HOW FAN SPUN A SECOND SILKEN THREAD.
SO Ben sailed away to foreign lands, and Fan was left at Harewood
House, under the protection of Mrs. Harewood, who promised that she
should be well cared for during her brother's absence. Mrs. Harewood
was well pleased to have Fan under her charge, though she had thought
it rather a risk taking Ben abroad in the position of sole attendant on
Mr. Sydney.
Miss Ayrton, in the kindest manner, offered to teach the child, giving
her regular daily lessons. But Fan had no particular love of learning,
and asked her if it was not enough for her to learn to read and write
well.
"Well, Fan, what you say is not unreasonable," said Miss Ayrton.
"Of course I'd like to read quite well, ma'am, and to be able to write
to Ben."
"Yes; and for most girls in your rank of life, that and a little
arithmetic would be quite enough."
"Thank you, miss," cried lazy Fan joyfully. "But not for you, Fan."
"Not for me, Miss Ayrton! Please tell me why?"
"Because, when your brother, who has a natural love of study, I think,
has been for three or four years travelling about alone with such a
man as Mr. Sydney, you will find, Fan, that he will come home very
different from the ignorant lad who left you. Merely hearing Mr. Sydney
talk about the various places they visit, and the beasts and plants
which they meet with, will teach him a great deal. But besides that,
I know that Mr. Sydney thinks him clever, and means to teach him many
things, so as to fit him for something better than a mere groom when he
comes home."
"Ben will like that," said Fan.
"Yes, but when Ben comes home and finds his sister just where he left
her—fit only for a servant—he will not like 'that,' I fear. He may be
just as fond of you, but he will have to seek other companions."
"Miss Ayrton, I will learn whatever you will teach me," cried Fan
hurriedly.
And she set to work diligently, making fair progress; for, though far
from clever, she was not deficient. Mrs. Thompson, the housekeeper,
gave her lessons too, and was very kind to her, in return for which Fan
thought no task too troublesome, and saved the old lady a good deal of
trotting about the house, by being a very handy messenger.
Thus time passed very pleasantly, and Fan was surprised to find that
she could be so happy, parted from Ben. But then she had Miss Pearl,
which made a great difference. The Fairy Cottage was revisited now,
and many a merry game of play took place there. Once, Fan went up to
the cottage beyond the park to call on her grandmother, prompted by an
uneasy feeling that she had not done quite as she ought when living
there. The door was opened by a stranger.
Sally Tibbs had found the place unbearable after Fan's departure, and
another woman had taken her place. A very disagreeable-looking woman
too, who looked at Fan with unfriendly eyes and asked what she wanted.
"I'm Mrs. Thirlston's grandchild, please, and I want to know how she
is, and if she will see me."
"I'll ask her," was the reply.
And the woman shut the door leaving Fan outside. She went upstairs, and
Fan heard her grandmother's voice, raised in anger she thought. And
then the woman came down again and said—
"You may go about your business, Frances Fairfax, there's no use in
coming fawning and pretending here, she'll never see your face again,
and you'll never be a penny the better of her."
"I don't want anything from her," Fan said indignantly, as she turned
and walked off in great wrath.
This occurred when Ben had been gone for about a fortnight, and Fan
thought no more of her grandmother for a long time.
But one day in January—a cold and frosty day—Sally Tibbs came to
Harewood House and asked if the mistress could see her. Mrs. Harewood
came to her in the hall at once.
"Well, Mrs. Tibbs, I hope there is nothing the matter with you?" said
the lady, who doctored her neighbours occasionally with great success.
"No, ma'am, but I'm as much obliged as if there was," said Sally in
an apologetic tone. "It is only that I've took on myself to tell you
summat, ma'am, as I think ought for to be known."
"And what is that, Sally?"
"It consarns that cantankerous old Mrs. Thirlston, ma'am. You see,
when I left her, soon after Fanny Fairfax went—and r'ally ma'am, flesh
and blood couldn't stand her tongue—Jane Jeffars, that's a widow like
myself, she got the place. And the remark in Comerton was, if you'll
excuse me, that if Sally Tibbs had to leave, how long would Jane
Jeffars, as is known to have a temper, stay there? But stay she has,
ma'am, ever since! and comes to Spence's (where I'm working) in Mrs.
Thirlston's handsome cloth cloak—and brags, she do, how the old lady
gives her presents and begs her not to leave her. I says to her, says
I, 'Jane, how do you make it out to stand her tongue?' And she makes
answer, 'I has her meek enough, Sally; she don't give me much tongue.'"
"She must be very much changed then," remarked Mrs. Harewood.
"My own idear, ma'am, if you'll believe it. And I thought, too, that
Jane would not have said that but for a glass she 'd had, and she
seemed vexed with herself, too. And I wondered could she be bullying
the old woman, and making a prey of her like. And at last I made up my
mind to go up to the cottage as if to pay a visit in a friendly way.
And Jane Jeffars, ma'am, she wouldn't let me inside the door! And don't
say as 'I' said it, but she wasn't sober, not to say quite. And by what
I saw through the windows, the house is in a shockin' state of dirt."
"Oh, the poor old woman! She was always so neat and particular," said
Mrs. Harewood. "I am very much obliged to you, Sally. Mrs. Thirlston,
you know, was old Mrs. Harewood's maid for years, and her husband was a
servant here, too, so that Mr. Harewood would be terribly vexed if she
were neglected. I will see her myself this afternoon. I was so vexed
with her about Fan that I have not been there lately."
"I thought you aught to be told, ma'am," remarked Sally, as with many
curtseys she withdrew.
Mrs. Harewood ordered the pony carriage to be ready immediately after
luncheon, and drove to the cottage. Mrs. Jeffars opened the door, and,
seeing who it was, she turned very red, and asked, in a constrained
tone, "What she was pleased to want?"
"I have come to see Mrs. Thirlston," replied Mrs. Harewood.
"I don't know that she can see you, ma'am. She's powerful bad, and I'm
making a great cleaning, too, and the place is all in a mess."
"I think Mrs. Thirlston will be glad to see me; you need not go up to
ask her. Open the door wider, please. Yes, indeed, the place is in
a mess, as you say, but I do not see much token of a cleaning, Mrs.
Jeffars," remarked Mrs. Harewood, as she quietly put the woman aside
and walked upstairs and into the little bedroom.
The stairs were extremely dirty, and at the top lay on the floor a
large tray in a very sloppy condition, filled with unwashed cups and
plates, mingled with scraps of bread. The once snug bedroom was in
the most untidy state, the bed linen soiled and crumpled, and the bed
all in confusion, while the poor old woman, with wide-open eyes and
frightened face, was watching the door eagerly.
"Oh, Mrs. Harewood! Oh, I'm so thankful you came in. I was so afraid,
madam, that she 'd send you away, as she did Frances and Sally Tibbs.
Oh, madam, look at the state I'm in! Me that was always so particular!
Me that kept myself as neat and nice as any lady in the land! I don't
mind her half starving me half so much as the dirt and mess."
"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Harewood. "Yes, indeed, it must be a trial to
you. Sally told me that she feared you were not well treated, and so I
came to see for myself."
"Indeed, madam, it was very good of you! If you'd be so kind as to turn
that drunken hussy out, madam, and get Sally or any decent body to come
to me. I shall soon be gone if I don't get proper food."
"But Mrs. Thirlston, Sally left you because she could not stand the way
you scolded her."
"If she 'd even come for a few days until I get my senses about me! Ah,
madam, it's an 'awsome' thing for an old woman like me to be left to
hired folk. Now, if Frances was here—but there, I suppose she wouldn't
come to me."
"Well, you see, Fan is very happy with us. She learns her lessons
regularly with Miss Ayrton, and housekeeping from Mrs. Turner, and
she's a great favourite with all of us. Everybody is kind to her. Why
should she leave it all to come back to you?"
Mrs. Harewood was a woman who thought that a little plain speaking
sometimes did good, and I think she was quite right. But her kind heart
pricked her a little when she saw the pinched old face look so downcast.
"No, madam, I couldn't expect it," Mrs. Thirlston said, with unexpected
humility. "I have a bad tongue, and it makes every one turn against me.
I used not to care, but somehow lately I feel different about it. I was
not good to Frances, I know."
Mrs. Harewood went downstairs, and said to Jane Jeffars in a quiet,
decided way which completely awed that unpleasant personage—
"Mrs. Thirlston wishes you to leave the house at once. I will settle
with you when you are ready to go; and please remember that I shall
look into your box."
Then she went to the door and called her groom.
"Thomas, drive to the village and find Sally Tibbs if you can, and ask
her to come back with you. Say that I am here, and that I want to speak
to her. I think you will find her at Spence's; she was working there.
If she cannot come, perhaps your wife would, for to-night?"
"She will surely, ma'am," said Thomas, driving off.
Mrs. Harewood found a chair, and having dusted it, sat down to await
Jane's departure.
That good woman thought it very hard that she should not only lose
her place, but be forced by Mrs. Harewood's watchfulness to abandon
nearly all her "little pickin's" as she called them, and fill her box
merely with her own limited wardrobe. The comfortable cloth cloak she
particularly liked, but she did not dare to carry it off. She was paid
her week's wages and departed grumbling in a subdued voice. It would
not do to abuse Mrs. Harewood openly.
On her way to the village she passed Sally, coming in triumph to
replace her. And if wishes could have caused an accident to the pony
carriage, Sally would scarcely have reached the cottage in safety. She
did get there safely, however, and promised to stay "as long as she
could."
Mrs. Harewood went up to tell the old woman what she had done, and to
bid her good-bye. She found her in a very subdued state of mind.
"Tell Frances, madam, that I can't ask her to come back to me, but that
I'm in a very poor way indeed. And thank you, madam, for coming to see
after me; it was greater kindness than I deserve."
On her way home Mrs. Harewood met her husband, and told him where
she had been, and all about the old woman. I am sorry to say that
the squire laughed heartily, and declared that "hunger was the only
way to tame anything; and that he did not despair now of curing old
Tearaway!"—a very vicious old farm horse, which was the terror of the
ploughman.
In the evening Mrs. Harewood sent for Fan to her dressing-room, and
said to her—
"Fan, I heard this morning from Sally Tibbs that your grandmother was
still very ill, and that Jane Jeffars was not treating her well. So I
went there to-day, to see if this were true; and I found the poor old
woman in a most miserable state. Jane drinks, it seems, and she had
the house in 'such' a condition—you would not know it; and your poor
grandmother half-starved, lying in such an untidy, soiled bed, so very
uncomfortable, for you know how nice she always kept things. I got
Sally to go back to her for a time, but the truth is that no one will
stay with her for money, though she is well off and pays well. As she
gets more helpless, she will be always falling into bad hands, and
being neglected and cheated. It is very sad to think of it."
"'Indeed,' ma'am, I don't wonder people won't stay."
"No," said Mrs. Harewood. "There is but one thing that could make any
one stay with her and care for her kindly; and that is—love."
"No one could love grandma," said Fan, quickly.
"She is not very loveable, indeed; and yet, you know, she is one of
those whom our Saviour loved well enough to die for. We think ourselves
much better than she is, but I think we must seem worse to Him than she
does to us, yet He loves us. But when I said that this was a duty which
could only be done for love, I did not mean for love of her, but for
the love of God."
Fan looked earnestly at her mistress, but said nothing.
"That is the only right motive, Fan. You love Ben dearly, and would
do or bear anything for him. But do you love God enough to do a hard,
unpleasant duty for His sake, giving up a happy home to do it? I do not
bid you go, Fan. I will say nothing more to you, or to any one, about
it. But I think it is your duty. You are the only relation that poor
lonely suffering old woman has; and, child as you are, you could make
her comfortable, and perhaps win her love. I think Sally would stay if
you were there. Mrs. Thirlston bid me tell you that she cannot expect
you to go, but that she is in a very poor way."
"Oh, ma'am, how could I do it?"
"Indeed, it is a hard thing, Fan. I am very sorry myself—and you must
not decide in a hurry. Only think over what I have said, and try to
decide rightly."
Fan crept away, feeling very miserable. At first it seemed to her
that she "could" not do this thing. Yet as she lay awake that night,
thinking it over, she knew that she ought to do it; and Fan was a very
conscientious little body. How much God had done for her, she thought;
and now, could she refuse to do this for the love of Him!
Next morning, as the servants were leaving the room after prayers, Fan
went up to Mrs. Harewood and said—
"If you please, ma'am, I will go to grandma."
"And you will yet be very glad, my child, that you have decided to do
your duty rather than please yourself," said Mrs. Harewood, very kindly.
But Pearl made great lamentation when she understood what was going on.
Still she felt that it was right, and did not try to dissuade Fan.
"Now, I have only a word or two to say to you," Mrs. Harewood said,
when the child was ready to go. "Don't be content with doing your
duty in a hard, cold way. Try to pity your grandmother, and be gentle
with her, and cheerful. Think of what I said to you last night, and
remember, at any time you can come back to us; we shall always have a
place for you until Ben comes home."
"Thank you, ma'am. I really will try, ma'am. I know that I never was
pleasant with her, when I was there before."
"I shall come often to see you, Fan," said Pearl, "and so will Miss
Ayrton, and we will bring you books."
"Yes, and Miss Ayrton has promised me to give me a lesson when she can
manage it, so that I may be getting on a little. Good-bye, Miss Pearl."
And Fan screwed up her face, to keep herself from crying, in a manner
so comical that it was well that Pearl was rather tearfully inclined
too, or she must have laughed. On the road, Fan had her cry out in
comfort, and had succeeded in drying her poor eyes when she arrived at
the cottage.
In the kitchen she found Sally, making vigorous search for the kitchen
utensils which used to hang round, so bright and lovely to behold, and
which had all been put to uses that they were not intended for, and
thrust into corners without being cleaned.
"Oh, Sally! What a mess the place is in!"
"Well, now, if you'll believe 'me,' it's clean and nice to what it
was when I came yesterday. Why, the very floor was an inch thick with
black dirt, I do assure you. Pails and pails of water I've used on them
boards, but it will take several washings to bring 'em to a colour
again."
"Who are you talking to, Sally Tibbs?" screamed a well-known harsh
voice from upstairs.
"Hark to that! Ah, there's life left in the old lady yet," remarked
Sally, as Fan ran upstairs.
"It's me, Grandma. I've come to nurse you if you'll let me."
"Come to stay? To stay for good?" said Mrs. Thirlston sharply.
"Yes, Grandma. I'll try to please you; 'indeed' I will."
"Well, you are a good little thing," said the old woman. "I declare I
wish—"
But what she wished, she did not say.
Sally Tibbs consented to remain at the cottage, now that Fan was there,
to "come between her and the old woman's tongue." That tongue wagged
pretty freely still; and many a time Fan thought that she must give up
and go back to Miss Pearl.
But Miss Pearl proved herself a real friend, and though always kind and
full of sympathy, she was always ready to strengthen Fan to do right,
rather than to give up in despair.
And one Sunday morning, the rector preached a sermon on a very short
text, "Endure hardness," and Fan thought he must have made that sermon
on purpose for her; at all events, it helped her greatly. She made up
her mind not even to think of giving up, but to settle it with herself
that here was her proper place, and that she would stick to it.
And to her great surprise, Mrs. Thirlston gradually began to scold
less; nay, she even praised her once or twice. She began to like
to hear the child read, too, and listened to the Bible with great
attention, taking also a keen interest in the stories with which Pearl
kept them supplied. How very glad Fan was that she could now read
fluently, for it passed many an otherwise trying hour.
"I really think, Miss Pearl, that Granny is getting to like me," she
said one day.
If she had only known the truth, the poor old woman could not bear her
to be out of her sight, and thought there never had been such a child
before. But if you spend eighty years of your life in making yourself
unpleasant, you will not find it easy to make yourself pleasant for the
years that remain, however much you may wish it. And constant pain and
failing powers are hard to bear, too; a fact which the young and strong
are apt to forget.
All this time, Mr. Sydney wrote constantly to his sister, always giving
good accounts of Ben, who generally sent a letter for Fan in the same
cover. For a long time Mrs. Thirlston would not mention Ben, nor ask
any questions about his letters, though she was dying with curiosity
sometimes when she saw Fan laughing over them; for Ben told her of all
his strange adventures, and told them so well that Fan thought his
letters as good as any story book.
But one day, when matters had gone on in this way for a very long time,
Mrs. Thirlston saw Fan crying over a letter which had just been sent up
from the house. She fidgeted about in her chair for some time, and at
last said, snappishly—
"What are you crying for, Fan?" For it was Fan and Granny now, in these
better days.
"Because I'm 'so' happy, Granny."
"It's the act of a fool to cry because you're happy. All the same,
Fan—" (very crossly), "if you'd enjoy reading me what pleases you so
much, you may do it."
She was longing to hear the letter, though her pride would not let her
say so.
"It—it's from Ben!" said Fan, opening her eyes very wide.
"Well? 'Twon't bite me, I suppose. Read it, child, if you like."
Fan accordingly read a good deal of the letter, which made mention
of an illness which Mr. Sydney had just recovered from, and gave an
account of various strange things that they had seen; more particularly
of the flowers he had met with, which seemed to strike him more than
anything else. But there was nothing at all affecting in what she read,
and the keen old woman drew her own conclusion.
"Thank you, child. It's a queer country, yon, with flowers that hang in
the air, flourishing their roots in your face like that. But which was
it, the purple one or the yellow, that you cried over?"
"I did not read the bit that made me cry, Granny, but I will, if
you—will be kind about it."
"Let's hear it," said Granny, shortly.
And Fan read—
"I have been saving my money (for Mr. Sydney pays me some monthly,
though not all my wages, as it would not be safe to carry much money
about with us, and besides, I do not want much, so he just gives me
enough to buy tobacco and such like) and I have been a long time now
without spending a penny, and I am sending my savings to you. Mr.
Sydney is to manage it for me, and Mr. Harewood will pay you the money.
And you must do this for me, Fan, if you can. Get Mrs. Heath's address
from Mrs. Spence, and send her two pounds eight shillings from me, for
Tom Digges, to pay him the ten shillings I stole from him, and the two
I owed him. That is fourfold, you know, like that small man in the
Bible, who climbed into a tree to see the Lord pass by, and I would
write his name only I forget how it is spelt, and I am too tired to
get my Bible to look. Also send her twelve shillings to pay the three
I owed at the shop, and you write her a nice letter and ask her to do
this for you, and say how sorry and ashamed I am of my conduct to her
and to farmer Heath, so bad and ungrateful that I do not like even to
write to her to ask forgiveness, but if you ask her, I think she will
forgive me, for she is so kind and soft-hearted.
"Then, if you think Mrs. Spence would not take it ill, you buy a frock
for Etty, a real handsome one, blue, of course, and very nice, and
say something to Mrs. Spence for me. And pay old Mrs. Harris, that we
lodged with in London, one pound, because I went off that night without
paying our rent. And send Mrs. Simmonds one pound, just to show that we
remember how good she was to us that time, and put any you have left
in the poor-box, to be given away, for indeed, I wronged many that I
never can find out and pay. Dear Fan, I am so sorry when I think about
it, but Mr. Sydney says that when one really repents, one is surely
forgiven, but still I think I ought to make amends when I have the
power to do it. And it is a good punishment to me to think how I might
be sending you this money to buy some nice present for yourself, as I
should like to do, and will, when I have saved more."
Fan ceased reading, and looked nervously at her grandmother. But, to
her surprise, the old lady looked both pleased and softened.
"You may make your mind easy about Ben," she said. "I'm no great judge,
'tis true, but I think that's the right kind of repentance. That boy
will do well yet, though he 'is' a Fairfax."
"Oh, Granny, thank you!" cried Fan, melting into tears again.
"For nothing, as the gallipot said," quoth the old lady tartly. "What
are you crying for, Fan? You'll never be anything but a soft little
fool."
But it was in vain that she tried to be as cross as usual; her heart
was touched, and Fan knew it.
Later in the day the pony carriage from Harewood drove up to the little
gate, and Mrs. Harewood was seen coming up the walk. Fan rushed to the
door and opened it with a beaming countenance.
"Well, Fan, I see you have had your letter. I desired Thomas to bring
it up early, as it was some time since we had heard. How do you do,
Mrs. Thirlston? I'm glad to see you looking so much better."
"Thank you, madam. I'm no great things to boast of, indeed, but you're
always welcome, madam, and I'm proud to see you."
The good woman was never known to confess herself better, or in any but
a very poor case.
Mrs. Harewood sat down, and Fan stood behind her grandmother's chair,
smiling broadly, she was so happy; for she knew somehow that Mrs.
Harewood was pleased about Ben, and meant to say so. And to hear Ben
praised—could life afford a greater joy than that?
"Fan, you look so happy, that it is quite pleasant to see you. Yes,
child, I know why. But you don't know yet what cause you have for being
pleased; for I am sure Ben does not tell you what his master tells me.
Mrs. Thirlston, will you allow me to read to Fan a bit of my brother's
letter, or must I take her home with me to hear it? For it is about
Ben, you know."
"Certingly, you can read what you like, madam," said Mrs. Thirlston
primly.
"Oh, ma'am, Granny let me read her Ben's own letter, and she was
pleased. Now you know you were, Granny, so there's no use in denying
it."
"I don't deny it, Frances. I 'will' say I like the boy's letter, and I
begin to hope he won't come to the gallows after all."
"That was about the money, I suppose? Mr. Harewood will give it to you,
Fan, any day you can come to the house, and I will help you to arrange
everything as Ben directs. But now I must read you this, you will not
wonder that 'I' think more of it than of his sending the money.
"'MY DEAR SISTER,
"'I suppose you are wondering where I am, and what I am doing, that I
have been so long without writing. That I am alive and well is mainly
owing to that very Ben Fairfax whom you were hardly willing to let
me bring with me. I have been very ill, a sharp attack of fever, and
we were in an out of the way Indian village, with none but Indians
near. Before I became delirious, I told Ben what to give me and how to
manage, and he nursed me day and night, with a tenderness and devotion
that could not be surpassed. I could not have got through it, I think,
but for his care. Poor Ben! He is as thin as a threadpaper, between
watching and anxiety, but he is quite well, and is a treasure to me in
every way. He is a clever lad, too, and learns all that I can teach
him, but botany is his favourite study, and he says that some day,
when he has laid by a little money, he will set up as a florist and
seedsman, and have Fan to keep house for him.'
"Then he goes on to tell me about the money, and that Ben has denied
himself every little luxury to save it. Well, Fan! What do you say to
this?"
"She'll cry pints, madam. That's Fan's way of being happy."
"Oh, Granny, I can't help it! Oh, my dear Ben—But I always knew he 'd
come right."
Fan went to Harewood the next day to get Ben's money, which she
disposed of according to his wish. Mrs. Harewood took that opportunity
to ask her if she still felt so miserable at her grandmother's.
"Oh no, ma'am! I don't mean that I was not happier here, where every
one was so good to me, but poor Granny couldn't do without me, and she
really is kind, though one wouldn't know it from her manner."
"You are not sorry, then, that you went to her?"
"No, indeed, ma'am. You were quite right when you said I never should
be sorry. Besides, I know now that when I was with her before, it was
partly my own fault that I was so unhappy. I never tried to like her,
though she did so much for me—but just was silent and sulky. She's
quite different to me now."
"I see a great change in her, too; I think she is much softened, and
she is certainly very fond of you."
"I think so, ma'am. She speaks sharp and gruff, but I think it is only
habit, like."
This was quite true. Mrs. Thirlston had become very fond of her
grandchild, and very dependent upon her; but to save her life, she
could not have spoken pleasantly and kindly. Yet kind words are as
cheap as sharp ones; and what a pity it seems that any one should
acquire a habit of speaking crossly! A little self-control when young
would quite prevent it; but once get the habit, and it will stick to
you through life.
So Fan went home to her poor old Granny, and nursed her tenderly
through the last two years of her life. The poor old woman became quite
helpless, and Fan's life was very laborious, but she was happy in spite
of all drawbacks. Ben sent her many a present which brightened her home
in various ways, but chiefly because they told her that the brother she
loved so dearly had not forgotten her.
Once, a sailor, whose mother lived in Comerford, brought her a little
cage with a most beautiful bird in it which Ben had caught and tamed
for her, and had sent home by this man. The bird had a blue head, and a
green back, and a flame-coloured breast—no one in those parts had ever
seen the like, and it was greatly admired. It had big eyes (big for
so small a bird, I mean) and a very gentle look, and it soon became a
great darling with Fan.
The sailor told her that it liked no food so well as flies; and any one
would have laughed to see the struggle between Fan's love for Dick,
and her soft-hearted dislike to catch the poor flies. But at last she
bethought herself of a compromise, which worked very well. When the
sunny window of the kitchen was full of flies, she would close the door
and windows and let Dick come out of his cage, when Dick caught plenty
of flies for himself, and looked so beautiful, fluttering up the panes
of glass in the sun, or darting into the middle of the room after a
retreating fly, that even pity for the victims could not keep Fan from
watching the proceeding closely.
At last Mrs. Thirlston grew very weak, and it became plain that her
days were numbered. The kind rector came to see her often, and Mrs.
Harewood also; she was quite aware that she was dying, and often spoke
of it.
One day she sent for the rector, and sent Fan away while he was
with her. Sally Tibbs was called to the room after a time, and soon
afterwards the rector went away, and Fan ran upstairs to see if Granny
were very tired. She found the old woman lying very quiet, with a
folded paper in her poor stiffened hand.
"Look here, Fan. This here paper is my last will and testament, my
dear. And now I'm going to tell you what I've ordered to be done with
my money. When you first came back to me after Ben went to 'Merica, I
made my last will and testament—leastways, I meant it for such, but
I've lived to change my mind. I've been a saving woman, Fan, and your
grandfather he were a saving man. I've got nigh upon a thousand pounds
to leave behind me, Fan."
"A thousand pounds, Granny!" exclaimed Fan, who found it hard to
imagine the existence of such a sum.
"Just so, Fan—don't interrupt me again, unless you've got something to
say. It's the act of a fool to be exclaiming, and repeating of one's
words like a parrot. Well, that will I speak of left all this to you,
on conditions that you never gave nor lent a penny to Ben."
"Then I shall never have it, Granny!" cried Fan, indignantly. "I would
rather starve."
"I know that, child. And I've changed my mind, as I mentioned before,
if you would only attend, instead of prating like that. I've made
another will this blessed day; Mr. Manvers wrote it for me, and he and
Sally Tibbs witnessed it."
"And you've given it all to Ben!" exclaimed Fan, joyously. "Oh, I'm so
glad, Granny. Ben will always take care of me."
"Fan, you'll never have an ounce of sense, no more than that painted
Dick you make so much of! No, I have 'not' left it all to Ben. I've
done the best thing for the two of ye, and the rector says to me before
he left, 'you've made a most prudent and discreet will, Mrs. Thirlston,
and now I hope you'll put the matter off your mind,' and so I will when
I've told you about it. I've left five hundred pounds to you, Fan,
to be your own, and not to be touched by any one else. And I've left
all the rest to Ben, to be spent for him in buying the goodwill of a
nursery-garden, and all things connected with that trade, and setting
him up in life—for he said in one letter, you know, that such was his
wishes. And you may tell Ben, child, that I would be glad if I could
have seen him—and I wish him well with all my heart."
"Granny, you are very kind—I do feel quite happy for Ben, for I know
how happy this will make him. Dear Granny, I hope it won't be for a
long time yet," Fan whispered, as she stooped to kiss the withered
cheek.
"It will be soon now, Fan. But as long as you live, Fan, you'll be glad
to mind how you nursed the poor, cross old Gran—and softened her heart
too, so that the light of God's love could get into it. God bless you,
Fan—you've been a dear good child to me."
In a few days after this, Mrs. Thirlston died quite suddenly, passing
away in her sleep; and Fan, who had once both feared and disliked her,
mourned for her most sincerely. Fan went back to Harewood, to await
Ben's return, and she worked very hard with Miss Ayrton, that he might
not find her a dunce.
At last Ben came home, and a fine tall man he had become, and with
such a character from Mr. Sydney, too. He soon bought a flourishing
business in the line he had chosen, and he and Fan live together,
very prosperously and happily. I hope that Fan will live to spin many
another silken thread of love yet; and that those who read her history
may remember that love is the best, if not the only, way of influencing
others for good.
[Illustration]
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LONDON AND BECCLES.