Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: MR. NORRIS TAKES UNA TO SEE THE LAMB.]
GRANFER
AND
ONE CHRISTMAS TIME
BY
ELEANORA H. STOOKE
AUTHOR OF
"THE HERMIT'S CAVE," "LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD," ETC.
WITH FRONTISPIECE BY ETHEL WOOLMER
LONDON
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY
BROAD SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE
[All rights reserved]
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
CONTENTS
GRANFER
CHAPTER I. IN THE FARM-KITCHEN
CHAPTER II. NEW NEIGHBOURS
CHAPTER III. VISITORS AT LOWERCOOMBE FARM
CHAPTER IV. THE BOOK-MARKER
CHAPTER V. UNA LEARNS A SECRET
CHAPTER VI. UNA'S ACCIDENT
CHAPTER VII. GRANFER'S HEART'S DESIRE
CHAPTER VIII. GRANFER'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY
ONE CHRISTMAS TIME
CHAPTER I. CONCERNING A DOLL IN AN AMBER-COLOURED GOWN
CHAPTER II. HOW THE DOLL WAS RECEIVED IN THE BLUNDELL FAMILY
CHAPTER III. CONCERNING JIM BLEWETT AND HIS LANDLADY
CHAPTER IV. MAGGIE IS INVITED TO A PARTY
CHAPTER V. PREPARING FOR MRS. METHERELL'S PARTY
CHAPTER VI. MRS. METHERELL'S PARTY
CHAPTER VII. JIM BLEWETT VISITS THE BLUNDELLS,
AND INTERFERES IN THEIR CONCERNS
CHAPTER VIII. THE RESULTS OF JIM BLEWETT'S INTERFERENCE
GRANFER
CHAPTER I
IN THE FARM-KITCHEN
IT was spring. The bright March sun in a cloudless blue sky was
shining into the kitchen of Lowercoombe Farm, upon the spotless china
on the dresser, the glistening tin ware on the mantelpiece, and the
old copper warming pan hanging from its accustomed nail against the
wall. The farm-house kitchen was a pleasant place: the stone floor
was kept scrupulously clean, and the large deal table was as white as
scrubbing could make it, whilst the oak settles by the fire-place and
the few chairs placed at equal distances around the room shone with the
constant application of 'elbow-grease,' as the housewives call rubbing
and polishing. On the hearth burnt a large wood fire, over which in an
iron crock simmered a savoury stew which Mrs. Maple, the farmer's wife,
who was engaged in getting up her husband's shirts at the table, put
down her iron to stir occasionally.
The mistress of Lowercoombe was a comely, middle-aged woman, with a
pleasant, ruddy face, and bright blue eyes that were in the habit of
looking kindly upon every one and everything. Her husband often said
that if she could find no good to say of people they must be either
very disagreeable or very wicked, for his wife had a way of finding out
folks' good qualities, and always tried to think the best of those who
crossed her path in life.
Now, as she held up the last of the shirts at arm's length to survey
her work better, she heard a footstep approaching the kitchen door,
which opened straight into the yard, and in another moment her father,
who had made his home at Lowercoombe since her marriage to the farmer,
entered, and going to the fire-place, sat down in a corner of the
settle.
He was a tall old man of nearly eighty, with a pair of shrewd dark eyes
and a stern face. Jabez Norris was known as honourable and upright, but
was considered a hard man. Many years ago he had turned his only son,
David, then a lad of eighteen, out of his house, because he wished to
become an artist, instead of following in his father's footsteps, and
being a farmer. From that day to this, Mr. Norris had never seen nor
heard of his son, but whether this was a trouble to the old man or not
nobody knew, for he rarely mentioned David to any one, and even his
favourite daughter, with whom he lived, and who had loved her brother
dearly, spoke of him but seldom.
"Are you tired, father?" asked Mrs. Maple in her bright, cheerful
tones. "I always think these days of early spring are trying!"
"Ay, ay, to folks of my age, no doubt. I'm beginning to feel the weight
of years, Mary!"
"You are a wonderful man for your age, father; every one says so."
"I'm not complaining, but at my time of life, I must expect to be
failing. It is a lovely day, but, as you say, trying. Summer in the
sun, and winter in the shade!"
"It's time for Nellie and Bessie to be home from school," Mrs. Maple
remarked, adroitly changing the conversation as she glanced at the
grandfather's clock that ticked loudly in a corner of the kitchen.
Nellie and Bessie were her two little daughters, aged respectively
eleven and nine. Mr. Norris was very proud and fond of them both, and
his stern face softened at the mention of their names.
"How fast they do grow!" he exclaimed. "Why, they'll be women almost
directly. Nellie is like her father, but I don't think Bessie takes
after either you or your husband, Mary!"
"No," Mrs. Maple answered; then she added, in a lower tone, "but I know
who she is like, though!"
"Who's that?" enquired the old man with a sharp glance at his daughter.
"Why, David, to be sure! Every one remarks the likeness! She has his
soft brown eyes, and his winning manner, and her very voice seems to
have an echo of his!"
Mr. Norris was silent, his eyes fixed on the flames which leaped and
danced on the hearth. His daughter plucked up her courage and continued:
"Have you forgotten what day it is, father? The third of March! David's
birthday! I wonder where he is now! I would give a great deal to know!
An only son, and brother, and to think we have neither seen nor heard
of him for fifteen years!"
"That is his fault, Mary!"
"I don't know about that! You were hard on him, father, and told him
never to show his face at home again, and he took you at your word!"
"It is his pride that has kept him silent!" the old man exclaimed
angrily. "It is to be hoped that your Bessie does not take after him in
disposition as well as in appearance, or you'll have trouble with her
yet!"
"Oh, father, how can you speak like that when she's such a good child?"
the mother cried in reproachful accents. "She has never given me a
moment's anxiety! But, speaking of David, I do wonder what has become
of him, and whether he is married or not!"
At that moment two pairs of light footsteps were heard in the yard, and
Nellie and Bessie entered, rosy with struggling against the March wind.
"Well, children," their mother said in greeting, as she turned her
bright face with its welcoming smile upon them, "are your appetites
ready for dinner?"
"Oh, yes!" they both answered, and Nellie went to the hearth and peeped
into the crock, remarking:
"How good it smells!"
Bessie sat down on the settle by her grandfather's side and slipped her
little, warm fingers into his cold palm.
"How grave you look, Granfer!" she exclaimed, calling him by the name
she and her sister had given him. "What have you and mother been
talking about?" she added coaxingly.
"About some one you never saw—your Uncle David!" the old man responded,
much to the surprise of his daughter, who had never known him mention
their uncle to the children before.
"Oh, I've heard of him!" Bessie cried. "He wanted to be an artist, and
he went away and never came back again! He used always to be painting
pictures, didn't he, Granfer?"
"Yes; neglecting his work and idling his time! He cared nothing for the
farm, but was for ever with a pencil or a paint-brush in his hand!"
"Painting was his talent," Mrs. Maple remarked quietly.
"Then I suppose God gave it to him," Bessie said thoughtfully. "It
wouldn't have been right if he had not been an artist, would it,
Granfer?"
"What do you mean, child?"
"I think I understand," Mrs. Maple interposed, seeing her little
daughter hardly knew how to explain. "You mean that if your uncle David
had not used the talent God had given him, he would have been like the
man in the parable who hid his talent in the earth!"
"Yes," Bessie said eagerly, "he ought to have used it, and instead he
put it away so that it was no good to any one!"
Mrs. Maple glanced at her father somewhat anxiously. He was looking at
Bessie attentively and gravely, but not as though he was angry.
"So you think my son was perfectly right in disobeying me," he said. "I
wanted him to be a farmer, and he would not!"
"He knew he could never be a good farmer," Mrs. Maple put in quietly.
"We must be just, father!"
"Ay; but I don't forget how he defied me."
"What became of him?" asked Nellie. "Do you think he has become rich,
Granfer?"
The old man laughed disagreeably.
"I never heard of a rich artist yet!" he declared.
"Oh, but, Granfer, sometimes artists make a lot of money; they do
really!" Nellie cried eagerly. "They are not all poor, you know. The
girls at school the other day were speaking of a great artist who was
introduced to Queen Victoria!"
"It has sometimes crossed my mind that David may have been successful,"
Mrs. Maple said thoughtfully. "I'm sure I hope he has! I wish we knew
something about him—poor David!" and she sighed regretfully. There were
tears in her kind blue eyes as she spoke of her brother, for she had
treasured the memory of his handsome boyish face and winning ways in
her heart for many a long year; and, rich or poor, if he had returned
at any time he would have found his sister's love the same.
"Don't you wish Uncle David would come home, Granfer?" Bessie asked
softly. "I do!"
"Yes, I should like to see him once more," the old man acknowledged,
"for though he defied me, he is my only son."
His eyes rested thoughtfully and wistfully upon Bessie's face; and
as he saw the likeness to that other countenance that had passed out
of his sight in anger, more than fifteen years before, he sighed
regretfully too, and his daughter caught the murmured words:
"Perhaps I was to blame as well as the boy. As the child says, it was
his one talent! I wish David would come home!"