EDGAR LEARNS HIS FATHER'S SUSPICIONS
"AUNT JANIE, I should think you must be a very happy person," said
Polly, casting a contemplative glance around her.
Mrs. Marsh and her little niece were sitting on the garden seat beneath
the laburnum tree at the Rookery, where they had had their tea, an
arrangement which had delighted Polly and Roger, who were thoroughly
enjoying the day as their aunt's guests. The morning had been spent in
the gardens, and the afternoon in a long drive into the country; and
now the boys had betaken themselves to the stables, whilst Polly, tired
with pleasure and excitement, had gladly fallen in with her aunt's
suggestion to rest awhile.
"Why should you think so?" Mrs. Marsh asked curiously.
"Because you've such a beautiful home and plenty of money. It must be
nice to have plenty of money to be able to give people presents," Polly
replied ingenuously, her hand slipping into her pocket to make certain
her purse was safe. "I don't think I was ever so pleased before as I
was last night when I came across your present. I can never thank you
enough—"
"Why, my dear child," interposed Mrs. Marsh, with an amused laugh,
"you've thanked me over and over again already."
"Because I feel so very grateful, Aunt Janie. No one ever gave me a
half-crown in my life before. Roger has had several, though, and he has
always shared them with me; you know, girls don't get as many tips as
boys. That doesn't seem fair, does it?"
"I don't think it does. It has been very generous of Roger to share his
money with you; few brothers would do that, I fancy."
"Wouldn't they?" said Polly, rather surprised. "Don't you think Edgar
would if he had a sister? No. I don't expect he would, for Roger says
he always keeps the best of everything for himself; I suppose that's
because he's never had anyone to share with, Aunt Janie? It's a pity,
isn't it? Cousin Becky says it is a misfortune to be an only child."
"Cousin Becky knows nothing about it," Mrs. Marsh said coldly, an
expression of displeasure clouding her face. "Am I to understand she
has been finding fault with Edgar?"
"Oh no, Aunt Janie; she stuck up for him. She said we ought to make
allowances for him as he has no brother or sister; she likes him, she
does indeed." Polly paused, looking slightly distressed, conscious she
had been letting her tongue run away with her. "I'm afraid you don't
like Cousin Becky," she proceeded hesitatingly, "but you don't know how
kind she is to us."
"I think it is you, or your parents rather, who are kind to her."
"She pays for living with us," said Polly. "Father wouldn't allow her
to do that if he was better off—he said so—but you know he is not rich
like Uncle John, and—oh, I don't like to think how we should miss her
if she went away now! She helps us with our lessons, and she's always
doing things for mother; why, she made this frock! Isn't it pretty?"
And the little girl arose and turned slowly round in front of her aunt
that she might the better view Cousin Becky's handiwork.
"Yes, it is very nicely made," Mrs. Marsh allowed. "I expect Cousin
Becky is accustomed to work for young people as she brought up her
brother's children. By the way, does she ever hear from them?"
"Oh yes."
"Do they send her money, Polly?"
"I don't know, Aunt Janie, I don't think so. She reads their letters to
mother, I've heard her; they write very nice letters."
"And you never heard any mention made of money? No? Dear me, what
ingratitude! They ought to be contributing to her support, and so I
should like to tell them. Why, she was like a mother to those children
of her brother's, and to think that after devoting her life to them
and their father, she should fall back upon Martin for a home in her
old age—as though he had not enough weight upon his shoulders without
burdening himself with an additional care! I have always declared he
will live to rue the day when he took the charge of an old woman who
never had the least claim upon him. Cousin Becky should have gone
abroad to her nephew."
"But, Aunt Janie, she didn't wish to go, and I am sure, now, it would
grieve us all dreadfully if she went." There were tears in Polly's eyes
as she spoke, for Cousin Becky had won the devotion of her warm, young
heart.
"It does not appear that she contemplates leaving you," Mrs. Marsh
observed dryly, "so there is no cause for you to be distressed."
"What do you mean by saying father will live to rue the day when he
took the charge of an old woman?" Polly asked, after a brief pause in
the conversation, during which Mrs. Marsh had had time to regret what
she had said. "Do you mean he will be sorry Cousin Becky came to us? I
don't believe he will; and Cousin Becky says God will pay her debt to
father, she told me she was sure of it, because Jesus said, 'Inasmuch
as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have
done it unto Me.' That's in the Bible, Aunt Janie. Had you forgotten
it?"
No, Mrs. Marsh had not forgotten it, but she had not thought of it for
a long, long while; it had slumbered in her memory through many years
of prosperity, during which she had gone her own way thinking little
of those less fortunate than herself; and a look which Polly failed to
read crossed her face now—an expression of mingled shame and regret.
"Cousin Becky has found a champion in you, at any rate, my dear," she
said at length in a softer tone. "You are evidently very fond of the
old lady. I think I must try to see more of her in order to ascertain
wherein lies her charm."
At that point in the conversation the boys reappeared upon the scene,
and, a short while later, the master of the house arrived at home. The
latter seated himself by his wife's side on the garden seat. He made a
great deal of Polly, but he took but slight notice of Roger; indeed,
so marked was the difference in his manner to the two children, that,
after they had gone, his wife took him to task upon the subject.
When Edgar, who had volunteered to accompany his cousins to the
entrance of the Rookery grounds on their departure and had said
good-bye to them there, returned to his parents, he found them deep in
earnest conversation. They did not notice his approach, for, with the
mischievous intention of startling them and making them jump, he had
crept up behind the seat, meaning to spring forward with a "whoop;"
but, chancing to catch a sentence, spoken by his mother, he paused
spell-bound.
"I can never believe that Roger is a thief!" she had incredulously
exclaimed.
Then came her husband's answer, to which Edgar listened with breathless
interest. "My dear, I sincerely trust he is not. You must not repeat
a word of what I have said to Edgar, I would not have him know that I
suspect his cousin of having taken the Calais Noble for the world. I
like Roger, and I thought him straight like his father, certainly he
proved to be so over that matter of the cigarettes; but—I know what
boys are. My theory is this, that having learnt the value of the coin
from Edgar, he gave way to sudden temptation and took it. If I am
right, there is a possibility that I may yet get my Calais Noble back,
for the boy will not know how to dispose of it."
Edgar waited to hear no more; and, without having made his presence
known to his parents, he softly and swiftly hurried away and betook
himself indoors, where he ran upstairs and shut himself into his own
room, to consider this fresh development in connection with the Calais
Noble undisturbed. His father suspected Roger of being a thief! Oh,
he had never dreamed of such a contingency as that! What should he
do? "Confess the truth," whispered his conscience. "Let the matter
slide, you are not supposed to know your father's suspicion," whispered
cowardice, "he will never tax your cousin with the theft."
"But, it is dreadful he should think Roger would do such a thing," the
little boy thought distressfully, "it is so unjust! Oh, dear, I hoped
that I should never be worried about the Calais Noble again—that father
would think no more about it. Oh, what shall I do?"
Edgar was in a great state of mental trouble, tormented by feelings of
remorse and fear. What would his father say if he found out the truth?
Mr. Marsh had been both grieved and indignant when his son had allowed
him to misjudge Roger on a much slighter matter than this; Edgar told
himself he would never forgive him for exhibiting the same cowardice
again, and yet he could not pluck up the courage to acknowledge he had
lost the coin.
"I did not know he thought Roger had taken it if I had, I believe I
should have told him all about it," he reflected. "But you know it
now," conscience reminded him, "it is not too late to set the matter
right." That Edgar did not do, however; he acted as though he was in
total ignorance of his father's suspicion of Roger, and neither Mr. nor
Mrs. Marsh made any mention of the missing coin to him. But, though the
little boy kept silence concerning the Calais Noble, it was never out
of his mind by day or night, for it was the dread of his waking hours,
and it haunted his dreams which were troubled by harrowing scenes, in
which Roger figured either in the clutch of a policeman, or in prison
enduring punishment for a crime which he had never committed. It was
small wonder that he grew pale and languid; but he declared, in answer
to his mother's anxious questions, that he was quite well, and there
was nothing amiss. He shirked Roger as much as possible, because his
conscience worried him most when he was in his cousin's presence; and
Roger, as soon as he became aware of the fact that Edgar tried to avoid
him, kept out of his way.
Much to Polly's gratification, her aunt took her out driving on several
other occasions; and one afternoon—seeing Mrs. Marsh really desired
it—Mrs. Trent and Cousin Becky went too. On the latter occasion, the
subject of summer holidays was mooted.
"You really ought all to have a nice change to the sea-side this
summer, Mary," Mrs. Marsh said to her sister-in-law in her usual
inconsiderate fashion. "Surely Martin will be able to manage it?"
"I am afraid not," Mrs. Trent answered, a wistful expression creeping
into her eyes.
"You have not had a holiday for years," Mrs. Marsh persisted, "and
Martin himself must badly need a change."
"Yes," assented Mrs. Trent; "but I fear there is no greater chance of
his getting it this year than last," she added with a faint sigh.
"It is a long lane that has no turning," Cousin Becky quoted
cheerfully. She looked at Polly as she spoke, and, though the little
girl failed to grasp the meaning of the old proverb, she understood the
glance of Cousin Becky's eyes, which smilingly reminded her of their
secret.
How wonderful it would be if the little bird Cousin Becky had spoken of
had really told true!