THE COTTAGE NEAR THE CREEK.
[Illustration: Decorative K]
athleen was just finishing a long letter to Philippa that afternoon in
the library, when Miss Clotilda came into the room with her usual quiet
step. Kathleen did not hear her till her aunt laid her hand on her
shoulder. The little girl started.
'Oh, aunty,' she said, 'I've been writing to poor Phil. Such a long
letter!'
'And long as it is, I'm afraid you will have to make it still a little
longer,' said Miss Clotilda.
Something in the tone of her voice made Kathleen look up. Miss Clotilda
was smiling, and her pale cheeks were a little pinker than usual.
'Listen to me, dear,' she said. 'I have thought it over, and it seems to
me really right, only right and kind, to ask that poor child to come to
us here. I have written to her uncle to propose it, and I have explained
things just a little, saying that I am only here for a short time more,
and that things are not as they used to be, but that we shall make her
most welcome. I thought it best to write to the uncle, as her
grandmother is so ill. You can give me the exact address, I suppose, and
the uncle's name?'
[Illustration]
Kathie held up Philippa's letter.
'Yes, aunty,' she said. 'You see, it is written at the top. She told me
to put "care of" to her uncle, because her name is not the same as his
and her grandmother's. He is her mother's brother. But oh, dear aunty, I
can scarcely believe you are really going to let her come! It is _too_
delicious.'
'It does not rest only with me, however, dear, you must remember,' Miss
Clotilda said. 'You must not count upon it too surely till we hear from
her friends. They may not approve of it, or there may be difficulties in
the way of bringing her. It is rather a long way from Cheltenham, and an
expensive journey.'
'I don't think that would matter,' said Kathleen. 'I'm almost sure
Phil's relations are rich, and she is an only child.'
'Well, let us hope they will let her come,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I will
send my letter separately; but I wanted to ask you what you thought of
telling the little girl herself about it. Do you think it best to say
nothing to her till we hear from her uncle, and to leave it to him to
tell her?'
Kathie considered.
'No, aunty,' she said. 'I think we needn't do that. Philippa is such a
_very_ sensible little girl, I'm sure her uncle would talk to her about
it immediately. So may I write and tell her? Oh dear, how lovely!'
'Yes, certainly. You haven't very much time. The letters must go in half
an hour, but as you are hoping now to see her soon, you won't need to
say so very much.'
Kathie's pen flew along the paper. She could have filled pages with the
anticipated delights of Philippa's visit, and it was just as well her
time was limited. One argument she brought to bear with great force in
favour of the visit. 'Be sure to tell your uncle,' she wrote, 'that your
mamma gave you into my charge at school, and that I promised her to try
to make you happy. So I am sure, if there was time to ask her, that
_she_ would like you to come.'
'I think that's very clever of me,' she said to herself, as she folded
up the letter, 'and I'm sure it's quite true. But how shall I get
through the next two or three days till we can hear if she is coming? I
must get Neville to take me tremendously long walks.'
The next day, fortunately, was very fine.
'Aunty,' said Kathleen at breakfast, 'I do feel in such a fidget about
Philippa coming that I'm afraid I shall get quite unbearable. Don't you
think the best thing would be for Neville and me to go a very long walk
to calm me down?'
'Do very long walks generally have that desirable effect?' asked Miss
Clotilda. 'I have no objection, provided you don't lose your way.'
'Oh! we won't lose our way,' said Neville. 'I have a pocket compass.
Besides, as you said yourself, aunty, it is a very easy country to find
one's way in. There's always a hill one can climb, and once you see the
sea, you can easily make out where you are.'
'And any of the cottagers about can direct you to Ty-gwyn,' said Miss
Clotilda. 'Well, then, if you ask Martha to make you some sandwiches,
and to give you some rock cakes for "pudding," you might take your
dinners with you, and not come back till the afternoon. And,' she added,
glancing out of the window as she spoke, 'I think you would do well to
make hay while the sun shines, at present--that is to say, to go a long
walk while it is fine, for I don't think this weather is going to last
above a day or two.'
'Oh!' Kathie exclaimed, 'I do hope it won't rain all the time Philippa
is here.'
'Kathie,' said Neville, 'you are too silly. Aunty only meant that we
might have _some_ rain. She never said it would rain for weeks.'
'That it seldom, indeed never, does here,' said Miss Clotilda. 'But, you
know, in a very hilly district you must expect uncertain weather. I
think there is no fear for to-day, however.'
And an hour or two later the children set off.
'Which way shall we go?' said Kathleen. 'To the sea?'
Neville looked round.
'Suppose we go over there, towards that hill,' he said. 'There's a sort
of creek between two little hills there--or more perhaps as if it was
cut in the middle of one--that must be very pretty. Martha told me about
it. I forget the name she called it in Welsh. She said the smugglers
used to run their boats in there, for there are caves they could hide
things in.'
'Oh, what fun!' said Kathie. 'Do let us go! Are there no smugglers now,
Neville? What a pity!' she went on, as her brother shook his head. 'It
would be so romantic to find a smugglers' cave.'
'I don't think it would be romantic at all--at least, it wouldn't be at
all pleasant,' said sensible Neville. 'In the days when there were
smugglers, if they had found us poking about their caves they wouldn't
have been very amiable to us.'
'What would they have done to us?' asked Kathleen.
'Pitched us into the sea, or--or gagged us, and tied our hands behind
us, and left us among the rocks on the chance of any one finding us,'
said Neville grimly.
Kathleen shuddered. They were soon at the entrance to the little creek
which Martha had described, coming upon it suddenly, as a turn in the
path brought them sharply down to a lower level. It was very
picturesque. Against the strip of blue sky seen through the fissure or
cleft which formed the creek, stood out clearly the outline of a small
fishing craft, drawn up on the shingly beach; while down below, the
water, darkened by the shade of the rocks on each side, gleamed black
and mysterious.
[Illustration: 'WHERE ARE THE CAVES, NEVILLE?']
'What a queer place!' said Kathleen. 'Where are the caves, Neville? I
don't see any.'
'I suppose they are facing the sea. We must make our way round over the
stones at the edge of the water if we want to see them. It isn't deep,
though it looks so dark. You needn't be afraid,' said Neville, beginning
the scramble.
But Kathleen hung back.
'Neville,' she said, 'you're quite sure there aren't any smugglers
now?'
'Of course not,' said Neville, rather disdainfully. 'Kathie, you
shouldn't be so boasting about never being frightened, and all that, if
you are really so babyish.'
'I'm not babyish. Neville, you're very unkind. You never were so unkind
in London,' said Kathie, looking ready to cry.
'I don't mean to be unkind,' said Neville, stopping short in his
progress, one foot on a big stone, the other still on the grass near the
edge of the water. 'But if you're the least afraid, Kathie, either of
smugglers or of the scramble--it will be a scramble, I see--you'd better
not come. Supposing you go up to that little cottage--there's quite a
nice old woman living there--while I go on to the caves? I'll come back
for you in ten minutes or so.'
'Very well,' said Kathie; 'I think I'd better, perhaps. It isn't for the
smugglers, Neville. I wouldn't let _you_ go if there was any chance of
there being any. But I'm rather afraid of tumbling. Are you sure it's
safe for you, Neville?'
'Oh, yes. Aunty told me I might go any day. She explained all about it
to me.'
'Well, then, don't be long;' and so saying, Kathleen began making her
way up the slope to the little cottage Neville had pointed out.
It was a very tiny place. There was no garden, but a little patch of
grass had been roughly railed in, and on this two or three chickens were
pecking about. A very old woman came to the door on seeing Kathleen
approaching, with a smile on her brown, wrinkled, old face.
'Good morning, miss,' she said in very good English. 'Would you like to
rest a bit?'
'Thank you,' said Kathie; 'I'd like to wait a few minutes, if you don't
mind, till my brother comes to fetch me. He's gone down to see the
caves.'
'To be sure,' said the old woman. 'Perhaps you'd like best to wait
outside; it's pleasant in the air this morning;' and she quickly brought
out a chair, and set it for Kathie against the wall of the cottage.
'And you'll be the young lady and gentleman from Ty-gwyn? Dear, dear!'
'What do you say that for?' asked Kathie, not quite sure if she was
pleased or vexed at the state of the family affairs being evidently
understood by this old woman.
'No offence, miss,' said the dame. 'I'm not of this country, miss,
though I've lived here nigh thirty years, and I've seen a deal in my
time. I was kitchen-maid when I was a girl in London town.'
'Indeed,' said Kathleen; 'that must have been a _very_ long time ago;'
which was perhaps not a very polite speech.
'And so it is--a very long time ago. A matter of fifty years, miss.'
'Indeed,' said Kathleen, opening her eyes; 'that is a very long time.'
[Illustration]
'And yet I can remember things as happened then as if they'd been
yesterday,' said the old woman. 'There was a queer thing happened in the
house of my missis's father. He was a very old man, not to say quite
right in his head, and when he died there was papers missing that had to
do with the money some way. And would you believe, miss, where they was
found? In his pillow, hid right away among the feathers! There's many
folk as'll hide money and papers in a mattress, but I never heard tell
before or since of hiding in a pillow; and it's been in my mind ever
since Farmer Davis told me of the trouble at Ty-gwyn to ask the lady if
she'd ever thought of looking in the pillows.'
'Who is Farmer Davis?' asked Kathleen, for the name seemed familiar.
'Him who lives at Dol-bach,' said the old woman. 'He travelled in the
railway with you and the young gentleman. You should go to see him some
day, miss. He'd be proud; and the old lady thought a deal of him and his
wife.'
'Yes,' said Kathleen, 'I'd like to go to see him. He was very kind to
us. There's my brother coming,' she went on, as she caught sight of
Neville coming up the hill. 'Thank you very much for letting me wait
here,' and she got up to go.
'And you won't forget about the pillows, miss?' said the old body.
'No, I won't,' Kathleen replied.
'She's such a funny old woman, Neville,' she said, when they met. And
then she went on to repeat what the dame had told her about the pillows.
'Oh,' said Neville, 'they are all gossiping about it. It is
nonsense--Mrs. Wynne wasn't out of her mind'.
'Then do you think it's no use looking anywhere?' said Kathleen.
'Certainly not in the pillows,' said Neville, laughing. 'I think we'd
better have our dinner now, Kathie, don't you? Over there, just between
this hill and the next, I should think there would be a nice place.'
And having found a snug corner, they established themselves comfortably.
'Were the caves nice?' asked Kathleen.
'Not very--at least, I didn't like to go very far alone. There was one
that looked as if it would be very nice--a great, deep, black place, but
one would need a light. I'll try to go again some day, if I can get
anyone to go with me. It's not fit for girls.'
Suddenly Kathleen gave a deep sigh.
'What's the matter?' asked Neville.
'It's only what that old woman said. It's put it all into my head
again,' said Kathleen. 'I should have liked to tell Phil we had searched
_somewhere_.'
'Wait till she comes,' said Neville. 'She'll soon see for herself that
there's _nowhere_ to search. I've thought and thought about it, and I'm
sure aunty has done everything anybody could.'
So no more was said about it, and they finished their dinner
comfortably. Then they set off again, and climbed the hill from whence
they had been told the view was so beautiful. Nor were they
disappointed--the day was unusually clear, with the clearness that tells
of rain at no great distance, and on all sides they could see over many
miles.
'How lovely the sea is!' said Kathleen. 'The only fault I can find with
Ty-gwyn is that you can't see the sea from the house. Now that house
over there, Neville--over towards the sea, but a good way from it--on
the side of a hill,' and she pointed towards it, 'must have a lovely
view of the sea. I wonder what house it is? It looks so pretty.'
'I know,' said Neville. 'It is the old farmer's. It is Dol-bach.'
'Old Farmer Davis's?' said Kathleen. 'Oh, that reminds me the old woman
at the cottage said we should go to see him, and thank him for being so
kind the day we came. Indeed, we should have gone already.'
'Did she say so?' said Neville; 'she must be rather an impertinent old
woman. It's no business of hers.'
'Oh no, she isn't impertinent at all,' said Kathleen. '_She_ didn't say
we should have gone already. That was only my own thought. She said he'd
be "proud" to see us--I think that sounds very nice, Neville--and that
Mrs. Wynne thought "a deal" of him and his wife. Supposing we go now,
Neville, on our way home?'
'No,' said Neville. 'I don't think it would be right to go anywhere
without asking Aunt Clotilda. But I daresay she'll let us go. I remember
old Davis said something about knowing Mrs. Wynne very well.'
'We'll ask her,' said Kathie. 'It would be something nice to do, to
keep my mind off Phil's coming. And we might dress nicely, Neville. It
would be more of a compliment to them, you know, if we went nicely
dressed--like paying a real call.'
They met Miss Clotilda coming to meet them, when, after a good long
ramble among the hills, they made their way home.
'I have come along the road two or three times to look for you,' she
said. 'Have you had a nice walk, and any adventures?'
'Oh, yes,' said Kathie, and she launched at once into an account of her
old woman.
But Neville noticed that she did not mention the anecdote about the
pillow. 'Perhaps it is better not to keep reminding aunty of it,' he
thought. 'I am glad Kathie is so thoughtful.'
'And may we go to see Farmer Davis, aunty?' asked Kathie eagerly.
'Oh, certainly,' said Miss Clotilda. 'I was thinking of proposing it. It
would have been no use going to-day, as both he and his wife were at
Hafod Market, I know. There are many of our neighbours I should have
liked to take you to see, both the gentlepeople and others; but it is
impossible to go about much without a horse of any kind,' she ended,
with a little sigh.
'May we go to Dol-bach to-morrow?' asked Kathie. 'I want to keep myself
from fidgeting.'
Miss Clotilda could not help smiling at her.
'I have no objection,' she said, 'if the weather holds up; which,
however, I have my doubts of.'
[Illustration]
And her doubts proved well founded. 'To-morrow' proved a very rainy
day--a thoroughly and hopelessly rainy day, such as seldom is to be seen
in the middle of summer, and Kathleen's spirits sank to zero. She was
sure they were not going to have any more fine weather; sure a letter
would come from Philippa's uncle refusing the invitation; and very angry
with Neville for remarking that if the first prediction was fulfilled,
it was almost to be hoped the second would come to pass also. And when
the morning after broke again dull and gloomy, Miss Clotilda felt really
distressed at Kathie's gloom.
'My dear,' she said, 'you must make an effort to be cheerful and
patient. You cannot, at soonest, have an answer from Philippa till
to-morrow, and you cannot go to Dol-bach to-day; even if the rain leaves
off, the roads will be terribly bad. Try to think of something to do in
the house that will occupy and interest you. I am almost sure that
to-morrow will be fine.'
Kathleen listened respectfully enough, but with a most depressed look in
her face, to the beginning of this speech. Half-way through it, however,
her face suddenly cleared, and a light came into her eyes.
'Thank you, aunty,' she said. 'Yes, I have something I should like to do
up in my own room. I won't grumble any more,' and off she set.
'She is a dear child,' thought her aunt. 'A word suffices with her.'
Poor Miss Clotilda! She scarcely knew her volatile, flighty little niece
as yet.