JESSIE'S ROSEWATER PHILOSOPHY.
Her voice was like music to my heart. With Jessie on one side of me,
and my mother on the other, there was not a cloud on my life, nor room
for one. I sat between them, now patting my mother's hand, now turning
restlessly to Jessie, and looking at her in delight. But the change in
the aspect of things was so sudden and unexpected, that it would not
have much amazed me to see Jessie melt into thin air. This must have
been expressed in my face, for Jessie, who was a skilful interpreter
of expression, whispered,
'It is true; I have really come back.'
'I was doubting,' I said, in a similar low tone, 'whether I was asleep
or awake.'
'Don't speak loud,' she said mockingly, 'don't look at me too hard,
and don't blow on me, or you will find that you're only dreaming.
Shall I pinch you?'
'No; I am awake, I know. This is the most famous thing that ever
happened.'
'You were sorry when I went away, then?'
'I can't tell you how sorry; but you are not going away again?'
'I suppose not; I have no place to go to.'
There was a change in her manner; she was more thoughtful and sedate
than usual, and her face was pale; but I noted these signs only in a
casual way. To be certain that everything was right, I went out of the
room to see if her box had been brought back. It was in its old place
in my mother's bedroom. My mother had followed me.
'So you are happy again, my dear,' she said, as we stood, like lovers,
with our arms around each other's waist.
'I _am_ glad, mother,' I replied, pressing her fondly to me; 'and so
are you too, I know. But tell me how it all happened.'
'There is very little to tell, dear child. I was as surprised as you
were. I was having tea when your uncle and Jessie came in suddenly; it
gave me quite a turn, for Jessie, as you see, is in mourning.' (I had
not noticed it, and I wondered at my blindness.) 'Your uncle looked
worn and anxious, and they were both very tired, as if they had come a
long distance. "I have not quite deserted you, you see," your uncle
said. I told him how glad I was he had returned, and how anxious we
had been about him. "And Jessie, too," I said. "I was afraid I was not
to see her again." "You will see a great deal of her for the future,"
said your uncle; "she will live with us now. She must sleep with you,
as there is no other room in the house for her." And that is
positively all I have to tell, Chris, except that Jessie has been very
quiet all the evening, and only showed her old spirits when your knock
was heard at the street-door.'
'And Jessie has told you nothing, mother?'
'Nothing, dear child; and I have not asked.'
'You don't even know whom she is in mourning for?'
'No, my dear.'
Jessie was displaying more of her old spirits when my mother and I
went downstairs; as we entered the room she was saying to uncle
Bryan,
'I wish you would tell me what I _am_ to call you. I can't call you
Bryan, and I don't like Mr. Carey. I could invent a name certainly, if
I wanted to be spiteful.'
'What name?' he asked, in his rough manner.
'Never mind. You'd like to know, so that you could bark and fight.
What _shall_ I call you?'
'Call me what you please,' he answered.
'Well, then, I shall call you uncle Bryan, as Chris does; I daresay I
shall get used to it in time.'
Soon after this point was settled I found an opportunity to touch
Jessie's black dress, and to press her hand sympathisingly. She
understood the meaning of the action, and her lips quivered; she did
not speak another word until she went to bed. The events of the
evening had for a time driven from my head news which I had to tell,
and which I knew would be received with pleasure. My errand-running
days were over. My employer, whose name was Eden, satisfied with the
manner in which I had performed my duties, had placed me on the
footing of a regular apprentice, and I was to learn the art of
wood-engraving in all its branches. A fair career was therefore open
to me. It is needless for me to say how these glad tidings rejoiced my
dear mother.
'Mr. Eden,' I said, 'has often asked to see my little sketches, and
has been pleased with them, I think. He told me that he commenced in
the same way himself, and he has given me every encouragement. He says
that in three years I shall be able to earn good wages. Who knows? I
may have a business of my own one day.'
And you have only yourself to thank for it, my dear child; said my
mother, casting looks of pride around.
'No, mother; you are wrong. I have kept the best bit to the last. Mr.
Eden has spoken of you a good many times--he has often seen you, you
know, when you came for me of an evening--and I have told him all
about you. When he called me into his office this afternoon, he said
that I had you to thank for this promotion, and that I was to tell you
so, with his compliments.'
'Why, my dear!' exclaimed my mother; Mr. Eden has never spoken one
word to me.'
'But he has seen you,' interrupted uncle Bryan, the tone and meaning
of his words being strangely at variance, and that is enough. Mr. Eden
is right, Chris. Whatever good fortune comes to you in life, you have
only one person in the world to thank for it.'
'I think so too, uncle.' His words softened me towards him, and I went
to his side, and said gratefully, 'You have been very good to me, sir,
also.'
'Psha!' he said, with an impatient movement of his head. 'Emma, if you
will fill my pipe for me, I will smoke it.'
The pipe we had presented to him on his birthday had not yet been
used, and my mother took it from the mantelshelf, filled it, and
handed it to him. He received it with a kind of growl, implying that
he had been conquered unawares, but he smoked it with much inward
contentment nevertheless.
I was so excitedly happy when I went to bed that I was as long getting
to sleep as I was on the night of Jessie's sudden disappearance. Here
and there life is dotted with sunny spots, the light of which is but
rarely entirely darkened, and had Jessie never returned, she might
have dwelt in my mind as one of these; or--so surrounded with romance
was her appearance and disappearance--I might have grown to wonder
whether she was a creation of my fancy, or had really belonged to my
life. But now that she was among us again, and was going to live with
us, I felt as if a bright clear stream were flowing within me,
invigorating and gladdening my pulses--a sweet refreshing stream
within the range of which sadness or melancholy could find no place.
Reason became the slave of creative thought, and within my heart
flowers were blooming, the beautiful forms and colours of which could
never wither and fade. Jessie had struck the key-note of my certain
belief when she said, 'And now we are going to live happily together
for ever afterwards.'
Curious as I was to know why she had returned to us in mourning, I
held my tongue, out of respect for my mother's wish that we should ask
no questions. Jessie's quieter mood soon wore away; little by little
she introduced colour into her dress, and in three months she was out
of mourning. I fancied now and then, as these alterations in her dress
were made, that her manner towards uncle Bryan indicated an
expectation that he would speak to her on the subject. But he made no
remark, and noticed her the least when most she invited notice.
She changed the entire aspect of our house. It belonged to her to
brighten, apparently without conscious effort, everything which came
in contact with her. The contrast between her and my mother was very
great. My mother's tastes, like her nature, were quiet and unassuming.
Her hair was always plainly done, and, within my experience, she had
never worn cap or flower; her dress was always of one sober tint; and
her pale face and almost noiseless step were in keeping with these. If
she had had the slightest reason to suppose that by placing a flower
in her hair, and wearing a bit of bright ribbon, or by any other
innocently-attractive device, she could have given me or uncle Bryan
pleasure, she would have done so instantly; but, out of her entire
disregard of self, no such thought ever entered her mind. Now Jessie
was fond of flowers and ribbons, and was gifted with the rare faculty
of knowing where a bit of colour, and what colour, would prove most
attractive. From the most simple means she produced the most exquisite
results. Her box was a perfect Pandora's box in its inexhaustible
supply of adornments, and she was continually surprising us with
something new, or something which she made to look like new. And she
was by no means disposed to hide her light under a bushel. Everything
she did must be admired, and if admiration did not come spontaneously,
she was very prompt in asking or even begging for it. It was amusing
to watch the tricksy efforts by which she strove to attract attention
to anything she was wearing for the first time, however trifling it
might be, or to the slightest change in the arrangement of her dress.
Then, when her object was attained, she would ask, 'And do you really
like it? Are you sure now?' or 'Would it look better so?' or 'What do
you think of its being this way--or that?' I was the person whom she
consulted most frequently; but I could see nothing to find fault with,
and could never suggest any improvement; whereas uncle Bryan would
shrug his shoulders, and mutter disparaging remarks, which never
failed to provoke warm replies from Jessie. Then he would smile
caustically, and hit her hard with words still more spiteful, or
retire into his shell, according to his humour.
'We will have a world made especially for you, young lady,' he
said--whenever he was disposed to be bitter, he called her young
lady'--'a world full of ribbons and flounces and flowers and silk
dresses and satin shoes, and everything else you crave for.'
'That would be nice,' she observed complacently.
'And you shall live in it all alone, so that your title to these nice
things shall not be disputed.'
'That wouldn't do,' she answered promptly; 'what is the use of having
nice things unless you get people to admire them?'
'We will have people made to order for you, then; people who shall be
always admiring you and praising you and flattering you.' He rung
changes on this theme for five minutes or so, and when he paused, she
made a grimace, as if she had been compelled to swallow a dose of
medicine. But this kind of warfare did not alter her nature. She
coaxed my mother to buy a pair of pretty ornaments for the
mantelshelf; she coaxed uncle Bryan--how she managed it, heaven only
knows! but she was cunning, and she must have entrapped him in an
unguarded moment--to allow her to buy a piece of oil-cloth for the
table, and she herself chose the pattern; and in many other ways she
made it apparent that a new spirit was at work in our household. She
made the bedroom in which she and my mother slept the prettiest room
in the house; pictures were hung or pasted on the wall; her own
especial looking-glass was set in a framework of white muslin,
daintily edged with blue ribbon. 'Blue is my favourite colour,' she
said, as she stood, the fairest object there, pointing out to me some
trifling improvement; 'it suits my complexion.' It is not difficult to
understand how popular she soon became in the neighbourhood; admiring
eyes followed her whenever she appeared in the narrow streets round
about, and I would not have changed places with an emperor when I
walked out with her by my side. If any one quality in her could have
made her more precious to me, it was her feeling towards my mother.
'No one can help loving her,' said Jessie to me, in one of our
confidential conversations. 'Is she ever angry with any one?'
'I think not,' I replied. 'Where another person would be angry, she is
sorry. There isn't another mother in the world like mine.'
'Would you like me to be like her? Would it be better for me, do you
think?'
I like you as you are, Jessie; I shouldn't like you to alter. There
are different kinds of good people, you know.'
'I am not good.'
'Nonsense! you not good!'
'Your mother is, Chris; she never goes to bed without kneeling down
and saying her prayers.'
'I know it, Jessie. And you?'
'Oh, I often forget--always when I go to bed before her. When we go
together, I kneel down, and shut my eyes; but I don't say anything. I
see things.'
On one occasion Jessie met me at the street-door when I came home from
work, and led me with an air of importance into the sitting-room,
where my mother sat in a new dress and a cap with ribbons in it. My
mother blushed as I looked at her.
'She _would_ make me do it, Chris,' she said apologetically.
'Now doesn't she look prettier so?' asked Jessie.
There was no denying it; I had never seen my mother look so
attractive, and I kissed her and told her so.
'That makes it all right,' cried Jessie, clapping her hands. 'All the
time I was persuading her, she said, "What will Chris say?" and, "Will
not Chris think it strange?"'
And Jessie pretended that something was wrong with the cap, and spread
out a ribbon here and a ribbon there, and fluttered about my mother in
the prettiest way, and then fell back to admire her handiwork.
'I want a new nightcap,' growled uncle Bryan, adding with a sarcastic
laugh, 'but the ribbons in it must suit my complexion.'
The next night Jessie gravely presented him with a nightcap gaily
decorated with ribbons. 'It will become you beautifully,' she said,
with a demure look. When he crossed lances with her, he was generally
vanquished.
Jessie explained to me the philosophy of all this.
'I like everything about me to look nice,' she said; 'what else are
things for? Everybody ought to be nice to everybody. What are people
sent into the world for, I should like to know--to make each other
comfortable or miserable?'
I subscribed most heartily to this rosewater philosophy. Certainly, if
Jessie had had her way, there would have been no heartaches in the
world; no poverty, no sickness, no rags, no rainy days. The sun would
have been eternally shining where she moved, and everything around
her would have been eternally bright. The world would have been a
garden, and she the prettiest flower in it.
In the mean time I was making rapid progress in my business. My great
ambition was to become a good draughtsman; and I had learnt all that
could be learnt in the school of art, which I had attended regularly
for some time.
'Now sketch from nature,' the master said; 'I can do nothing more for
you. You have a talent for caricature, but before that can be properly
developed, you must learn figure drawing from the life.'
These words fired me, and I commenced my studies in this direction
with my mother, who was always ready to stand in any uncomfortable
position for any length of time, while I laboured to reproduce her.
Perhaps I would come suddenly into the room while she was stooping
over the fire, or standing on tiptoe to reach something from the top
shelf of the cupboard. 'Stand still, mother,' I would cry; 'don't
move!' And the dear mother would stand as immovable as a statue until
I released her; and then, dropping her arms, or rising from her
stooping posture, with a sigh of relief which she could not suppress,
she would fall into ecstasies with my work, whether it were good or
bad. Uncle Bryan was a capital study for me, and would smile cynically
when I produced any especially ill-favoured sketch of his face or
figure. It was but natural that I should make the most careful studies
of Jessie; and she, not at all unwilling, posed for me half a dozen
times a week, until my desk was filled with sketches of her in scores
of graceful attitudes and positions. Her face was my principal study;
and I sketched it with so many different expressions upon it, that
before long I knew it by heart, and could see it with my eyes
shut--smiling, or pouting, or looking demurely at me. Jessie inspected
every scrap of my work, and very promptly tore into pieces anything
that did not please her, saying she did not want any ugly likenesses
of herself lying about. I made studies of her eyes, her lips, her
ears, her hands; and we passed a great deal of time together in this
way, to our mutual satisfaction. We were allowed full liberty; but I
sometimes detected uncle Bryan observing us with a curiously pondering
expression on his face. This did not trouble me however.