MOUSEY'S RICH COUSIN
MOUSEY quickly grew accustomed to school life, and made friends with
the other pupils, who soon found out the little there was to know
about the quiet, dark-eyed child who lived with the queer old
jeweller, whom everyone agreed in considering the most miserly man
in the town.
"I pity you," said Nellie Thomas, a bright-faced girl about Mousey's
own age, as she and Mousey stood talking in the playground at the back
of the house during the quarter of an hour's respite from work in the
middle of the morning. "I wouldn't be in your shoes for anything!
It must be dreadful to have to live in that wretched side street."
Nellie's father was a flourishing draper in Haughton, who possessed
a private residence on the outskirts of the town, so it was small
wonder his daughter looked with disfavour on Mr. Harding's dingy
abode.
"Cousin Robert's house is rather dull," Mousey acknowledged, "but I
don't notice it as much as I did at first; and I have a beautiful view
from my bedroom window."
"Is Mr. Harding kind to you?" Nellie inquired.
"Oh, yes!"
"And that odd-looking boy who came to fetch you the first day of the
term—who is he?"
"He is Cousin Robert's assistant," Mousey explained. "He is learning
to be a jeweller. Cousin Robert took him from the workhouse, and is
bringing him up to his trade."
"From the workhouse!" Nellie exclaimed. "And do you mean to say he
lives in your cousin's house?"
Mousey assented, and proceeded to tell all she knew about John Monday,
whilst her companion listened with deepening amazement.
"I never heard anything so extraordinary in my life!" Nellie
commented. "A workhouse boy!" and there was a world of scorn in her
voice.
"He can't help having been born in a workhouse," Mousey said, looking
troubled.
"No, no, of course not," the other replied; "but what a strange person
your cousin must be to have a common boy like that living in his house
as though he was one of the family."
"I don't think John Monday is common," Mousey was beginning, when she
paused abruptly at the sight of the half-smile that crossed her
companion's face.
"Mr. Harding is very rich, isn't he?" Nellie asked.
"I don't know," Mousey answered. "I thought he was, but—"
"Oh, yes, I know he is. I heard father say so. Father said he expected
he was one of the richest men in Haughton. Fancy! And his is such a
poky shop, isn't it? Do you know, I could hardly believe, at first,
that you lived there? I tell you what, I'll get my mother to ask you
to tea on Saturday. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Mousey assented, with a beaming smile, her eyes sparkling at
the thought of such a pleasure. "How very kind of you, Nellie!"
"Oh, not at all!" Nellie answered brightly; "I like you very much, and
I shall call you Mousey, as you say you are generally called that.
It's a much prettier name than Arabella. Look, there are the twins!"
Mousey turned quickly, and saw Mrs. Downing's children entering the
playground with their nurse. They were a dear little pair—Dolly and
Dick by name—and they loved to be allowed a few minutes in the
playground when the girls were there to make much of them. To-day they
had just returned from a walk with their nurse, and each child held a
bunch of daisies, gathered with very short stems. Dolly trotted up to
Mousey and held up her chubby baby face for a kiss; after which she
solemnly presented her nosegay to her new acquaintance.
"For 'ou," she lisped, "all for 'ou!"
"Oh, you dear little soul!" Mousey cried, her face wreathed with
smiles as she accepted the gift. "Thank you, Dolly. Did you pick them
yourself?"
"All mine self!" Dolly said, nodding her curly head with an air of
great satisfaction.
Meanwhile Dick was declining to part with his daisies. They were for
his mother, he explained; he would not let the girls have them, but
ran into the house shouting, "Muvver! Muvver!" at the top of his
voice.
Shortly after that the bell rang for the school to reassemble, and
there was no further opportunity that day for Mousey and Nellie Thomas
to resume their conversation.
Mousey carried home the daisies which Dolly had given to her, and put
them in water in her bedroom, where they revived, lifting their
drooping heads and unfolding their pink-tipped petals. The little girl
wondered how long it would take before the daisies grew on her
mother's grave, and thought she would write to Aunt Eliza and ask if
the grass was springing over the spot beneath which both her parents
lay at rest.
It had always been Mrs. Abbot's desire to place a headstone over her
husband's grave, but she had never been in the position to provide
even the simplest stone. She had been buried in the same grave as her
husband, and it was very unlikely, Mousey thought, that there would
ever be a headstone to mark the place. On the evening of that same
day, whilst Mr. Harding was allowing himself a few minutes in which to
peruse the newspaper, he was somewhat astonished to hear his little
cousin and his assistant conversing together in lowered tones, as they
sat one on each side of the table in the parlour. Mousey had her
lesson books in front of her, but she had finished her work, and was
telling John Monday about Dolly and the bunch of daisies.
"She is the sweetest, dearest little girl I ever saw!" Mousey was
saying; "and Dick's a darling, too."
"Who's Dick?" Mr. Harding asked sharply.
"He's Mrs. Downing's little boy," Mousey said; "he and Dolly are
twins—only just three years old."
"I knew Mrs. Downing had children; but I didn't know how many,"
Mr. Harding remarked. "Twins, eh?"
"Yes, Cousin Robert. Oh, you'd love them," she proceeded
enthusiastically; "sometimes they come into the playground, and they
have such pretty ways."
"Humph!" Mr. Harding grunted. "Have you finished preparing your
lessons for to-morrow, child?"
"Yes, Cousin Robert. John helped me with my sums."
Mr. Harding glanced at his assistant, and smiled sarcastically. He had
never had a very high opinion of John Monday's abilities, and it
amused him that the boy should assist Mousey with her work.
"Let me see," he said, holding out his hand; and the little girl
obediently gave him the paper on which she had worked her sums.
He glanced through the figures, and nodded his head.
"Yes, they are perfectly correct," he admitted. "Are you happy at
school?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," she replied readily. "I like Mrs. Downing and Miss Longley
so much, and the girls are kind—generally," she added truthfully,
remembering that one or two of them had teased her by laughing at Mr.
Harding, at his dingy shop, and his shabby clothes.
"Generally?" he echoed. "What do you mean by generally, eh?"
She seemed distressed. He repeated his question, but Mousey remained
silent. At length, however, she said hesitatingly—
"I'm afraid I can't tell you what I mean, Cousin Robert."
"Don't you find the girls friendly?" he questioned.
"Oh, yes!" she answered quickly. "Oh, yes, indeed! There is one girl
I like very much—Nellie Thomas."
"Is she a daughter of Thomas the draper?"
"Yes, Cousin Robert. She is going to ask me to her house to tea one
Saturday."
"Is she, indeed. And do you propose asking her here in return?"
Mousey glanced round the parlour, and looked doubtful. Somehow she
could not picture her bright-faced, well-dressed school-fellow in that
shabby room. Mr. Harding smiled in what Mousey thought was a very
disagreeable manner.
"I suppose you think your friend's father must be a very rich man,
eh?" he questioned. "You think because he has a fine shop, and a
private house for his family, that he is wealthy, eh? Don't judge by
appearances. I am richer by far than he is—oh, yes."
There was a ring of triumph in the old man's tone, and his eyes
sparkled brightly. Mousey was greatly impressed by his words, though
not in the way he imagined.
"It must be nice to be rich," she said softly. "I know what I would do
if I had plenty of money," she continued; "I would put a beautiful,
white marble tombstone over mother and father's grave; and I would
send a lot of lovely presents to Aunt Eliza, and Uncle Dick, and the
children."
"Oh, indeed! And would you give me anything?" Mr. Harding asked in his
most caustic tones.
"You don't want anything," Mousey answered simply. "I mean, not
anything money could buy."
"That's true. I want nothing from anyone."
"Does it make you happy to be rich, Cousin Robert?" she asked. "Mother
used to say money did not often make people happy. She and I had very
little money, but we were very happy."
"Your mother had a contented disposition," he replied, not answering
her question.
"Yes," she agreed, smiling; "she used to say her treasures were in
heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do
not break through nor steal."
"That's in the Bible, isn't it?" Mr. Harding said. "Well, on Sunday
you shall read the chapter to me with that bit in it."
He took up his newspaper again; but though he tried to feel an
interest in what he was reading, he found he could not; and at last,
throwing it aside, he went to his secretaire, and soon forgot Mousey
and the disquieting thoughts which his conversation with her had
evoked, as he became absorbed in his account books.