The rain went on; by two o'clock Mrs Fortescue had given up any hope of
its clearing.
"I do wish it had been brighter for poor Aunt Margaret's journey and
arrival," she said more than once, when they were all at table.
"Never mind, Mumsey," said Jasper, "it'll be nearly dark when she comes,
won't it? And then when it's all lighted up in the house it'll not
matter outside."
"I wish it was lighted up now," said Christabel dolefully. "It's a
perfectly horrid day. It never seemed so dark and dull at home--there
were always nice things to do," and she sighed deeply.
"That's something new," said Leila. "You used to grumble like
anything--even on fine days, because you had lessons to do, and when it
rained, because you couldn't go out. _I_ don't mind a bit. I can
always read."
"Poor Chrissie," said Mrs Fortescue, hastening to prevent a squabble,
"I am afraid you have had a very dull morning. You will feel more
settled when you have some lessons again, won't you?"
Her words roused the child's curiosity. Not that she was by any means
eager for schoolroom work to begin.
"Are we going to have a governess?" she inquired. "I thought p'raps
you'd teach us yourself, Mummy, as we've so little money now to pay for
lessons."
"And Roland's school will take all there is," murmured Leila gloomily.
"I wish I was a boy, I know that."
Her mother glanced at her, but said nothing in reply to these remarks.
And then she went on quietly--
"Nothing is quite settled yet. I have had so many other things to
attend to. I am thinking of taking your music lessons myself"--Mrs
Fortescue played beautifully,--"but I should not have time for more. I
hope to find a good English teacher to come three or four mornings a
week, and Aunt Margaret wants to give you French lessons. You know she
is an excellent French scholar; she was educated in France and has been
there so much."
"Aunt Margaret!" repeated the children, and from their tone it was
difficult to judge if the idea met with their gracious approval or not,
and their mother showed no intention of inquiring as to this.
"In the meantime," she continued, "I think you might make some sort of
plan for yourselves. And I want Jasper to have some lessons every day.
Chrissie, you seem very short of occupation. Suppose you read with him
this afternoon, and give him a little writing and arithmetic?"
Christabel hesitated.
"I don't mind sums," she said, "I like them and I can explain them quite
well; but as for reading--he does read so slowly, Mummy--it was bad
enough to hear him with Miss Earle. I wanted to shake them both,
often."
Jasper's face grew very pink.
"I did try, I really did," he murmured.
"I daresay you did, but I couldn't be as patient as Miss Earle, and then
there'd be fusses," objected Chrissie with great candour.
"I'll be werry good," persisted Jasper. "I wish you'd do lessons with
me. I'm beginnin' to forget lots, I'm sure," and the look in his small
face touched his sister. After all, it might be rather amusing, better
than staring out of the window at the rain pouring down on the dull
street.
"Well, I'll try, as you want me so much to do it, Mummy," she said,
though not too graciously. "I don't see why Leila shouldn't help," she
went on.
"I've not been asked," said Leila, "and I've not been grumbling like you
at having nothing to do."
"I hope you will take your part in teaching Jasper, Leila," said her
mother as she rose from her chair, "but to-day it is best to leave it to
Chrissie. You can come here as soon as Harriet has cleared the table,"
she added to the new little governess.
Jasper kept his promise--he tried his best manfully, and, for part of
the time at least, Christabel did _her_ best. But even with real
goodwill, if one has not got the _habit_ of self-control, patience and
gentleness, especially in teaching, cannot be learnt all at once.
"You are too stupid for words," cried Chrissie, pushing away the book
before them violently. "At your age I could read perfectly--as well as
I do now."
"I _am_ tryin'," said the little boy, choking down a sob which was not
far off.
"Well, p'raps you are. Begin that sentence again. `The S A X,' you
must know what `Sax' is."
Jasper gazed at the letters. He was not a quick child, though "stupid"
was not by any means a true description of him, for where any service to
others, or his power to help them, was in question, his gift of finding
it out was almost like a fairy one.
"But there's more than `S A X'," he objected. "I know what `Saxon' is,"
and he pronounced it correctly, "why am I to say only `Sax'?"
Christabel groaned.
"Oh, you donkey!" she exclaimed. "I was dividing it into syllables to
make it easier for you, of course. If you knew what the whole word was,
why did you sit staring at it as if you didn't?"
"I only wanted to be quite certin," he said humbly, and then they
started again, and again came to a standstill, for Christabel's
sharpness seemed to stupefy the little fellow; and when Mrs Fortescue,
half-an-hour or so after the lessons had begun, looked in to see how
teacher and pupil were getting on, she was disappointed to gather, by
the traces of tears in Jasper's eyes and by Chrissie's flaming cheeks,
that things were not going any too smoothly.
"Oh Mummy, he is _so_ stupid!" exclaimed the little governess. "Oh, I
do hope I shall never have--"
But a stifled sob from Jasper made his mother interrupt Chrissie's
"hopes," the nature of which it was not difficult to guess.
"Jasper, dear," she said, and there was perhaps a tiny shadow of
reproach in her tone.
"I _has_ tried, Mumsey, Mumsey, teruly I has," and then his voice broke.
Mrs Fortescue glanced at Christabel questioningly.
Chrissie did not like to see her little brother crying: Jasper so seldom
cried.
"Well, yes," she said, in reply to her mother's unspoken inquiry, "I
don't say he hasn't tried, and I don't say I've been extra patient. But
I never pretend to be very patient or good-tempered. I can't help the
way I'm made," and she tossed her head as if this settled the question.
"I'm certainly not meant to be a governess."
Mrs Fortescue sighed, and the sigh went to Jasper's tender heart. He
flung his arms round her.
"Mumsey, darling," he whispered, "Chrissie hasn't been cross to me--
scarcely not--and I did try, but some of the words were _so_ hard. But
I don't want you to be sorry, and I'll try more to-morrow."
In her own mind Mrs Fortescue felt very doubtful as to whether it would
be wise to repeat the experiment, but just now it was better not to say
so. So she soothed the little fellow, and reminded him that Chrissie
did know that he had tried; and Chrissie, though not over amiably,
condescended to kiss him, though she added--
"You are a baby, Jap. I hope you won't have red eyes when Aunt Margaret
comes."
Mrs Fortescue started at the words.
"By-the-bye," she said, "we have not too much time to spare," and she
glanced at the clock. "Put away the books, children, for Harriet must
get tea ready early. Your aunt will like to have it with all of us
together, when she arrives. I wonder what Leila is about."
"There isn't much need to wonder about _her_," said Chrissie, as she
hastily collected the books and slates and bundled them into their
little owner's arms with an "_I_ don't know where you keep them, Jap."
"I keep them in my own room now," he replied with pride, for the
possession of "my own room," a tiny slip of a place out of Roland's, had
gone far to console him for the loss of former luxuries and comforts;
"and I'll tell Lelly to come down to be ready for Aunt Margaret; shall
I, Mumsey?" and off he ran.
So, thanks to Christabel's feeling vaguely wishful to make up for her
impatience with her pupil, and perhaps in her heart grateful to him for
having made the best of it to her mother; thanks, too, to Jasper's
timely rousing Leila to come downstairs to be ready for their expected
guest, the sisters were in good trim when the four-wheeler drew up at
the door and Jasper's joyful cry, "They've come," brought them all out
into the hall.
It was _such_ a rainy day--a really hopelessly wet winter's day--the
dull street looking duller than ever, the sky without the faintest
gleam--everybody knows what London, above all London "far out," and
where there are no shops even near at hand, can look like in these
conditions. And to one whose whole home life till now had been spent in
beautiful places, the contrast must have been sharp. Yet never did a
face look brighter than Aunt Margaret's as she got out of the cab and
smiled up at her nephew as if asking him, too, to be happy, which poor
Mr Fortescue just then was finding difficult.
He glanced anxiously at the house, and was pleased to see the door open
and a row of heads in the passage.
"I am sure of Edith"--"Edith" was Mrs Fortescue--"and little Japs," he
thought, "but those girls! I do hope they will be all light."
Yes, they were at their best--gentle and affectionate, and indeed it
would have been difficult to greet their aunt in any other way. She was
not a _very_ old lady, though her hair was quite white and she looked
delicate, for she was many years younger than her brother, Sir Percy.
She came in, her eyes bright with pleasure, her kind voice already
murmuring all their names, and the children gave a start of delight when
they saw that their aunt was carrying a huge basket of the loveliest
flowers--Fareham flowers, from the beloved hot-houses there. Their
delicate fragrance already seemed to fill the little hall.
Mrs Fortescue darted forward.
"How good of you," she exclaimed, even before she kissed the new-comer,
and indeed it would not have been easy to do so with the mass of flowers
between them! "Oh, how delicious! Leila, Chrissie," and the little
girls seized the treasures eagerly, and between them bore the basket off
to a safe place.
"I thought I would like to bring the flowers in myself for my darlings,"
said Aunt Margaret, smiling, "as a sort of `good luck,' you know."
Then she hugged them all round--Jasper coming in for a hearty share; and
what with her pleasure and the scent and colour of her gift, somehow
sunshine seemed to have come into the house for the time, and the rainy,
muddy, gloomy street outside to have vanished.
"Morris," Aunt Margaret went on, "Morris was so eager to send you a good
supply. The last he can send, poor man," with a quick sigh, "for the
tenants are expected to-morrow." Morris was the Fareham gardener of
longstanding. "And there is a hamper-full of plants in pots, with my
luggage--oh no, coming by goods train, I mean. We thought, Morris and
I, it would amuse the dear children, Edith, to do some indoors
gardening, so he chose ferns and flowers that will grow well in the
house with a little care."
"Oh, I am so glad," exclaimed Jasper. "May I have a planted one of my
werry own, Auntie?"
"Of course you may--more than one," she replied, "and Leila and Chrissie
too," and she kissed them in turn as she named them. "My dears, how you
have grown!" she went on; "Leila especially, I think. And Chrissie
looking so well and rosy."
Leila was pleased to be told she had grown, and not sorry for the "so
well and rosy" to fall to her sister's share, for she liked to think she
herself looked rather pale and delicate. And Chrissie, to do her
justice, cared exceedingly little about "looks" at all. Just now her
whole attention was given to the flowers.
"I do hope Mums will let me arrange them," she thought. "She'll very
likely say that Lell and I may do them together to-morrow morning, and
if she does, I know what I'll do."
By this time the whole party had somehow got into the dining-room,
where, thanks to Mrs Fortescue's care, tea was all ready.
"We thought you would not mind having it like this all together, this
first evening, dear Aunt," she said. "Just take off your thick cloak
and--"
"Please may I take it upstairs for Auntie," said Jasper, scrambling down
from his chair and hurrying off with the heavy wrap, though it was
almost more than he could carry. He managed it somehow, however, and
was back again almost immediately, his gaze fixed lovingly on something
he held in his hand.
"Jasper," exclaimed Chrissie, forgetting her aunt's presence, "that's
very naughty of you. Mummy, he's taken a flower out of the basket."
Mrs Fortescue winced at her sharp tone. She was so anxious for
everything to be smooth and peaceful.
"It does smell so lovelily," said Jasper, for his treasure was a spike
of stephanotis, "but if it was naughty of me I'll put it back."
"No, no, dear--keep it by all means," said Aunt Margaret. "There is
plenty more of it. And--oh Roland, my dear boy," for just at that
moment the elder brother luckily made his appearance, "how glad I am to
see you! Now we are _all_ together," she added with a glance round the
well-filled table, "and when one can say that, one should not feel there
is much to complain of--should we, dear Reginald?" and she turned to Mr
Fortescue, beside whom she was sitting.
"No indeed," he replied heartily. "You and gloomy feelings certainly
couldn't live together, Aunt Margaret--could they, eh, Jasper, my boy?
what do you think about it?" for Jasper was listening with all his ears
and a pleased smile on his face, while he fondled his precious
stephanotis.
"How they do spoil that child," Leila whispered to Christabel.
"Yes," was the reply in the same tone; "it looks as if it would be worse
than ever now _she's_ come." Then, as they had all finished tea, Mrs
Fortescue took the traveller upstairs to her room.
"Mumsey, darlin'," said Jasper, as she passed him, "mayn't we help you
to rerange the flowers?"
"Not to-night, dear. It's too late, and it would upset the
drawing-room. But I'll tell you what--listen, Leila and Chrissie--you
may _all_ do them to-morrow morning, as early as you like. I will send
them down to the cellar for the night, and I will look out the biggest
glasses and vases we have. I am so glad I kept several, though I didn't
expect to have so much to fill them with."
"As early as you like," Chrissie repeated to herself. "That'll just
suit me. I love doing flowers if I'm not interfered with. And there's
not much fear of Lell turning out of bed early if I don't hurry her up,"
for, in spite of all orders to the contrary, Leila was still naughty
enough often to read in bed at night with a candle lighted on a little
table by her side, which, naturally, did not make her very wakeful in
the morning. And Chrissie, though she had threatened more than once to
tell their mother of this dangerous disobedience, took care that evening
to offer no objection to it, for the selfish and unsisterly reason that
I have spoken of.
Aunt Margaret was tired, notwithstanding her good spirits, and not sorry
to go to bed early. As she was on her way to her room, Mrs Fortescue
accompanying her, she glanced up the higher staircase.
"Let us say good-night again to the children," she said. "I hear Leila
and Chrissie talking, so they cannot be in bed yet, and I have not yet
seen their room," and as in that little house there was never far to go,
Mrs Fortescue readily consented.
"Leila, Chrissie," she said, "Aunt Margaret has come to say good-night
to you in your own domain," and they came forward to be kissed again.
On the whole, things were not so desperately untidy as was often the
case, and their visitor glanced round approvingly.
"Yes, it is really a nice room," she said. "Poor dears, they must miss
Nurse. Still you are big girls now and will be pleased to be
independent," and she did not notice that there was only a very vaguely
murmured reply. "Let me have one peep at Jasper," she went on. "It is
so long since I have seen the dear little fellow asleep, and I remember
how sweet he used to look."
Mrs Fortescue lighted a candle in Roland's room, out of which Jasper's
opened--Roland was still downstairs with his father,--and carefully
shading it from the little sleeper's eyes, led the way in. The child
was fast, very fast asleep--he looked prettier than when awake, for
slumber brought a rosy flush to his face, as a rule paler than one would
have wished to see it.
And to-night he looked particularly well and happy, for he was smiling,
and murmured some words as his mother bent over him, which at first
puzzled her--"the growin' ones," he said, "it must be somefin' growin'."
"What can he be dreaming about?" she whispered to her aunt, and then her
eye caught sight of the probable cause of Jasper's pleasant fancies. It
was the sprig of stephanotis, carefully tied to a bar at the head of his
little cot, so that the sweet perfume was doubtless wafted to him as he
lay.
"I know," exclaimed Aunt Margaret. "Dear little fellow--it is something
about the plants that I said were coming by goods train to-morrow. How
glad I am that Morris thought of them!"
She was right, though it was not till long afterwards that Jasper told
his dream, which in time to come, as his ideas grew and developed,
seemed to him almost, simple as it was, to have been a kind of allegory.
And for fear I should forget about it as our story goes on, I may as
well tell it to you now.
He dreamt that he was walking up a rather steep hill; it was grassy and
pleasant to step on, but still he felt a little tired and wondered how
much farther he would have to go. Where he was going, or why, he could
not clearly understand; he only knew that go on he must, and all the
time, in his hand, he carried his sweetly scented flower. Then,
suddenly, he became aware that, on his journey, whatever was the reason
and object of it, he was not alone--numbers and numbers of other
children were pressing on in the same direction. They did not speak to
him or to each other, every one seemed full of the same eagerness to get
to the top of the hill; and soon the explanation of this grew plain to
him, for a breath, more than a voice, passed through the crowd of little
travellers, murmuring--
"The gates, the gates of the beautiful garden." And lifting his eyes he
saw, now but a short way off, great gates of silvery trellis-work,
through which he could already catch glimpses of stretches of exquisite
lawns, and glorious trees, and smooth winding paths, bordered by plants
and flowers of indescribable loveliness. He seemed to himself to give a
bound of delight, for something told him that he and all his companions
were coming there by invitation, and in another moment or two the crowd
of children had reached the top of the hill and were standing in front
of the gates. And then Jasper noticed another thing--each child was
carrying a flower, or a plant--many, like himself, a cut-off branch or
blossom only; some, and the faces of these had a different expression
from that of the others, flowerpots filled with earth in which the plant
was happily alive and growing. They were not all of equal size or
beauty; several were very tiny, nothing but a few green leaves perhaps;
some, what one would carelessly call "quite common" little things--a
daisy root or a small nest of violets, of which only one timid head was
as yet to be seen. _But_ all these had roots, and were growing! Then
glancing at the other children, who like himself carried only a single
blossom, he saw an anxious look on their faces, and to his distress he
perceived that these flowers were drooping and beginning to fade and
wither, and he was just turning to examine his own, when he heard an
eager cry--and looking up, he saw a figure coming down the garden and
opening the gate at one side, not widely, but enough to let one child
through at a time.
Jasper pressed forward--the new-comer was all dressed in white--the face
was more beautiful than any face not seen in dreams.
"It's an angel," thought Jasper, and some words he had heard or read of
came into his mind.
"`The garden of Paradise,' that must be it," he thought dreamily.
And then he looked again and more anxiously, for he saw that by no means
every child was allowed to enter--and of those who with saddened or
disappointed faces turned back, every one was the bearer of a single
blossom only, a poor, already-fading flower!
The angel's face was grave as he slowly shook his head, when Jasper
himself drew near.
"I cannot, my child, I cannot," he said; "you must bring a different
offering;" and Jasper, on the point of tears, replied--
"I didn't know--I didn't know. What shall I do?"