Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
MOUSEY
OR
COUSIN ROBERT'S TREASURE
BY
ELEANORA H. STOOKE
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE GEM;" "A LITTLE TOWN MOUSE;"
"THE HERMIT'S CAVE;" ETC.
THIRD IMPRESSION
LONDON
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.
OLD BAILEY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
CHAPTER I. A FAMILY CONFERENCE
CHAPTER II. WITH AUNT ELIZA AND UNCLE DICK
CHAPTER III. THE ARRIVAL AT HAUGHTON
CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST EVENING IN THE NEW HOME
CHAPTER V. MOUSEY MAKES A FRIEND
CHAPTER VI. EASTER SUNDAY AT HAUGHTON
CHAPTER VII. CONCERNING JOHN MONDAY
CHAPTER VIII. MOUSEY LEARNS SHE IS TO GO TO SCHOOL; AND MAKES A NEW
ACQUAINTANCE
CHAPTER IX. MOUSEY GOES TO SCHOOL
CHAPTER X. MOUSEY'S RICH COUSIN
CHAPTER XI. MR. HARDING'S GIFT
CHAPTER XII. MOUSEY GOES OUT TO TEA
CHAPTER XIII. JOHN MONDAY IS CONFIDENTIAL
CHAPTER XIV. MOUSEY AND UNCLE DICK
CHAPTER XV. CONCERNING AN OLD SUIT OF CLOTHES AND A NEW ONE
CHAPTER XVI. HOW JOHN MONDAY SPENT HIS HALF-CROWN
CHAPTER XVII. JOHN MONDAY DETERMINES TO TURN OVER A NEW LEAF
CHAPTER XVIII. JOHN MONDAY IN TROUBLE
CHAPTER XIX. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS
CHAPTER XX. PREPARING FOR MOUSEY'S VISIT
CHAPTER XXI. HOW MOUSEY WAS WELCOMED BY HER RELATIONS
CHAPTER XXII. COUSIN ROBERT'S LETTER
CHAPTER XXIII. JOHN MONDAY REAPPEARS UPON THE SCENE
CHAPTER XXIV. MR. HARDING WASHES HIS HANDS OF JOHN MONDAY
CHAPTER XXV. CHANGES
CHAPTER XXVI. COUSIN ROBERT'S ILLNESS
CHAPTER XXVII. SUNSHINE AND HAPPINESS
MOUSEY
CHAPTER I
A FAMILY CONFERENCE
THE funeral was over, and the mourners had returned to the small villa
which had been the abode of Mrs. Abbot and her little daughter to
discuss what was to be done with the few bits of poor furniture, and
to decide where Mousey was to make her future home. Mousey, whose real
name was Arabella, but who had always been called Mousey on account
of her quiet ways and soft brown eyes, was beginning to awaken from
the dream-like feeling which had mercifully dulled her senses since
her mother's death four days before, and to realise her loss, which
was indeed great, for her father had died when she had been a baby,
and she had neither sister nor brother to share her grief.
Poor little girl! When she had stood by the open grave that afternoon,
and had heard the earth fall upon her mother's coffin, she had felt as
though her heart must break; but she had bravely choked down her sobs,
and restrained her tears as much as possible, so that her Aunt Eliza,
her mother's sister, who had held her hand, had thought her a strange
child not to show more signs of emotion.
Now, as Mousey sat by her aunt's side on the horse-hair sofa in the
sitting-room, she looked timidly around on the faces which were turned
towards her full of pity, conscious that this was a crisis in her
life. Opposite to her, in the one easy-chair the room possessed, was
Uncle Dick, Aunt Eliza's husband, who smiled at the little girl
encouragingly whenever his eyes met hers. There were also present a
few other relatives, including an elderly man whom Mousey knew must be
her mother's cousin, Robert Harding, a watchmaker and jeweller, living
in a neighbouring town. Mrs. Abbot had often spoken of her Cousin
Robert to Mousey, telling her how he was a bachelor who lived a
penurious life, and was supposed to have saved a lot of money. He had
a reputation for being very mean, and had never been known to spend
twopence when a single penny would do. In appearance he was tall and
thin and shrivelled, with a face like a dried apple, and a pair of
twinkling beady eyes which had an uncommonly sharp way of looking
at one.
"I suppose my poor sister's furniture will have to be sold by
auction," remarked Aunt Eliza, casting a glance around the room,
and shaking her head. "The things won't make much—there'll be little
enough for the child!"
"Was my lamented cousin entirely without means?" inquired Mr. Harding
in a gruff voice. "I am aware her husband was a poor man, but she was
a careful, hard-working woman. Did she save nothing?"
"It was as much as she could do to support herself and Mousey," Uncle
Dick responded; "she let lodgings, and took in plain sewing, and
slaved from morning to night, but folks don't make fortunes that way!"
Mousey's eyes filled with tears, and her slight frame shook with sobs.
All day she had been endeavouring to restrain her sorrow, but now it
was overcoming her.
"Come, my dear, you mustn't cry like that!" exclaimed Uncle Dick,
looking much distressed.
"You mustn't grieve for her, Mousey," said Aunt Eliza; "you must
remember she's far better off now than she was here on earth."
Mousey knew that right well; but she thought of Him who wept when he
heard of the death of Lazarus, and the remembrance was like balm to
her aching heart, for it brought the consciousness of the presence of
the Divine consoler, and she was comforted.
"Come here, child," said Mr. Harding. "I want to have a good look
at you."
Mousey obeyed, and the old man held her in front of him whilst he
regarded her gravely.
"So they call you Mousey, do they?" he said. "Well, I think the name
suits you. How old are you, eh?"
"Ten years old, sir."
"You can call me Cousin Robert. You know your poor mother was a cousin
of mine. Are you a good girl, eh?"
"I—I try to be good," she answered falteringly.
"That's well. You've lost the best friend you ever had! It's very sad
to be left alone and unprovided for."
Mousey thought so too, and to be reminded of the fact was almost more
than she could bear. At this point Uncle Dick interposed in his kindly
way—
"Never mind, child! You've always one friend in the world so long as
I'm alive, remember. What do you say, Eliza; shall we take this little
maid home with us to-night, and let her share with our young ones?"
"I—I suppose that will be the best plan," responded his wife
doubtfully, as she thought how difficult she and her good-natured
husband found it to make both ends meet, and feed and clothe their own
children. "Yes," she continued more cordially, "Mousey shall make her
home with us; she's my own sister's child, and it shall never be said
I begrudged her aught I had."
Mousey ran to her aunt's side, and kissed her with passionate
gratitude and affection; after which she turned to Uncle Dick, and
hugged and kissed him too.
"Oh, how I love you!" she cried. "Oh, how good you are!"
Mr. Harding, who had been looking on in silence, now interposed again.
"Cousin Eliza," he said dryly, "I should have thought you and your
husband would have had enough on your hands already without burdening
yourselves with another person's child, even though she is near akin
to you. However, you know your own business best, of course! No doubt
you are in a position to educate and provide for the little girl, eh?"
There was a touch of sarcasm in the old man's voice, which brought
an indignant flush to Uncle Dick's face, and caused him to glance
uneasily at his wife, who answered—
"You well know, Cousin Robert, that my husband is only a struggling
man in a small way of business, and not able to promise much for
Mousey; but she shall share with our children, if there is nothing
better in store for her."
"And if there is something better in store for her, eh?"
Aunt Eliza glanced at the old man questioningly, but made no reply.
"What if I offer Mousey a home?" he proceeded. "What if I promise
to board, feed, clothe, and educate the child?"
"Do you really mean that?" Aunt Eliza asked in astonishment.
"I do. It is not an ungenerous offer, I take it!" and Mr. Harding
looked around at his relations as though courting their approval,
which he received with a gratified smile that deepened the wrinkles
on his withered countenance.
Mousey, who had seated herself on the horse-hair sofa, clung to her
aunt in great agitation, and whispered pleadingly—
"Oh, I would so much rather live with you and Uncle Dick, and I will
share with my cousins—only, they shall have the best of everything,
and I will always do what you tell me—and—and—"
The little girl broke down completely, and hid her tear-stained face
against her aunt's shoulder.
"The last few days have been too much for her," remarked Uncle Dick,
glancing apprehensively at Mr. Harding, who nodded, and tapped one
foot impatiently on the floor.
When Mousey's distress had abated somewhat, the old man called her
to him again, and addressed her as follows—
"Listen to me, child! You are left alone in the world, and unprovided
for. Your aunt and her husband— very foolish people in my estimation—
are willing to undertake the charge of you. If you become a member of
their household, you cannot be anything but a burden to them for many
a year to come."
"No, no!" interposed Uncle Dick.
The old man proceeded as though he had not heard the interruption.
"I don't think you should take advantage of your aunt and uncle's
kindness. I'm a man of my word, and when I say a thing I mean it.
I'll provide for you, and you shall have a comfortable home. Come now,
what do you say?" Mousey lifted her eyes timidly, and answered in a
voice which trembled pitifully—
"I—I don't know what to say. You are very kind, but—but— Please, Aunt
Eliza, will you speak for me?"
"Let Mousey return with us to-night, Cousin Robert," Aunt Eliza said,
after a few moments' consideration, "and, with your permission, we'll
take a little time to think the matter over. In the course of a few
days I will write to you, if you will keep your kind offer open
so long."
"Very well," Mr. Harding replied. "I stick to what I've said,
remember. If I can be of any use in settling your sister's affairs,
I'm at your service. It's no good my staying here any longer, so I'll
say good-bye. Have you a kiss to spare for your cousin, Mousey?"
The little girl smiled through her tears as she lifted her pale face
and kissed the old man's withered cheek.
"Think over what I've said, my dear," he whispered; "and mind! You're
to call me Cousin Robert."
He shook hands with the rest of his relations in a brisk,
business-like way, gave a parting nod to Mousey and took his
departure.