GUILD COURT AGAIN.
I will not linger over the last of my story. Mr. Sargent was delighted
at the turn affairs had taken--from a business point of view, I mean.
The delight was greatly tempered by other considerations. Still he went
into the matter mind and soul, if not heart and soul, and moved for a
fresh trial on the ground of fresh evidence. Mr. Worboise tried the
plan of throwing discredit on the witness; but the testimony of Robins
and Thomas was sufficient to remove any influence that course might
have had. The former judgment was rescinded, and the property was Mrs.
Boxall's.
Mr. Worboise and Mr. Sargent met in the lobby. The latter, in very
unlawyer-like fashion, could not help saying:
"You would have done better to listen to reason, Mr. Worboise."
"I've fought fair, and lost, Mr. Sargent: and there's an end of it."
The chief consolation Mr. Worboise now had was that his son had come
out so much more of a man than he expected, having, indeed, foiled him
at his own game, though not with his own weapons. To this was added the
expectation of the property, after all, reverting to his son; while, to
tell the truth, his mind was a little easier after he was rid of it,
although he did not part with it one moment before he was compelled
to do so. He made no advances however, toward a reconciliation with
Thomas. Probably he thought that lay with Thomas, or at least would
wait to give him an opportunity of taking the first step. My reader
would doubtless have expected, as I should myself, that he would vow
endless alienation from the son who had thus defeated his dearest
plans, first in one direction, then in another; but somehow, as I have
shown, his heart took a turn short of that North Pole of bitterness.
There is nothing to wonder at in the fact that Mrs. Boxall should know
nothing yet of her happy reverse of fortune. They had, as I have said
already, judged it better to keep the fresh attempt from her, so that
if by any chance it should fail, she might not suffer by it, and, in
any case, might be protected from the wearing of anxiety and suspense.
"Let's give grannie a surprise, Lucy," said Thomas, having hurried to
her with the good news.
"How do you mean, Tom? We must be careful how we break it to her. Poor
dear! she can't stand much now."
"Well, my plan will just do for that. Get Mrs. Whatshername, over the
way--her old crony, you know--to ask her to tea this evening. While
she's away, Kitely, Spelt, and I will get all the things back into the
old place. There's nobody there, is there?"
"No, I believe not. I don't see why we shouldn't. I'll run across to
the old lady, and tell her we want grannie out of the way for an hour
or two."
She took care, however, not to mention the reason, or their surprise
would have been a failure.
There were no carpets to fit, for the floor had been but partially
covered, showing the dark boards in the newest fashion. Before Mrs.
Boxall's visit was over, the whole of her household property had been
replaced--each piece in the exact position it used to occupy when they
had not yet dreamed of fortune or misfortune. Just as they were getting
anxious lest she should come upon the last of it, Lucy, bethinking
herself, said to the bookseller:
"Mr. Kitely, you must lend us Widdles. Grannie can't exist without
Widdles."
"I wish you hadn't proposed it, miss; for I did mean to have all the
credit of that one stroke myself. But Widdles is yours, or hers rather,
for you won't care much about the old scaramouch."
"Not care about him! He's the noblest bird in creation--that I know,
Mr. Kitely. He does not mind being bald, even, and that's the highest
summit of disregard for appearances that I know of. I'm afraid I
shouldn't take it so quietly."
"It don't much matter nowadays," said Mr. Kitely. "They make such
wonderful wigs."
"But that's ten times worse," said Lucy.
"You don't mean to say you'd go with a bare poll, miss, so be that
Providence was to serve you the same as Widdles?--which Heaven forbid!"
"I wouldn't bear a wig anyhow."
"What would you do, then, miss? Black and polish it?"
"What nonsense we are talking!" said Lucy, after a good laugh. "But
I'm so happy I don't know what to do. Let's make a wig for Widdles,
and grannie will think her bears' grease has made hair grow instead of
feathers."
Whether this proposal was ever carried out, I do not know. But Widdles
followed the furniture; and when grannie came home she found that all
her things were gone. She stared. Nobody was to be seen. But all were
watching from behind the defences of Mr. Kitely's book-shelves.
"Mr. Kitely," she called at last, in a voice that revealed
consternation.
The bookseller obeyed the summons.
"I didn't expect it of you, Mr. Kitely," she said, and burst into tears.
This quite upset the conspirators. But Mr. Kitely kept them back as
they were hurrying forward.
"We thought we could do a little better for you, you see, ma'am. It was
a confined place this for the likes of you. So Miss Lucy and I made
bold to move your things up to a place in the court where you'll have
more room."
She said nothing but went up stairs. In both rooms she found utter
emptiness. Mr. Kitely followed her.
"There's not a stick left, you see, ma'am. Come and I'll take you home."
"I didn't think you'd have turned me out in my old age, Mr. Kitely. But
I suppose I must go."
It was with considerable exercise of self-denial that the bookseller
refrained from telling her the truth, but he could not spoil the young
people's sport. He led her up to the door of her own house.
"No, Mr. Kitely. I'll never set foot in that place again. I won't
accept it from no one--not even rent-free."
"But it's your own," said Kitely, almost despairing of persuasion, and
carried beyond his intent.
"That's just why I won't go in. It is mine, I know, but I won't have my
own in charity."
"Thomas," whispered Lucy, for they were following behind, "_you_ must
tell her the good news. It will help her over her prejudice against
you. Old people are hard to change, you know."
"Mrs. Boxall," said Thomas, going up to her, "this house is your own."
"Go away," returned Mrs. Boxall, energetically. "Isn't it enough that
you have robbed me? Will you offer me my own in charity."
"Do listen to me, grannie," pleaded Thomas.
"I will not listen to you. Call a cab, Lucy. We'll drive to the nearest
work-house."
Lucy saw it was time to interfere.
"What Thomas says is true, grannie, if you would only listen so him.
Every thing's changed. Thomas has been over the seas to find a man who
was in uncle's ship when it went down. He has given such evidence that
the property is yours now."
"I don't care; it's all a trick. I don't believe he went over the seas.
I won't take any thing from the villain's hand."
"Villains don't usually plot to give away what they've got," said Lucy.
"But it's Thomas Worboise you mean?"
"Yes; but he had nothing to do with it, as I've told you a hundred
times, grannie. He's gone and slaved for you, and that's all the thanks
you give him--to stand there on the stones, refusing to take what's
your very own."
The light was slowly dawning on grannie's confused mind.
"Then you mean," she said, "that all my son Richard's money--"
"Is yours, grannie," said Lucy and Thomas in a breath.
"Only," added Lucy, "you've spoiled all our bit of fun by being so
obstinate, grannie."
For sole answer the old woman gave a hand to each of them, and led them
into the house, up the wide oak stair-case, and along the passage into
the old room, where a fire was burning cheerfully just as in the old
time, and every article of furniture, book-case, piano, settle, and
all, stood each in its old place, as if it had never been moved.
Mrs. Boxall sat down in her own chair, "like one that hath been
stunned," and for some moments gave no sign of being conscious of what
was going on around her. At length a little noise at her ear attracted
her attention. She looked around. On the edge of the little table
which had always been beside her easy-chair, stood Widdles, the long
feathers of whose wings looked like arms that he had tucked under his
coat-tails, only there was no coat.
"Poor Widdles!" said the old woman, and burst into tears.