AUNT CLOTILDA'S REPLY.
[Illustration: Decorative W]
ednesday came in due course, and as Mrs. Fanshaw's invitation had been
received, and graciously accepted by Miss Eccles for Kathleen, the young
lady was ready and waiting when her brother called for her.
[Illustration]
'Good-bye, Kathie darling,' whispered a little voice over the balusters,
'and don't forget.'
'No, dear, and good-bye,' Kathleen replied.
'Who was that on the stairs?' Neville asked, when the two were making
their way down the street.
'Philippa--Philippa Harley,' Kathie answered.
'The little girl who cries so?' inquired Neville.
'Oh, she's rather left off crying. She's very sensible in some ways,'
said Kathleen.
'_That's_ sensible,' said Neville. 'Still I don't know that I don't like
her for having cried a good deal. I like people to _mind_ things.'
He spoke quite naturally, but Kathleen was rather porcupinish on this
subject. She stood quite still, and faced round upon her brother.
Fortunately the street was not at all a crowded one.
'Now, Neville,' she said, 'I'm not going to have you go on again like
that about my not caring. I know it's that you mean, and I just won't
have it. I care a great deal more than if I sat down and cried about
it.'
Neville stared at her.
'Kathie,' he said, 'I wasn't thinking about you when I said that. I
wasn't indeed. I know you do care when you really think about things.
And if you didn't, it wouldn't in a way be your fault. You've been so
alone as it were; nobody except me, and we've not been much together
after all, to talk about home things to. But don't be vexed with me,
Kathie.'
Kathleen's face had softened while Neville spoke. She turned and walked
on quietly beside him.
'Yes,' she said, 'it's true what you say. I've felt it still more since
Philippa's been there. She's been so much with her mother, and she is so
fond of her. It must be dreadfully nice to have a mother you know so
well that you can love her like that. Neville,' she went on, 'it does
seem hard that I should just be getting to feel more like you about it,
when there's no chance of them coming home, and our being with them.'
Neville sighed.
'Yes,' he said, 'it does seem hard. All the same, Kathie, I'm very glad
you're getting to feel more that way. Philippa must be a nice little
girl.'
'She's a _very_ nice little girl,' said Kathie heartily. 'But
she's funny--she's such a queer mixture of babyishness and
old-for-her-age-ness.'
And then, as her own words recalled some of her conversation with
Philippa, she suddenly exclaimed--
'Neville, are you sure, quite sure, that there's no chance of things
coming right for papa?'
'What do you mean?' asked Neville in surprise.
'Do you think there's no chance of the will ever being found--or the
paper telling where it is? The paper that should have been in the
envelope?'
'I should think _that's_ the least likely thing of all--a little sheet
of paper! A will's rather a big thing--at least, generally. Mr. Fanshaw
says it's written on parchment, and that even a short will is rather a
bulky thing. That's why it seems so queer it should be lost. But the bit
of paper could easily have been lost. Aunt Clotilda thinks that the
blank bit was put in by mistake, you know, so most likely the right bit
was torn up long ago. Mrs. Wynne was getting a little blind.'
'Still,' persisted Kathleen, 'as the _will_ can't be found, _I_ think
they should have a hunt for the paper. You see, if the will's rather a
big thing, it's pretty sure they'd have found it unless it had been
really hidden. And, besides, Mrs. Wynne's meaning to leave directions
where to find it, shows it wasn't anywhere to be found easily.'
'Yes, of course,' said Neville, surprised at Kathleen's reasoning
powers.
'Well then,' she went on, 'I'd look for the paper. It might be in ever
so many places where the _will_ couldn't be. I wonder if they've hunted
through Mrs. Wynne's desk and blotting books, and places like that?'
'I wonder too,' said Neville. 'But they'd only laugh at us if we said
anything, you see, Kathie, because we're children.'
'Yes,' Kathleen agreed. 'People are very stupid about children, often.'
Neville did not answer for a moment. Then, 'Kathie,' he said half
hesitatingly.
'Well.'
'I think I'll tell you something'--but he was interrupted. They had got
into a crowded part by this time, and Neville had to catch hold of
Kathleen and make a sudden rush for it, to avoid being knocked down by
an unexpected hansom appearing round a corner which they had not been
observing. 'There now,' Neville went on, 'it would have been very nice
if I had got you run over, Kathie. We mustn't talk where it's so
crowded. Wait till we get into Mayhew Street.'
But when they reached Mayhew Street, at the farther end of which was
Neville's present home, they were overtaken by Mr. Fanshaw himself. So
there was no more opportunity for talking privately. And kind Mrs.
Fanshaw had arranged a sight-seeing expedition in the afternoon for the
two Powys children and two of the other boys. From this they did not get
home till tea-time, and after tea there were games in the schoolroom,
and then music in the drawing-room when Mr. and Mrs. Fanshaw and the
elder boys came up from dinner. It was all very delightful, and
Kathleen enjoyed it thoroughly. But it drove other thoughts out of her
head, and gave her endless subject for chatter in the hansom on her way
home. It was not till they drew up at Miss Eccles' gate that she
suddenly remembered Neville's unfinished sentence.
'What was it you were going to say to me just when that cab came up,
this morning?' she asked.
Neville hesitated.
'I'll tell you the next time. It would take too long now. Perhaps it
will never come to anything; perhaps you wouldn't like it if it did, and
perhaps you'd be disappointed if it didn't. And it's best to say no more
about it yet.'
And this oracular reply was all Kathie could extract from Neville before
they had to bid each other good-night.
Philippa was a good deal disappointed the next day that Kathleen had no
more to tell her.
'You promised to speak to your brother about looking for the paper,' she
said.
'Well, so I did,' said Kathie.
'Yes; but what you said was no good. You should have planned with him
about going there. It'll be too late soon; once your aunt has left the
house you'd never have a chance of going there.'
'Oh, bother!' said Kathleen; 'I've no chance as it is. I don't believe
it'll ever be found--the paper or the will either. It's no good thinking
any more about it.'
Philippa's face flushed.
'I think you're a very silly girl, and a very selfish one too,' she
said. 'I'm sure if there was the least little tiniest bit of a chance of
my finding any paper that would do _my_ papa and mamma any good,
I'd--I'd--'
'What would you do, Miss Unselfish?' said Kathie teasingly.
'I'd run away and dress myself like a little servant so as to get into
the house, or--or--anything,' said Philippa.
'And get put into prison for poking about among other people's things.
That would be _very_ nice for papa and mamma! Your head's far too full
of fanciful stories and rubbish!' said Kathleen.
And for some days there was a decided coolness between the friends.
But on the fourth day something happened which quickly set this unusual
state of things to rights. A rather thick letter arrived for 'Miss
Powys' by the morning post. It was addressed in Neville's clear, boyish
handwriting; and as this was at once recognised by Miss Eccles, she gave
it to Kathleen without any remark or inquiry. And though there was only
a quarter of an hour between breakfast and morning lessons beginning,
Kathie managed to gain a pretty fair idea of its contents before taking
her place in the schoolroom. But it was not till the after-dinner
play-time in the garden that she was able to tell what the letter
contained to her little confidante. All she had time to whisper to
her--for it was a very busy morning--was, 'I _have_ got something to
tell you, Phil, so you're not to look cross at me any more. You will
open your eyes when you hear it.'
Philippa opened her eyes wide enough only to know she was _going_ to
hear it! What could it be? Kathie looked so pleased and excited that
Philippa almost fancied news must have come of the will having been
found. Of course it would be very nice, she said to herself, _very_
nice, if it were so; but still she was conscious of a little feeling of
disappointment at the idea. She was rather what is called a romantic
little girl; she liked to make up wonderful stories in her head; but
this was the first time that she had ever come across in actual life
anything to make a really good one about, so, naturally, she felt that
it would be quite a pity for it to come to an end too soon. It would be
like a book finishing up all in a hurry in the middle. She thought so
much about it that she was very sharply reproved by Miss Fraser for
inattention and carelessness, which forced her out of her dreams, though
the pleasant feeling of having something out of the common to look
forward to prevented her taking the scolding much to heart.
[Illustration: THE AFTER-DINNER PLAY-TIME IN THE GARDEN.]
And at last--at last, though really it did seem as if the morning would
never come to an end--the two friends found themselves together in the
arbour again, and Kathleen drew the fat-looking letter out of her
pocket.
'Oh, Kathie,' Philippa exclaimed, 'I'm all trembling to know what it is!
Only just tell me quick! Is it that the will's found?'
She could hardly for the moment have said whether she wished the answer
to be 'yes' or 'no,' but she was not long left in suspense.
'You goose!' said Kathleen, which was answer of itself; 'of course not.
I do believe you thought it was in this letter. I don't believe, for my
part, it ever will be found. But that's not the question. What I've got
to tell you is just what you've been wishing for. I--we--Neville and
I--are to go to Aunt Clotilda's for the holidays.'
'Oh!' exclaimed Philippa, in a tone of deep satisfaction. 'Then _did_
you speak of it to your brother, Kathie? Were you only teasing me when
you said you hadn't?'
'No, no. It was done before. I mean Neville had thought of it before. He
began to tell me something, and then he stopped; I think he wasn't sure
if I'd like it. He's not sure now; you'll see when you read what he
says. And to tell you the truth, Phil, if you hadn't put it into my head
about hunting for that paper'--
'No,' interrupted Philippa; 'it was your own thought about looking for
the _paper_. I said the will.'
'Never mind,' said Kathie impatiently; 'it's the same thing. You put the
hunting into my head. And, as I was saying, if you hadn't, I don't
believe I would have wanted to go there. You see, it's left to my own
wishes principally,' she went on importantly. '_That's_ sensible of Aunt
Clotilda, anyway. There,' and she held out the letter to Philippa, 'you
may read it all. Can you make out the writing? If not, I'll read it to
you. Neville's writing is plain enough; read it first.'
Philippa eagerly obeyed. Neville's letter was just a short one, sending
on to his sister a larger one which he had received from their aunt, and
saying how much he hoped Kathleen would like the idea of the visit Miss
Clotilda proposed, and which he frankly said he had written to suggest.
'I've read Neville's,' said Philippa; 'but the writing of the other is
rather difficult. Please read it to me, Kathie.'
Kathleen unfolded it, and made Philippa come quite close to her.
'I don't want to speak loud,' she said. 'I don't care for the other
girls to hear.'
'MY DEAR NEVILLE,'
the letter began,
'I am very glad you wrote to me. I have thought a great deal about
you and dear Kathleen since the terrible disappointment which you
heard all about from your father. It is very sad for both of you,
and perhaps especially so for Kathleen, to be so long separated
from your dear parents, and to have now--alas!--such a very
uncertain prospect of seeing them again for long. I had already
been considering if it would not be possible for you both to spend
your next holidays with me here. Mr. Wynne-Carr has--I suppose
I must say _kindly_, but I think you are old enough to
understand that it is difficult for me to feel grateful under the
circumstances--given me leave to stay here till October, when I
must go I know not where. But I am very poor. I have for the time
a house in which to receive you, but that is about all. All the
servants are dismissed already, except old Martha. And I am
obliged to live in the simplest way. Then, again, I had a feeling
that it would be painful and tantalising for you to come here, and
to get to know and love the dear old place which should have been
by now your own home. I should like you and little Kathleen'--
'_Little_ Kathleen, indeed!' said Kathie, with a snort.
'to think it over'--
'Yes; that's sensible of her, isn't it?'
'and to let me know what you feel about it before I do anything in
the matter. I am quite sure your dear papa and mamma'--
'Did you ever see such a lot of "dears" as she sticks in? I'm afraid she
must be rather a kissey-cry-ey sort of person, Phil.'
'would have no objection to your coming, and if you both think you
would like it, and will let me know as soon as possible, I will
write to Miss Eccles and to Mr. Fanshaw, and try to get all
arranged. I think you could safely make the journey alone, as
there is no change from Paddington to Frewern Bay, where you leave
the railway, and where I should meet you by the coach. Of course,
had things been as we hoped, I should have sent some one to town
to escort you, but that, alas! is now out of the question. With
love to Kathleen, and hoping to hear from you very soon--Believe
me, my dear Neville, your affectionate aunt,
'CLOTILDA WYNNE POWYS.'
'She writes as if she would have sent a couple of powdered footmen for
us, doesn't she?' said Kathie. 'I say, Phil, it won't be very cheerful
if she's going to go on groaning all the time over departed grandeur,
will it? And I'm rather afraid about the'--Kathleen hesitated. She was
in an excited, mischievous mood, and she wanted to shock Philippa by
using slang. But she wasn't sure whether the proper expression for what
she wanted to say was 'tuck,' or 'grub,' or 'prog,' or no one of the
three, so she discreetly changed the form of the sentence. 'I've just a
little misgiving that we shall not have enough to eat,' she went on. 'Do
you suppose she'll give us porridge three times a day? I always think of
porridge when people speak of living very simply.'
'Porridge is very good,' said Philippa; 'with _cream_ I think it's'--
'Heavenly!' put in Kathie. 'Yes, so do I. For breakfast, that's to say.
But for dinner and tea too! I warn you, Phil, if we go, and if we're
starved, it'll all lie on your shoulders.'
Her voice was so solemn, and she put such an alarming expression into
her face, that Philippa looked really frightened, and half ready to cry.
'I don't understand you, Kathie,' she said. 'I wish you wouldn't open
your eyes at me like that. _I_ think it's a very nice, kind letter, and
I don't see why you turn everything into mocking. I can't think what
makes you do it.'
Kathleen's face grew grave.
'I'm very sorry for vexing you, poor little Phil,' she said. 'I won't do
it any more. But you needn't be vexed at my saying seriously, that I
don't think I'd have wanted to go to Aunt Clotilda's but for your idea
of hunting for the will. I'm sure she's very unhappy, and I daresay
she'd rather not be bothered with us.'
'You should try to make her happier, then. It's for all of you she's so
unhappy, poor thing.'
'Yes, that's true. And anyway, it's better than Bognor. I'll promise to
be very good, Phil; I really will. But you _mustn't_ be disappointed if
I don't find the will, for I'm very much afraid I shan't.'
'You haven't patience enough,' said the little girl. 'I wish _I_ was
going there.'
'I'm sure I wish you were. But it will be nice to see the place, and to
find out if our plans about it are something like. I'll write you long
letters to your grandmamma's, and tell you all about it.'