Lion's Find
MRS. M'COSH and Felicia stood on the down platform at Bristol railway
station, waiting for the arrival of the train by which the latter
was to travel to N—. A very pretty, interesting little girl Felicia
appeared in her neat black dress and hat, looking younger than her
twelve years by reason of her small, slight figure. She held her
companion's hand—encased in baggy cotton gloves—very tight, and gazed
up into her broad, red face with sorrowful, blue eyes, as the minutes
slipped all too quickly away, bringing the time at which the train was
due to arrive at Bristol very near now.
"You have the pocket-book safe?" said Mrs. M'Cosh interrogatively.
"Yes, here," Felicia answered, touching the bosom of her frock.
"That's right, my dear; all you have to do is to put it into your
grandfather's hands. Then if he says you 're to stay, you'll send me a
line and I'll forward your box at once."
"And if he says he won't have anything to do with me I shall come right
back again," declared Felicia; "Mr. M'Cosh has given me enough money to
buy my ticket home. Perhaps you'll see me again this evening."
She was trying to speak calmly; but her lips quivered and her eyes were
dim. Mrs. M'Cosh smiled at her encouragingly, and bade her keep a good
heart.
"Master suggested my taking you to the Priory myself, Felicia," she
said, "but I thought that wouldn't do. Your relations are gentlefolks,
you see, and they mightn't understand how I had come to be your friend."
"I shall tell them," Felicia interposed quickly, with a flash of her
blue eyes and a grateful pressure of her little fingers on the big hand
she clasped so affectionately; "I shall tell them that you and Mr.
M'Cosh are my best and dearest friends, and I shall explain all you
have done for mother and me. Oh, I wish you were coming too!"
Mrs. M'Cosh rather wished it herself. She was very anxious as well
as not a little curious to know the reception Felicia would get when
she presented herself at the Priory. At that moment, however, the
train arrived, and clasping the little girl in her arms she kissed her
tenderly.
"Good-bye, child, and God bless you," she said, her deep voice
unusually soft in tone. Then she added hurriedly: "Be a good girl, and
obey your grandparents if so be they decide to give you a home, and I
suppose they won't be able to refuse to provide for you, anyway. Master
and I would dearly like to adopt you, but your father was a gentleman,
it appears, and you belong to a different class of folks to what we do,
and so—and so—you understand it would never do."
They found a compartment with a corner seat empty, which Felicia took.
There was no opportunity for further conversation of a private nature;
and a few minutes later the train steamed out of the station. Felicia
put her head out of the window and tried to smile, but it was a very
sorry attempt, for she was deeply grieved at heart.
Mrs. M'Cosh stood on the platform waving her handkerchief till she
had watched the train out of sight, then she turned her footsteps
homewards, very low-spirited indeed. She much doubted if she would ever
see Felicia again.
"I wonder why God should have let us become attached to the child if He
meant to let her pass right out of our lives," she mused; "perhaps He
just wanted to make use of us for the time. Well, we won't grumble at
that, for maybe the little we've been able to do He'll count as done
unto Him. Poor little Felicia! I hope her grand relations will treat
her well and make her happy."
Meanwhile the train was carrying Felicia beyond the smoke and the grime
of the city into a purer, sweeter atmosphere, and soon it was rushing
between pleasant meadowlands, where haymaking was going on. Through the
open window of the carriage came delicious scents of flowers, and when
the train—a slow one—stopped at the small stations on the line, Felicia
was charmed by their well-kept gardens.
How beautiful everything was on that perfect summer day! The little
girl's spirits began to rise, and a thrill of happiness stole into her
heart, only to give place, a moment later, to a pang of sorrow at the
thought that there was no dear mother with her now to enjoy the beauty
on which she was feasting her eyes.
"But if it is so lovely here, how much lovelier must it be in Heaven,"
reflected Felicia, and the thought brought comfort with it.
At last the train slowed into the station at N—, and Felicia alighted
on to the platform. She found she was the only passenger who left the
train, which waited but a couple of minutes.
"Any luggage?" questioned the porter in the doorway, to whom Felicia
tendered her ticket.
"No," she replied, colouring, as she noticed the curiosity of his
glance. "Can you tell me the way to the Priory?" she inquired.
[Illustration: "FELICIA PUT HER HEAD OUT OF THE WINDOW, AND TRIED TO
SMILE."]
"To the Priory?" His eyes travelled over her black dress, then rested
on her face again. "Yes, certainly. Keep to your right through the
village, go past the church and the Vicarage, and in about five
minutes' walk from there you'll come to the Priory gate."
"Thank you," she responded politely.
"A friend of one of the servants, are you?" he asked, following her out
of the station.
"No—oh no!"
"Not a friend of the family?" he questioned dubiously.
"Not a friend—exactly," she answered. He was very inquisitive, she
thought, but she could see he did not intend to be rude. "Keep to the
right, you said? Good morning—and thank you."
Felicia started towards the village at a quick rate, but she slackened
her footsteps and looked around her attentively when she reached
the first cottages. The village street was long and straggling, and
almost deserted on this hot, summer afternoon, for most of the adult
inhabitants were haymaking and the children were at school. Felicia
passed the schoolhouse by-and-by—it stood on the opposite side of the
road to the church—from whence came the monotonous singsong noise of
some fifty young voices repeating a lesson. Close to the church, which
was a picturesque old edifice, was the Vicarage—a modern red-brick
house, with bow windows. The Vicarage garden joined the churchyard
wall, in which there was a door of communication. Felicia was naturally
an observant child, and little escaped the notice of her sharp eyes as
she followed the porter's directions and kept straight on. Her heart
began to palpitate unevenly when she, at length, reached the big iron
gate at the entrance to the Priory grounds, and as she passed up the
wide carriage drive leading to the house she began to tremble with
nervousness, and when she stood before the front door, it was several
minutes before she could pluck up sufficient courage to ring the bell;
and the instant she did nerve herself to do so, she felt inclined to
take to her heels and run away.
In answer to her ring, the door was opened by a tall, old man, with
snowy hair and a pair of bright, brown eyes. He spoke to Felicia in a
tone of indulgent surprise.
"Well, little maiden, what brings you here ringing at the front
door—eh?"
Felicia regarded him timidly. Her limbs were trembling, and she
was very flustered, for she had jumped to the conclusion that this
benevolent-looking old man must be her grandfather.
"Oh, please," she gasped, "are you—are you Mr. Renford?"
"No, my dear," he replied with a chuckle of amusement. "But who, pray,
are you? I don't seem to know your face—you're not one of the village
children?"
"No. I—I've come from Bristol. I—I particularly want to see Mr.
Renford."
"He's not in; he's out with the haymakers. Better tell me your
business."
"No, thank you," Felicia responded; "I will call again. Will Mr.
Renford be at home soon?"
"He'll be home in good time for dinner."
"In good time for dinner? Why, it must be nearly four o'clock!" cried
Felicia, whose acquaintances had always dined in the middle of the day.
"It's past four," said the old man, smiling. "Seven's the dinner hour
at the Priory. Now, come, my dear, what do you want of the master?
Can't I do as well? What's your name—eh?"
But Felicia merely shook her head; and repeating that she would call
again, she turned hastily away, and retraced her footsteps down the
carriage drive into the high road.
By that time she was hot and panting, and sought about for some
sheltered spot where she could sit down and rest. There was no shade in
the high road, so she climbed a five-barred gate into a meadow, where
the grass, which was starred with moon daisies, was not laid up for
mowing. The meadow sloped towards a deep ditch, overgrown with hazel
bushes, and into this ditch Felicia crept amongst the tall meadow-sweet
and yellow irises. It was cool and shady there, a damp place in the
winter, no doubt, but the drought of the last few weeks had dried it
up, and the little girl sat down to rest, thinking what a charming
spot she had discovered. She was very tired, worn out by excitement,
in fact, and it was very comfortable in the ditch. The air was full of
the pungent scent of meadow-sweet, and the drowsy hum of insects fell
soothingly upon her ears. Her eyelids were heavy, so she closed them,
and laid her head back upon the cool, green grass, and thus fell into a
little doze from which she passed into a deep, firm sleep.
An hour went by—two hours—and still the child slept undisturbed; but
at length a huge dog—a mastiff—leaped the gate from the road into the
meadow, and, nose to the ground, made straight for the ditch. The next
minute Felicia was awakened by a movement at her side, and opening
her eyes, she was terribly shocked to see an enormous, yellowish-drab
animal, with cruel-looking open jaws, from which lolled a great red
tongue, standing over her. She dared not speak or move, fearing the
creature would pounce upon her, for he looked so fierce, and the gaze
of his light brown eyes was so appalling.
Thus the child and the dog regarded each other silently, immovably, for
some minutes; then the latter began to slowly wag his tail, and bending
his head he gently licked first the little girl's hands, next her
cheek. Relieved to find him inclined to be friendly, she ventured to
stroke his neck; whereupon he exhibited great delight, and lifting up
his head, gave utterance to a deep bark. A moment later a man's voice
responded, shouting: "Lion! Lion! where are you, old boy?"
Lion wagged his tail, looked expectant, and barked again.
"What have you found? Nothing of importance, I expect, but I suppose
I must come and see," grumbled the voice. "Where are you? Oh, there
in the ditch, hidden by the meadow-sweet and the rest of the ditch
flowers. Why—well, I never!" The speaker paused in astonishment. He
had reached the spot where Felicia lay, and clutching the dog by the
collar, he pulled him sharply back as he bent his gaze on the little
girl, a humorous smile curving his lips. "This is a rare sort of ditch
flower," he remarked, "as evidently Lion thought when he found you. My
child, why are you hiding there?"