GRANNY SURPRISES BILLY.
"I'M come to tea, mother," announced Mrs. Dingle, one hot August
afternoon, as she entered the kitchen at Rowley Cottage, where Mrs.
Brown stood ironing at a table near the open window. "I shan't be in
your way, shall I? Here, you rest a bit, and let me take on your irons."
"No, thank you," Mrs. Brown answered. "You were never a good hand at
ironing starchery, Elizabeth, and I can't bear to see it done badly.
I'm doing Billy's collars—such a lot there are! This hot weather a
collar rarely lasts him more than a day."
"I suppose he makes a lot of extra work for you," remarked Mrs. Dingle,
seating herself and taking off her hat.
"You suppose?" said her mother tartly. "As if you didn't know, when
you've a boy of your own! By the way, I believe May and Harold are
about here somewhere."
"They're in the garden—I've been there. They're helping net the
plum-trees. Billy's a born gardener, his grandfather says."
Mrs. Brown nodded.
"To give him his due, he's been a great help during the fruit-picking,"
she allowed. "All his spare time out of school hours during the summer
he's spent in the garden, and now it's holidays he's there from morning
till night. Did he show you his marrow—the one he is going to cut for
the show?"
"Yes. It's a beauty. Harold has one quite as large, though."
There was a brief silence, then Mrs. Dingle said—
"Mother, have you noticed any alteration in May lately? No? Oh, I have,
and her father too! She's far less dreamy and more interested in things
in general than she used to be. The other day we were surprised to find
she's really beginning to learn to read."
"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown incredulously.
"Yes, mother; yes, indeed! It seems it was Billy who taught her her
letters. Don't you remember how much time she spent with him after his
illness?"
"Of course! But I never paid much attention to them—they used to sit
on the settle by the fire, looking at the pictures in some story books
he has and talking in whispers. And he taught her then? Yes? Well, I
never!"
"She can read short words now," Mrs. Dingle said, with a
tremble of joyfulness in her voice. "Fancy! Oh, I think it's
marvellous—marvellous! It's been such a trouble to John and me that our
little maid should be so different from others."
"I always said she was only backward!" cried Mrs. Brown triumphantly.
Mrs. Dingle nodded.
"Mr. Singleton says if you can interest her in anything she can learn
all about it quicker than most children," she said eagerly; "but if you
can't it's impossible to teach her or to chain her attention. She got
interested in Billy's books because there are such wonderful stories
in them, and that made her want to learn to read. Then Billy began to
teach her—he says it wasn't so very difficult; but I don't think he
quite realises what a great matter it is—that it shows our darling's
intellect is less clouded than we thought. Oh, mother, I don't feel now
that I shall fear for the child any more! Her school-teacher's most
hopeful about her, and I—oh, I'm grateful to God from the bottom of my
heart!"
Mrs. Brown changed her iron for a hotter one, and went on ironing
silently.
"I feel we owe a great deal to Billy," Mrs. Dingle proceeded, "because
he's been so good to May. From the first she took to him. He's always
been patient with her and never laughed at her quaint ways. Harold's
always saying, 'Don't talk so silly, May!'—not that he means to be
unkind, but because he gets impatient with her. Oh, I see Billy's
companionship has been a great thing for May! John sees it too. And you
do, don't you, mother?"
Mrs. Brown nodded.
"I'm not sorry now we had to have him here," she admitted, then added:
"As boys go, he's better than most; and I'll say this for him, he never
answers me back."
"He's a dear boy!" declared Mrs. Dingle. "I often think how his poor
mother must have loved him. Ah, here is May!"
The little girl was looking in at the window.
"The boys want to know if it's nearly teatime," she said.
"Yes," replied her grandmother; "by the time they've been in and washed
their hands tea will be ready."
May disappeared, returning ten minutes later with her grandfather
and the boys. Mrs. Brown had cleared away her ironing things and was
putting the last touches to the tea-table whilst she kept an eye on her
daughter, who was measuring the tea into the tea-pot.
"That will do, Elizabeth," she said.
"All right, mother," Mrs. Dingle answered; "I haven't put one more
spoonful than you told me to."
"Elizabeth's a capital tea-maker," William Brown remarked, smiling;
"she could always put more tea in a spoon without over-filling it than
anyone I ever knew."
At that everyone laughed, even Mrs. Brown. So the meal began merrily
and went on in the same happy way.
The conversation was mostly about the flower, fruit, and vegetable show
which was to be held in the Vicarage grounds that day week. There was
to be a prize for the prettiest bunch of wild flowers, for which May
intended to compete. Billy said he would help her gather the flowers,
but she shook her head.
"No one must help me," she said, "or it wouldn't be fair."
"Our marrows will grow a lot more in a week," remarked Billy. "I do
hope one of us will get the prize, Harold."
"You mean you hope you will get it," laughed Harold.
"I meant what I said," Billy replied. "Grandfer says your marrow is a
better shape than mine," he continued, "and that will be taken into
consideration. I went around and looked at all the marrows in the
allotment gardens yesterday, and there wasn't one to beat yours, though
I did see one that came near doing it."
"Yes, I know," Harold answered; "it belongs to a man called Gibbs."
"Is that the Gibbs who was had up for poaching last winter?" inquired
Mrs. Brown. "Yes. I should have thought he was too idle to have a
garden."
"He doesn't keep it in good condition," Harold explained; "it's
generally full of weeds; but, somehow, he's managed to grow good
marrows this year, and he's mighty proud of them."
Shortly after tea Mrs. Dingle went home, accompanied by her children
and Billy.
William Brown was expecting a business letter from Exeter, and, as
there was no second postal delivery at Ashleigh during the day, and
feeling sure the letter would be at the post office, he had asked
Billy to fetch it. The Exeter letter was there, and one, bearing a
London postmark, also addressed to "Mr. William Brown." Billy took
the two letters straight back to Rowley Cottage, and gave them to his
grandfather in the garden.
William Brown read the letter he had expected first, then opened the
other, and glanced through it quickly. It seemed to be of a startling
nature, for he turned very red and uttered an exclamation of amazement.
Then he read the letter a second time, very slowly and carefully, his
face exceedingly grave. After that he thought a while.
"Why, Billy," he said at length, "you never told me your mother had an
uncle in Scotland."
"I didn't know she had," Billy answered; "that is, I remember her
telling me she had an uncle, but she'd lost sight of him and didn't
know if he was living or dead. I think she said he was a sea captain."
"Exactly. This letter is from the master of the Institution where you
stopped in London. He'd had a letter from a Captain Foster, who says
he's your mother's uncle. Captain Foster, who has left the sea and is
now living in Glasgow, has only lately learnt of your mother's sad
death, and he and his wife, who are a childless couple, are willing to
give you a home and do the best they can for you. It's a good offer,
Billy, but—well, I don't want to part with you, my boy."
"And I don't want to leave you, Grandfer!" cried Billy. "I—I—oh, it's
not to be thought of, is it?"
"I don't know," William Brown said doubtfully; "maybe this Captain
Foster can do more for you than I can. Dear me, this is most upsetting!
I think I'd better go in and tell Maria, and hear what she has to say."
Left alone, the little boy perched himself on the edge of a
wheel-barrow to consider the situation. Would he, indeed, be called
upon to leave the home he had learnt to love? The thought that he might
be wrung his heart.
"If it rests with Granny I shall have to go," he told himself sadly;
"she will be only too glad to get rid of me—she never wanted me here."
His eyes filled with tears as he looked around the garden. How he loved
it! What happy days he had spent here with Grandfer and May! He had
been looking forward to many more such happy days, but now, perhaps, he
would be sent far away. Suddenly he jumped off the wheel-barrow, and
hurried towards the house. He would not be kept in suspense; he would
find out what was to become of him at once.
Arrived at the back door Billy stopped, his heart sinking despairingly.
From the kitchen came the sound of Mrs. Brown's voice, loud and
indignant.
"Oh, dear, she's in a temper," thought the little boy. "Perhaps I'd
better keep out of her sight."
But he was so anxious that he could not help lingering to listen. Then
he had a most wonderful surprise.
"Nonsense!" he heard Mrs. Brown exclaim, "Perfect nonsense! What can he
do for Billy more than we can? There's nothing for you to be so upset
about that I can see! Write to the man yourself and tell him 'No!'
You've the first claim on the boy, for you're his grandfather. There's
no reason why we should give him up to any relation of his mother's
now."
Billy's heart gave a bound of joy. Then Granny was against sending him
away! It was amazing, but true. He rushed into the kitchen, his eyes
a-sparkle, his face aglow with delight. Mrs. Brown appealed to him
immediately.
"You don't want to leave us, child, do you?" she asked.
"No!" Billy cried; "No, no, no! I—I, oh, the thought of it was
dreadful!"
"It was," William Brown agreed. "I was only putting it to you, Maria,
that this Captain Foster might be able to do more for Billy than I can,
and—"
"And I tell you I don't believe it!" interrupted his wife. "Billy's cut
out for a gardener, and he's in his right place. I daresay this Captain
Foster would want to send him to sea. You write and tell him we can't
give the boy up."
"Oh, Granny!" cried Billy. He made a rush at Mrs. Brown, and, clasping
her around the neck, kissed her. "I thought you'd be pleased to be rid
of me," he said, "but you really want me to stay. Oh, I am glad—I am
glad!"
Mrs. Brown gave a rather embarrassed laugh. She made no answer, but
her face softened, and her eyes were a little dim as she returned the
little boy's kiss.
"Now I know what to do," William Brown remarked, adding: "We shall all
sleep the better for having decided this matter to-night."