CECIL AND THE BOYS.
FOUR boys were seated round the break fast table. They ranged in
age from fourteen to ten. One glance at their faces was sufficient
to show that they belonged to the average healthy-minded, hearty,
English schoolboy. A girl was pouring out coffee for the quartet. She
was standing to her work. Her age might have been sixteen: in some
respects she looked older, in some respects younger. She was a tall,
slim girl, with a somewhat long face of a pale but clear olive. Her
eyes were dark, large, and well cut; her brow was particularly noble.
She had quantities of straight, thick, black hair, which was swept off
her forehead and fastened in a thick knot at the nape of her neck. The
girl's name was Cecil Ross. She was Molly Lavender's dearest friend,
the one around whom Molly's warmest thoughts, hopes, and affections
were centered. The boys were eating their breakfast with the voracious
appetite of the British schoolboy. The eldest had a look of his sister.
"I say, Ceci," he exclaimed, "how white you are! You've been fagging
last night; I know you have, and I call it a beastly shame."
"Oh, never mind me, Maurice," said Cecil; "I have to study, you know,
and really you four do want such a lot of mending and making and seeing
to generally, that if I don't sit up a little bit at night, I simply
get no study at all. Jimmy, darling, is it necessary to put six lumps
of sugar into that cup of coffee?"
"There's no sweetening in this sugar," said Jimmy, aged eleven; "I
can't make it out. What ails it? I put ten lumps in last night, Ceci,
when you were out, and the coffee only tasted like mud."
"Like treacle, you mean," said Maurice. "Don't you think it's a shame
to waste good food? You're a greedy youngster, and I'll punch your head
if you don't look out."
Jimmy bobbed his curly fair head, for Maurice had extended one strong
young hand as he uttered his threat.
"It's time for us all to be off now," he said, rising from the table
and shaking the crumbs from his Norfolk suit.
"Like dear boys, do go out quietly," said Cecil; "Mrs. Rogers has spent
a very suffering night, and I don't want to wake her."
"Oh, bother!" exclaimed Jimmy; "what with no sugar, and having to keep
as still as mice, how is a fellow to have a chance? I say, Maurice----
Oh, I say, I didn't mean it; no, I didn't, Ceci, not really."
The boys clattered off; Cecil heard them tumbling and scrambling
downstairs; she uttered a faint sigh for Mrs. Rogers' chance of sleep,
and then walked to the window to watch them as they ran down the
street. They attended the Grammar School--the far-famed Grammar School
of the little town of Hazlewick; the school was at the corner of the
street.
"How Maurice grows!" thought Cecil, as she watched them. "Of course,
I know this sort of thing can't go on. There's not money enough; it
can't be done, and how are they to be educated? I wouldn't tell dear
old Maurice what brought the black lines under my eyes last night. No,
it wasn't study,--not study in the ordinary sense,--it was that other
awful thing which takes more out of one than the hardest of hard work.
It was worry. Try as I would, I could not stretch my cloth to cover the
space allotted to it. In short, at the end of the year, if something
is not done, I, Cecil Ross, will be in debt. Now, I'm not going into
debt for anyone. I promised mother six months ago, when she died, that
somehow or other I'd keep out of debt, and I'll do it. Oh, dear, dear!
what is to be done? I suppose I must give up that delightful scheme
of Molly's, that I should go to Redgarth for two or three years, and
perfect myself in all sorts of learning, and then take a good post as
head-mistress of some high school. I don't see how it's to be done--no,
I really don't. What would the boys do without me?"
At this point in Cecil's meditations, there came a knock, very firm and
decided, at the sitting-room door.
"Come in," she said, and Miss Marshall, her landlady, entered the room.
"Now, Miss Ross," she said, "I've come to say some plain words. You
know I'm a very frank body, and I'm afraid I can't keep you and those
boys any longer in the house. There's poor Mrs. Rogers woke up out of
the first sleep she's had the entire night. Oh, I don't blame 'em,--the
young rascals,--but they simply can't keep quiet. What are they but
four schoolboys? and all the world knows what it means when there are
four schoolboys in a house."
"I promise that they shall behave better in future," said Cecil; "they
must take off their outdoor shoes in the hall and----"
Miss Marshall raised her hand; she was a large-limbed, bony woman
of fifty. She had a thin red face, small but kindly eyes, and a
firm mouth. She would not be cruel to anybody; neither would she be
inordinately kind. She was shrewd and matter-of-fact. She had to earn
her living, and she considered it her duty to put this fact before all
other considerations. Cecil's white young face touched her, but she was
not going on that account to give way.
"It isn't that I don't love the lads," she said, "and you too, Miss
Ross, but the thing can't be done. I make my living out of this house,
and Mrs. Rogers has sent for me to say she'll leave at the end of the
week if I don't find another place for you and your brothers, my dear.
Mrs. Rogers is the drawing-room lodger, and, what with her being ill,
and one thing and another, I make a lot of extrys out of her. Now, I
don't mind letting you know, Miss Ross, that it's from extrys we poor
lodging-house keepers make our profit. There's never an extry to put
into your account, my dear, and, besides, I _could_ get ten shillings
a week more for these rooms, only I promised your poor, dear ma that I
wouldn't raise the rent on you. The fact is, Miss Ross, Mr. Chandler
would gladly take the parlor and the upstairs rooms for himself and his
lady for the whole winter, and I think I ought to put it to you, my
dear young lady."
"Of course," said Cecil.
She stood upright like a young reed. Her brows were slightly knit; she
did not glance at Miss Marshall. She was looking straight before her.
"I understand," she said, turning her gaze full upon her landlady's red
face, "that you wish us to go?"
"Oh, my dear, it's sorry I am to have to say it, but that's the plain
fact."
"How long can you give us?"
"Do sit down, Miss Cecil; I declare you're whiter than a sheet; you'll
fade off like your dear ma if you're not careful. There, my dear,
there, you shan't be hurried; you take your time--you take your time."
"It's a dreadful position," said Cecil; "it is fearfully inconvenient;
there's not another house where we can be so comfortable; there's no
one else will bear with us as you have borne with us."
"Oh, for mercy's sake, my dear, don't you begin that, or I'll yield--I
declare I will! and how am I to live if I don't raise my rent, and seek
lodgers that go in for extrys. Look here, Miss Cecil, why do you burden
yourself with those young gentlemen; why don't you put them to school?"
"What do you mean?" said Cecil; "they are at school."
"Why don't you put 'em to boarding school; it would be a sight better,
and cost less--and there, I forgot to tell you, Miss Pinchin's English
teacher left her only yesterday; there is a vacancy in that first class
school for a good English teacher; why shouldn't you try for it, Miss
Ross?"
"I don't know--I'm greatly obliged," said Cecil. "I'll see what I can
do, Miss Marshall, and let you know to-night; perhaps you can give us
at least a week."
"That I can, and a fortnight too," said Miss Marshall. "Dear, dear,
it's a hateful job altogether, and me that loved your ma so much. I
wouldn't do it, not for any Chandlers, but when Mrs. Rogers, whose
extras mount up wonderful, threatens to leave, there seems no help for
it. Duty is duty, aint it, Miss Ross? and the best thing for a poor
woman like me to see to, is that she keeps her head well above water,
and lays by for her old age."
"Of course," said Cecil abstractedly. She was scarcely listening to
Miss Marshall. She was thinking of the vacancy at Miss Pinchin's school.
The landlady reached the door and half opened it, then came back a step
or two into the room.
"You might as well order dinner now, my dear, while I'm here. What'll
you have?"
"The cold mutton and potatoes," said Cecil.
"Bless you, child! there's only the bone downstairs. Master Jimmy was
mad with hunger last night, and he stole down to the kitchen about nine
o'clock. That boy has the impudence---- 'Fork out that cold mutton,'
says he, 'I can't sleep with a hollow inside of me. You bring the cold
mutton in here, and let me have a slice or two.' I brought the joint
and some bread, and left him standing in the kitchen. When I came back,
why, 'twas nothing but the bone. That child grows wonderful fast; you
can't blame him, poor lad."
"I do blame him for not speaking to me," said Cecil; "but that is not
your fault, Miss Marshall."
"Well, my dear, what'll you have for dinner?"
"Please put the bone down, and make a little soup."
"That soup won't be ready for early dinner, Miss Ross."
"The soup will do for to-morrow's dinner. I am going out in a few
moments, and I'll bring something fresh in from the butcher's. And
please make a very large rice pudding, Miss Marshall, and let's have
cabbage and plenty of potatoes. I'll bring the cabbage in when I come.
I suppose there are plenty of potatoes left?"
"Never a one at all, my dear; you finished the last supply yesterday."
Cecil sighed.
"Well, I'll bring potatoes too," she said.
The landlady closed the door at last, and Cecil gave a sigh of relief.
"She's gone, and I can think," she said to herself. "I'm glad she
mentioned about the vacancy at Miss Pinchin's school. Dear, dear! I'd
better put down what I'm to get when I go out. I do wish Jimmy wasn't
such a greedy boy. Think of Maurice polishing off all the cold mutton!
Maurice is my blessing, the joy of my life. Poor dear Jimmy is my
perplexity--no, I won't call him my cross. Charlie follows in Maurice's
footsteps; Teddy is inclined to think Jimmy a hero. Oh, well, they are
all four dear boys, and I don't suppose I'd have them different. Jimmy
has no thought, and Maurice has too much. Oh, my boy, how I love you!
what would I not do for you? You are so clever, so manly, you could do
anything if only you had a fair chance. You shall have your heart's
desire; I'll manage it somehow. I'm four years older than you; by the
time you're fit to go to Oxford or Cambridge, I'll have enough money
to send you there. Yes, yes, it shall be done."
Cecil's fine eyes began to shine, her beautiful lips took a firm curve,
the color crept slowly into her pale cheeks. She sat down by her little
writing-table, pushed a Greek lexicon and other books out of sight, and
entered in a tiny notebook the marketing which was necessary to be done
that day. "Beefsteak, potatoes, cabbage, rice, sugar," she wrote, in
her neat, small, upright hand. She slipped the book into her pocket,
and then went out.
As she was leaving the house, the postman came up the steps and gave
her a letter. She glanced at the writing, and the color rushed into her
cheeks.
"It's from Molly," she said to herself. "Oh, what nonsense all this
Redgarth scheme is! How can I possibly leave those four boys, to go to
Redgarth? Of course I'd love it beyond words, but it isn't to be done.
Here, let me see what Molly says."
Molly Lavender's letter was very short:
DARLING CECIL:
I have only just time to write a line. I have heard
from father on the subject of your joining me, but
he shifts the whole question on to dear grannie's
shoulders. The fact is, Cecil, father is old-fashioned,
and just because you are the bravest girl in the world,
he fancies that you must be mannish. You mannish, you
dear old feminine thing! I comfort myself with the
thought that he has never seen you, Cecil. Oh, yes, it
will be all right in the end. Grannie knows you, and
if she gives you a good character,--which of course
she will, quite the best in the world,--you are to
come. I write now, however, to say that, with all these
delays, I don't see how you can come to St. Dorothy's
before the half term. Make up your mind to be with us
then. Oh, how I look forward to your arrival! I think
you will like the place,--you will be in your native
atmosphere,--the very air seems solemn with the weight
of learning; the college is splendid; as to the great
hall, where we have prayers, it almost takes your
breath away the first time you see it. Miss Forester
is about the grandest woman I ever came across. Oh,
Cecil, how you will worship her! St. Dorothy's is
perfectly charming, only you've to get your parquetry
legs, or you'll have many a great fall. The girls are
full of character. I like one of them immensely; her
name is Kate O'Connor--she's Irish, and such fun! She
is chumming with me in my room until you come. You will
want to know what that means. It means that she and I
share my room, for purposes of study, from after supper
until prayers. Oh, Cecil, what good the life will do
you! you will expand in it like a beautiful flower. You
shan't have a care or sorrow when you come here. How
are the boys? Give my love to Maurice.
Your affectionate friend,
MOLLY LAVENDER.
Cecil crushed the letter into her pocket, and walked down the little
High Street of the small town.
"I don't see how I am to go to Redgarth," she said to herself. "I don't
suppose Judge Lavender will lend the money, and even if he should
think of such a thing, how can I possibly go and leave the four boys?
Dear Molly was full of it when we were together in the summer, and
it did seem so tempting, and I had a kind of hope that perhaps Miss
Marshall would look after the boys, and Maurice would be a sort of
father to them. But I see now it can't be done. Jimmy is too much
for Maurice, and why should my boy, while he is so young, have this
burden thrust upon him? Oh, if I only could get that post as English
teacher at Miss Pinchin's school, why, we'd be quite well off! I'd be
able to save a little, perhaps, and instead of going into lodgings, I
might take a tiny house, and have one servant. I wonder which would be
really cheapest? It's impossible to keep four boys as mum as mutes.
Oh, of course, I'm sorry for Mrs. Rogers, but boys will be boys. Now,
everything depends on what Miss Pinchin says. Miss Pinchin used to
be very kind to me when mother was alive, and I don't see why she
shouldn't give me the first chance. Oh, I do sincerely hope I get the
post! I know Miss Edgar had eighty pounds a year. Add eighty to one
hundred and fifty, and it makes two hundred and thirty. How rich we
should be with that! I certainly could manage a little tiny cottage,
and I expect I should save in many ways. Yes, Molly dear, Redgarth is
certainly not to be thought of. If I can only secure this unexpected
post, which seems put in my way!"
Cecil walked quickly as these thoughts rushed through her mind. She
had long left the little High Street behind her, and had gone out
into the suburbs of the small town. There was a beautiful country
round Hazlewick, and the autumn tints were now rendering the scenery
perfect. Miss Pinchin's "Seminary for Ladies" was an imposing-looking
house, standing alone in grounds. There were large white gates and a
carriage drive, and wide gardens stretching to right and left and to
the front and back of the heavy stone building. Cecil opened the white
gates, walked up the avenue, and sounded the bell at the front door.
Her summons was quickly attended to by a neatly dressed parlor-maid.
"Is Miss Pinchin in? Can I see her?" asked Cecil.
"I'm afraid Miss Pinchin is particularly engaged," answered the servant.
Cecil hesitated a moment: she knew, however, that such posts as Miss
Edgar's were quickly snatched up; desperation gave her courage.
"Please take Miss Pinchin my name," she said; "Miss Ross--Miss Cecil
Ross. Have the goodness to say that I have come to see her on very
special business."
The maid withdrew, and Cecil waited on the steps. Three or four minutes
went by, then the servant reappeared.
"Miss Pinchin can see you for a moment or two, miss," she said. "Come
this way, please."
She led the girl down two or three passages, and entered a very small,
prettily decorated boudoir, where an elderly lady with iron-gray hair,
a sharp face, and a nose beaked like that of an eagle, sat in front of
a desk.
"How do you do, Miss Ross?" said Miss Pinchin. "Pray take a seat. Can
I do anything for you? Are your brothers well?"
"Yes, thank you, the boys are well," answered Cecil. She had to swallow
a lump in her throat.
"I have come," she said, "to offer myself for the post of English
teacher in your school. I heard about an hour ago that Miss Edgar had
left you."
Cecil's boldness--the sudden direct glance of her eyes--alone prevented
Miss Pinchin laughing aloud. Her remark astonished the good lady so
much, however, that she was silent for nearly a minute. At last,
looking full at the girl, she began to question her.
"I have a great respect for you, Miss Ross," she said; "your mother's
daughter would naturally have that from me; but--I scarcely think you
know what you are talking about."
"I assure you I do. I used to teach all the English subjects at the
last school where I was. I was successful with the girls. They were
fond of me; they learned quickly."
"What are your attainments?"
"I know the ordinary branches of English education; I have been
thoroughly well grounded. I know several languages also."
"Excuse me, Miss Ross, pray keep yourself to English."
Cecil began to enumerate her different attainments in this branch of
study.
"I can give you good references," she said. "I had first prize in
English history on several occasions, and my compositions--they were
always above the average."
"I have heard that you are a clever girl," said Miss Pinchin; "in fact,
anyone to look at your face could see that. You certainly do make the
most extraordinary request. Miss Edgar was thirty--how old are you?"
"I shall be eighteen in a week. Oh, please, Miss Pinchin, don't let
that interfere! I can't help being young; that fact does not prevent my
having the care of four brothers."
"Poor girl! yes, yours is a heavy burden. You might perhaps come
to me for a time if---- By the way, of course you have different
certificates. You have at least passed the Cambridge Junior and Senior?"
Cecil colored, then her face became deadly pale.
"No," she faltered, "but----"
"No?" said Miss Pinchin, rising. "You mean to tell me you have no
certificate of any kind?"
"No; but----"
"My dear Miss Ross, I am sorry, but that puts a stop to the entire
thing. What would the parents of my pupils say if my English teacher
were not thoroughly certificated! I am sorry. Young as you are, I
should have been prepared to help you, for your mother's sake, had you
been in any way qualified. As it is, it is hopeless. Good-morning, Miss
Ross! Good-morning!"
[Illustration: CECIL AND THE BOYS.]