sisters up in the nursery, babies that hardly
counted as yet in the restless, busy group of older ones. But they
added their share, no doubt, to all that had to be done and thought of,
though Charlotte often looked forward with prospective envy to the
pleasant life that would be theirs when they came to her age.
"You are pretty sure to be out in the world by then, Jerry," she said to
him one day, "and I, if I am not married, shall be quite an old maid--a
sort of second mother to Amy and Marion. Think how nice and quiet and
regular the house will be! I do think a large family is dreadful."
"But mamma says we don't know how dull it is to be an only child like
she was," Jerry objected.
"_As_ she was--do talk grammar," said Charlotte. "I don't care--I
should have liked to be an only child--or perhaps to have had just one
brother like you, Jerry. Just _think_ what a nice life we would have
had! But I mustn't talk any more. I _must_ copy out my literature
notes. When I have finished them, Jerry, I will tell you something if
you remind me."
The two had the school-room to themselves for once, which was the more
remarkable as it was Saturday afternoon, and not a summer Saturday
afternoon, nor yet a mid-winter frosty day, when Arthur, Ted, and Noble
would have been safe to be off skating. It was a late September
afternoon, dull and gloomy and already chilly. The rain had held off,
however, fortunately, for the elder boys had for some days been planning
a long country walk, to finish up with tea at the house of a
schoolfellow, who lived a couple of miles out of the town.
"What a dreary day it is!" Charlotte began again, looking up from her
notes. "I wish we might have a fire," and she shivered a little.
"I dare say we might," said Jerry, starting up. "Shall I ask mamma?"
"No," Charlotte decided. "We shall be in the drawing-room all the
evening. I've nearly done. I know mamma is glad not to give the
servants anything extra to do on Saturdays. And they haven't got into
the way of regular winter fires yet. I wonder if it isn't any brighter
out in the country to-day than it is here."
"Hardly, I should say," Jerry answered, as he glanced out of the window.
"Still it would be _nicer_ than here. I wish we had a pony-carriage,
Charlotte--think what jolly drives we might have. Those woods out
Gretham way where the boys have gone must be nice even to-day," and
Jerry gave a little sigh. He could not walk far, and Wortherham, though
not a very large town, was partly a manufacturing one, and large enough
therefore to be somewhat grim and smoky, and to make one long for the
freshness and clearness of country air.
"I wish you would not say that," said Charlotte, giving herself a little
shake. "It makes me feel as if everything was all wrong for you not to
have all you want, Jerry."
"Nobody has, I suppose," said the boy.
"I don't know about that," Charlotte replied. "But that reminds me.
Jerry, you know that beautiful place out beyond Gretham. The place papa
drove us out to once--he had some business there, I think."
"Silverthorns?" said Jerry. "Oh yes, I remember it. It is the
prettiest place in the world, I think."
"So do I," agreed Charlotte with conviction. "Well, do you know, Jerry,
the lady it belongs to--Lady Mildred something--I forget her last name--
came the other day to see Miss Lloyd. I didn't see her, but the French
teacher told us. She came to settle about a girl coming to Miss Lloyd's
for classes, the way we all do, only I don't know if she's to come every
day. Miss Lloyd was awfully pleased, I believe, for Lady Mildred said
she had heard the teaching so highly spoken of, and that she wouldn't
have sent the girl to a regular _school_. You know Miss Lloyd prides
herself on hers not being a school, and it is true, everybody agrees,
that we are thoroughly well taught."
"And who is the girl?" asked Jerry.
"I don't know her name, but she's Lady Mildred's niece. And somebody--
oh yes, it was the Lewises, the doctor's daughters--said that Lady
Mildred has adopted her, so that she is a tremendous heiress. And
besides this she's exceedingly pretty and charming. Dr Lewis saw her
one day that he went to see Lady Mildred, and he quite raved about her,
the girls said. Just fancy, Jerry, young--just about sixteen, and so
pretty and so rich and so _grand_--can you believe _she_ hasn't got all
she wants!"
"I don't know," Jerry replied philosophically. "You'd better ask her.
Perhaps she's an orphan," he added.
"Ah, well, perhaps she is. That would be sad, of course; but if her
father and mother died, as very likely they did, when she was quite
little--a baby perhaps, and she can't remember them, that would be
different. And very likely Lady Mildred is just like a mother to her.
Jerry, I _wish_ she weren't coming to our classes. I wouldn't say so to
any one else, but I have a presentiment I shall _hate_ her."
"Charlotte!" Jerry ejaculated, surprised and even a little shocked.
But Charlotte's face half-belied her words. She was already laughing a
little, though she reddened too, slightly, as she felt her brother's
soft blue eyes fixed upon her.
"I shouldn't say it, I know," she said, shaking back the thick dark hair
that she still wore loose on her shoulders. "But you might understand.
We are all very comfortable at Miss Lloyd's, and I don't want any one to
come and spoil it--an outsider, as it were, for the rest of us have been
there so long, and she is too old to be in any but the highest class."
"Unless she's very stupid for her age," suggested Jerry. "Very likely
she is--perhaps that's the thing she hasn't got, Charlotte. Cleverness,
I mean. And I'm sure," he went on with brotherly frankness, "you
wouldn't give up being clever for the sake of being pretty--now, would
you?"
Charlotte laughed.
"Surely I'm not so ugly as all that," she said. "Do you really think I
am, Jerry?"
She lifted her face and looked across the table at the boy. Ugly she
certainly was not, but though her features were good, her complexion was
some degrees browner than "by rights" it should have been to match the
very blue eyes common to all the Waldrons. And her hair was short as
well as thick and curly, and in consequence rather unmanageable. But it
was a bright and kindly and pleasant face, and Jerry felt vaguely as he
looked at it that there were things, even in faces, better than strict
beauty.
"I don't know," he said bluntly. "Your face is you, and so I like it.
I don't want it changed, except that in a bit, I suppose, you'll have to
do your hair up somehow."
"Yes, I suppose I shall," replied Charlotte, glancing sideways and
somewhat ruefully at the dark brown curly locks in question; "but how I
shall do it, I'm sure I can't tell. I wonder if I should begin to try
soon. I think I'll ask mamma. I wonder how she did hers when she was
my age--but hers could never have been difficult to do. It's so
beautifully soft and never gets in a mess."
"No--I couldn't fancy anything to do with mamma in a mess," said Jerry.
"You'll never be anything like as pretty as her, Charlotte."
"You don't suppose I ever thought I should, you stupid boy," retorted
his sister indignantly. "I notice that people generally like to make
out that children never are as pretty or as good or as something as
their parents, and very often I dare say it's rubbish. But in _our_
case any one with half an eye can see how lovely mamma is. I doubt if
even Marion will be anything to compare with her, though she is a very
pretty little girl."
Jerry grunted approval and agreement. He had got to a very delicate
point in his occupation, which was that of taking out some stamps which
Ted in a hurry had gummed into a wrong place in his album. All such
difficult operations, settings right of other people's puttings wrong,
were sure to fall to Jerry--his thin dexterous fingers seemed to have a
genius for work that baffled every one else. Charlotte went on with her
writing, and for a few minutes there was silence in the room.
Suddenly she looked up again.
"Jerry," she said, "I'm so glad you think that that girl is sure to be
stupid."
"Wait a minute," said Jerry, whose mouth was again screwed up in
absorbed anxiety. "There now," he exclaimed, "I've got it off without
the least scrap tearing. I'm sure Ted should be very much obliged to
me. What were you saying, Charlotte? I never said I was sure--only
that _perhaps_ she would be."
"No, no, you said more than that. If you didn't say you were sure, you
said `very likely.' That's more than `perhaps,'" persisted Charlotte.
"Well, I _hope_ she is, for then I may be able to like her. If not--but
I really think she _must_ be, if not stupid, at least not clever. It
wouldn't be fair for her to have everything," she went on, reverting to
the old grievance. "Nobody has, people say."
But Jerry's sympathy on the subject was rather exhausted.
"I wish you'd leave off thinking about her," he said. "You'll work
yourself up to fancying all sorts of things, and making yourself dislike
a person that perhaps you'll never see. Possibly she won't come after
all."
Charlotte sighed.
"I dare say you're right," she said. "It's only that I tell you
everything, you see, Jerry."
"Hadn't you better tell mamma about it?" he said. "She generally finds
out what gives one wrong sorts of feelings. She's put me to rights lots
of times when I'd got horrid about--" and he hesitated.
"About what, Jerry dear?"
In his turn Jerry's face flushed.
"About being lame," he said. "You know we did hope for a good while
that it was going to get almost quite well, so that it would hardly be
noticed. But there's no chance of that now. I shall always be pretty
much the same. And it did make me feel as if everything was wrong for a
while."
"Dear Jerry," said Charlotte. "And you are so good about it. Nobody
would know you minded."
"It's a good deal with getting into the way of not thinking about it,"
said Jerry. "It's no use trying not to think of a thing unless you put
something else into your head to fill up the place. The trying not _is_
thinking of it, you see. But mamma taught me what a good plan it was,
when I found I was going on thinking of a trouble that _had_ to be, to
look out for some trouble that didn't _need_ to be, and to try to put it
right. And you wouldn't believe, unless you get in the way of it, what
lots of those there are that you can at least _help_ to put right."
Charlotte looked a good deal impressed. It was not often that Jerry
said so much.
"Yes," she agreed, "I can fancy it would be a very good plan. But, you
see, Jerry, I've very seldom had anything that it was better not to
think of. Perhaps it is that my head has been so full of lessons, and
the lots of things that are nice to think of."
"Well," said Jerry, "you can go on keeping your head full of sensible
things instead of fussing about a stupid girl you've never seen!"
His calm philosophy made Charlotte laugh.
"I'm sure I don't want to think about her," she said, as she jumped up
and began to put away her books. "What are you going to do now, Jerry?
I'm sure you've been long enough over Arthur's stamps. When one has a
holiday, I think one should have some of it at least to oneself."
"Will you play with me, then?" said Jerry. "I really like that better
than anything, only it isn't much fun for you."
For Jerry was doing his best to learn the violin. He really loved
music, and had already mastered the first difficulties, though his
teaching had been but some irregular lessons from a friend who had also
lent him his fiddle. And Charlotte, who played the piano well, though
with less natural taste for music than her brother, could not please him
better than by accompanying him. It called for some patience, no doubt,
but harder things would have seemed easy to the girl for Jerry's sake.
So the two spent the rest of the dull autumn afternoon happily and
contentedly, though the old school-room piano had long ago seen its best
days, and the sounds that Jerry extracted from his violin were not
always those of the most harmonious sweetness.
At six o'clock Charlotte started up.
"There is the first dinner-bell," she said. "We must get dressed at
once, Jerry. There is to be no school-room tea to-night, for mamma said
it wasn't worth while, as Noble was out. You and I are to dine with her
and papa, and dinner is to be half-an-hour earlier than usual."
"Where are the boys?" asked Mr Waldron, putting his head in at the door
at that moment.
"All out, papa, except me," Jerry replied.
"And we two are to dine with you and mamma instead of Arthur and Ted,"
added Charlotte.
"All right, my dear, but don't keep us waiting. I have to go out
immediately after dinner," her father replied.
"How tiresome it must be for papa to be sent for like that!" said
Charlotte. "I think a lawyer--at least a lawyer in a little town like
Wortherham--is almost as badly off as a doctor. I suppose some old
gentleman fancies he's going to die, and has sent for papa to make his
will."
"Very likely nothing half so important," Jerry replied.
"I wish Arthur or Ted were back," said Mr Waldron at dinner. "One of
them might have driven me out to--" but before he said more, Jerry
interrupted him.
"Papa, mightn't I?" he exclaimed. "I really can drive--at least I am
sure I could drive old Dolly."
His father looked at him doubtfully.
"It isn't really the driving so much as the waiting for me. I don't
like to take Sam out on Saturday evening--he makes it an excuse for not
getting things tidied up. But I hardly like to take you alone, Gervais,
my boy; you see if any little thing went wrong while you were waiting
for me--it isn't as if you could jump down quickly."
Jerry's face sobered down, but he said nothing.
"Papa," exclaimed Charlotte eagerly, "I'll tell you what. Take me too--
we can all three pack in the dog-cart--you'll see, and then if any one
had to jump down, I could. It would be such fun, and Jerry hasn't been
out all the afternoon. Mamma, do say we may."
Mamma smiled. Her impulse was always on the side of "you may"--perhaps
almost too much so.
"Are you going far, Edward?" she asked her husband.
"Out beyond Gretham--as far as--Silverthorns," he replied, with the
slightest possible, not so much hesitation as slackening of speech
before the last word. "I have no objection--none whatever," he went on,
speaking quickly, "to the children coming with me, if you think it can't
hurt them."
"I should so like to go. I haven't been so far as Silverthorns for--
ages," said Charlotte eagerly still.
Her father glanced at her with a half-question in his eyes.
"It is not a particularly pretty road," he said; "besides it is dark
already; one road is as pleasant as another in the dark."
"The house at Silverthorns must look lovely in the moonlight," Charlotte
replied.
"And there will be a moon to-night," added Jerry.
"If it isn't overclouded," said Mr Waldron. "Ah, well, if mamma says
you may, it will be all right, I suppose."
"You will not be kept there long?" asked Mrs Waldron.
"A quarter of an hour at most," her husband replied. "It is nothing of
any importance--merely some little difficulty with one of the leases,
which Lady Mildred Osbert wants to speak to me about. Had it been
anything of consequence she would have telegraphed for the London men--I
have never anything to do with the important business there, you know,"
he added, with an almost imperceptible shade of bitterness.
"Then I think it very inconsiderate to expect you to go all that way
late on a Saturday evening," said Mrs Waldron. The colour rose in her
cheeks as she spoke, and Jerry thought to himself how pretty mamma
looked when she was a very little angry.
"That was my own doing. Lady Mildred gave me my choice of to-day or
Monday morning. She is going away on Monday afternoon for a few days.
I preferred this evening. Monday will be a very busy day."
He rose from the table as he spoke.
"Get ready, children," he said. "I give you ten minutes, not more. And
wrap up well."