Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY FATHER CAME BACK.]
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS.
BY
AGNES GIBERNE,
AUTHOR OF
"ENID'S SILVER BOND;" "ST. AUSTIN'S LODGE;" "OLD UMBRELLAS;"
"BERYL AND PEARL;" ETC.
NEW EDITION
London
JAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED
21 BERNERS STREET
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. MY COTTAGE HOME
II. NEWS
III. THE MONEY
IV. CONGRATULATIONS
V. FIRST PURCHASES
VI. AN ALARM
VII. TO GO OR TO STAY
VIII. THE NEW HOUSE
IX. NOTHING TO DO
X. MR. SIMMONS
XI. GOING HOME
XII. AT LAST
XIII. A DAMP DWELLING
XIV. CHRISTMAS
XV. TROUBLE
XVI. SCENES
XVII. THE END
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS.
CHAPTER I.
MY COTTAGE HOME.
UP to the age of fourteen I think I spent as happy a life as any child
in any cottage home in England. There is many a cottage which is no
"home" at all, in the true sense of the word, notwithstanding those
pretty words of poetry about—
"The cottage homes of England,
By thousands in her plains;"
but ours was one.
It stood on a bit of country road, with three or four other cottages,
close outside a biggish town. We had a large pond in front, and lots
of trees beyond and on both sides of the pond; and the shadows of the
trees used to look very pretty on a summer evening, when the light from
the sun came creeping through them with a red glow like firelight. The
water would catch the glow, till it was all one sheet of brightness,
and the trees seemed bending down to look at their own likenesses
below, for every branch and twig and leaf might be seen there, pictured.
Sometimes a breeze would ruffle the surface, and then there were little
wavelets, with red on one side and grey on the other, and the pictured
branches and leaves had a snaky sort of movement in and out of one
another. And if a duck swam across, leaving its little track, that made
another break in the smooth picture.
I used to stand and watch these things, and wonder at the ripples and
the brightness. Sometimes I asked father the "why" of this or that, for
I was an inquisitive child, but he always said, "Don't know, my girl,"
and went off to his pipe; so it was not of much use to ask him. If I
put the same questions to mother, she commonly said, "How can I tell?
Don't bother!" and that shut me up.
And if I went to grannie, she would say, "Because God made it so,
Phœbe." This was all right and true, but I would have liked to
understand a little more about the beautiful things which God has made.
I used to wonder then, and I often wonder now, how it is that people
care so little to look into such matters.
Well, but I must go on about my home, the only home I ever knew in
childish years.
It was a pretty cottage. Clematis grew over one side, and in front
there was a rose-tree, which used to flower all the summer through and
on almost into the winter. The roses were small and white, but how they
did cluster! People often stopped to remark on them. We had a nice
piece of flower-garden in front, stuffed full of sweet-williams and
pinks, and such plain old-fashioned plants: none the less pretty for
being old-fashioned, however. At the back there was a tiny strip of
kitchen-garden too. The front door had a porch, and honeysuckle grew
thickly all over it, with long trailing pieces, which had to be lifted
and put aside when we went out or in.
Grannie had lived in this cottage all through her married life, and
when her husband died she lived on there still, with her only boy,—my
father,—working for him, and making him work for her.
Father's work was in the building firm of Johnstone & Co. We thought
Mr. Johnstone a very grand person in our little town, because he was so
rich, and wore such a thick gold watch-chain, and had such a big red
stone in the ring on his little finger. But I dare say he would not
have been thought so much of elsewhere. He was not a gentleman, and he
very seldom spoke a kind word to any of his men, as I am sure he would
have done if he had been a true gentleman.
Father was not a skilled workman, but he had good wages nevertheless,
for he was steady and trustworthy.
He was always kind to us children. I never knew him anything else in
those days. Sometimes he would speak up sharp in a passing way, but he
never knocked us about or stormed at us, as I have seen men do with
their children.
He was not a religious sort of man. He went to Church most Sundays,
in the afternoon, to please grannie, and sat and nodded through the
sermon. He would have done a good deal to please her, though he
wouldn't do one thing which she wanted, and that was to leave his bed
early enough for the morning Service—no, not even for her sake.
No, father was not religious. If he had been—not merely religious
outwardly, but really serving God in his heart—I think our life after
might have been different from what it was. It always seems to me,
looking back, that poor father was like a fine ship at sea, without any
rudder. For a while it may float along quietly enough, on a calm sea
and with a fair wind. But let the wind change and grow strong, and it
is carried helplessly away and cast upon the rocks. If he had had the
rudder, yes, and the Pilot on board, the breeze would have been only
for his good. But he had not.
I have many a time had this thought about poor father. He was such a
kind man in those days, and so steady. He liked his pipe and his glass
of beer, it is true, but he didn't go to excess with either, and he
loved his home and seldom went to the public. He brought his wages
straight home to grannie always; for it was grannie who managed things,
not mother. They were very unlike each other. Grannie liked work, and
mother couldn't abide it. Grannie could not be happy without everything
neat and nice about her, and mother did not care how anything was.
Grannie had always managed everything before father married, and she
kept it on after he married. Mother did not mind. She liked to be saved
trouble.
Mother was a pretty little woman, with blue eyes and a nice smile.
But she was always untidy. Even grannie could not cure her of her
untidiness. I don't know what the house would have been like, except
for grannie: but that made all the difference. She never let a speck of
dust lie anywhere, and she was a beautiful cook.
Grannie set herself early to train me into her ways, and I think I took
after her naturally. "You know, Phœbe," she used to say sometimes, "if
anything happens to me, it will all come upon you. Somehow, your mother
doesn't seem to have the knack; and if somebody else beside her didn't
keep things straight, there would be a terrible muddle. Maybe she would
not mind, but your father would, and it's a terrible thing to live in a
muddle. So see you do your best to learn."
I did do my best, and I think she found me an apt scholar. By fourteen
years old I could turn-out tidy little dinners without any difficulty,
and I was a capital hand at cleaning up; and as for sewing and darning,
I don't really think there was another girl in the place who could have
surpassed me.
I was a good deal more grannie's child than mother's. Mother cared most
for Asaph. There were only two of us, and Asaph was two years younger
than me. He was very like mother in looks and ways, little and pretty,
with blue eyes and curly hair, and a sort of easy soft way of doing
things. But he was not so easy as not to like having his own way, and
he didn't take it softly if anybody crossed him. He loved to lie in bed
too, and he hated lessons and work. And mother indulged him right and
left. Grannie seldom meddled about Asaph, for it almost always raised a
storm if she did.
Grannie was getting on in years, and her hair was white, but she still
looked hearty and strong, and was very active and ready to help in many
ways. She was religious and no mistake. It was religiousness of the
right sort with her—not only going to Church and saying her prayers,
as with some people; and not only talking good, as with some other
people. She did go to Church of course, and I never knew a more regular
Church-goer than she; and she did say her prayers regularly too. And
I don't mean either that she could not talk if occasion served. We
can generally speak now and then of the things we love best. But her
religion didn't consist only in Church-going or in talk. She lived
altogether to God and for God, and I don't really think she ever took
a single step without considering first whether it was what God would
have her do.