THE ARRIVAL AT HAUGHTON
ONE rainy spring afternoon found Mousey seated opposite to her Cousin
Robert in a third-class railway compartment on her way to Haughton,
which was the name of the town where Mr. Harding lived. Only ten
minutes before she had bidden a tearful farewell to Aunt Eliza, who
had come to the station to see the last of her, and to wish her
God-speed. Now, the little girl sat staring blankly at the newspaper
which Mr. Harding held open in front of his face, feeling thankful
that he was paying no attention to her, so that he did not see the
tears she was struggling to suppress.
Mousey held a bunch of spring flowers—Uncle Dick's farewell offering—
which scented the carriage with the perfumes of narcissi and
hyacinths; and in her pocket was a packet of sweets, which her cousins
had given her with strict injunctions to eat them all herself.
Presently Mr. Harding peeped at his companion over the top of his
newspaper. Mousey was conscious that his sharp eyes glanced at her
keenly for a moment before they disappeared behind the newspaper
again.
"Humph! All alone in the world!" she heard him mutter to himself.
After a while Mousey dried her eyes, and sniffed at her nosegay with
an air of appreciation; then she drew the sweets from her pocket, and
put one into her mouth: it tasted very good, and she wondered if Mr.
Harding would like one also. She hardly cared to disturb him, for he
appeared so interested in his newspaper, but it scarcely seemed good
manners not to offer him a share of her cousins' present; so she
touched him lightly on the knee, whereupon he put down the newspaper,
and looked at her inquiringly.
"Will you have a sweet, Cousin Robert?" she asked timidly, shy blushes
rising to her face.
"No, thank you," he answered; "I don't care for sweets."
"These are very nice. Do have one!"
He shook his head, a smile softening the hard lines of his withered
countenance and twinkling in his eyes.
"Eat them yourself," he said; "it's many a long year since I had an
appetite for sweetmeats. Did your uncle grow those flowers?"
"Yes," she replied. "Wasn't it good of him to cut them for me? Are we
far from Haughton, Cousin Robert?"
"No; we shall soon be there. My place is only about five minutes' walk
from the station. You have never been to Haughton?"
"No, never."
"It lies in a valley, and the river runs right through the town;
in fact, some of the houses are built over the river—mine, for
instance. Sometimes, when the tide is high, and there is a quantity of
land water, you can hear the water rushing beneath the houses. The
fresh water rushes down from the hills and meets the incoming tide,
and that causes part of the town to be flooded at certain seasons."
Mousey did not quite comprehend this explanation; and the thought of
living in a house built over a river was rather horrifying to her.
She looked, as she felt, considerably alarmed. Mr. Harding noted the
fact, and hastened to reassure her.
"The floods seldom do much damage," he said. "There's nothing to fear,
for my house, though one of the oldest in the town, is one of the
strongest. Are you timid, child?"
"I don't know. Yes, I'm afraid I am, but I try not to be. Of course,
I know God will take care of me."
A curious expression flickered across the old man's face. He drew down
the corners of his mouth, puckered up his forehead, and regarded
Mousey gravely.
"How do you know that?" he asked. "How do you know that God will take
care of you—eh?"
"Why, because He has said so, Cousin Robert! Don't you remember
He said, 'Fear thou not, for I am with thee'?"
"I suppose that's in the Bible," he remarked, after a moment's
reflection. "Your mother was religious, and I conclude she has brought
you up the same. I've nothing to say against that, so long as you're
happy and cheerful; but I can't stand folks who pull long faces, and
set up for being better than their neighbours. I'm as honest as I can
afford to be!" and he threw back his head and laughed, as though he
had said something witty. Mousey looked at him seriously; she thought
his face was particularly unattractive at that moment.
A few minutes later the train began to slacken speed, and the journey
was soon at an end. Mr. Harding lifted Mousey and her nosegay out of
the carriage on to the platform of Haughton Station. He told her
to stay where she was until he had seen to her luggage, and went off
to claim her modest box. He quickly returned, and taking her by the
hand led her out of the station.
"I've told the town porter to bring round your luggage," he informed
her; "the man will do it for fourpence. Sixpence is his usual charge,
but I bargained with him to knock off twopence as the journey is a
short one. 'A penny saved is a penny got,' remember that!"
"Yes, Cousin Robert," she answered meekly.
"Economy is the order of the day in my house," he proceeded. "I've
saved money by economy and thrift —doing without things that other
people consider necessaries; and so I've got on. Ah, here we are!"
Mousey glanced around her hurriedly. They had turned into a side
street, narrow, and not very clean, and had drawn up before a shop
window, behind which a few watches and articles of jewellery were
exposed to view. Where was the beautiful shop with the sparkling gems
and valuable ornaments which Mousey had expected? It had existed but
in her own imagination; the reality was before her eyes.
Mr. Harding opened the door, dragging Mousey in behind him, the
doorway being too narrow to admit of two people entering side by side.
The little girl now found herself in a small, dingy shop. Behind the
counter stood a big boy, apparently about sixteen years of age, who
stared at her with a pair of round, green eyes which seemed utterly
expressionless.
Mr. Harding spoke to him curtly, bidding him hold himself in readiness
to carry Mousey's box upstairs on its arrival, and placed four coppers
on the counter, the fee for the town porter.
"He'll want sixpence, sir," remarked the lad.
"I've arranged to pay him fourpence," Mr. Harding explained, "and
he'll be amply paid for his labour. Anyone in particular called during
my absence, Monday?"
"No, sir," was the response; "only a few brooches left for new pins,
and a couple of watches to be cleaned."
"Very well. This is my cousin, who is to make her home here. Mousey,
this is my assistant, John Monday."
Mousey held out her hand shyly. John Monday glanced at her doubtfully
for a moment, then shook hands vigorously, and hoped she was well.
She thought he was quite the ugliest boy she had ever seen; and indeed
he was very plain, being tall and lanky, with irregular features. His
wide, straight mouth seemed almost to reach from ear to ear; his
eyebrows and eyelashes were red; and his head was covered with a crop
of thick, matted, red hair. He was clad in a threadbare suit of
clothes which he had evidently outgrown, for his bony wrists were
bare, and his trousers were inches above his shabby boots.
Mr. Harding next led Mousey into a little parlour at the back of the
shop, from which it was separated by a glass door. A lace curtain hung
in front of the door, but one could easily see through it what was
going on in the shop. It was the dullest room Mousey had ever been in,
the outlook from the window being a yard, across which a clothes-line
laden with linen was suspended between two poles.
The child's heart beat almost painfully as she looked around the
cheerless apartment, noting the shabby Brussels carpet, the common
wooden chairs ranged stiffly against the walls, and the crumpled cloth
covering the table, on which were spread the tea-things, a loaf of
bread, a pat of butter, and a jar of jam.
A middle-aged woman now entered the room, whom Mr. Harding introduced
as Maria. Mousey knew she must be the servant, although she wore no
cap. She was a small, spare woman with pinched features and a
colourless complexion. She greeted Mousey kindly, and after the town
porter had arrived, and John Monday had carried the little girl's box
upstairs, she asked her if she would not like to remove her outdoor
garments.
Mousey assented, and still grasping her bunch of flowers followed
Maria upstairs to the little chamber which had been prepared for her
reception. When she was alone she burst into a flood of tears telling
herself that she never could be happy in such a miserable place, and
if Aunt Eliza and Uncle Dick had known what Cousin Robert's house was
like, they certainly would not have wished her to live in so dreary a
home.