MR. HARDING'S GIFT
EVERY Sunday morning Mr. Harding took Mousey for a walk in the park,
as he had done on that first Sunday she had spent at Haughton. It
pleased the little girl to mark the difference in the foliage of the
trees from one week to another; and she watched the spring give place
to summer with keen delight.
"How warm it is, Cousin Robert," she remarked one beautiful Sunday in
May as they strolled along the smooth, winding paths. "It will soon be
summer now."
"Aye," he answered, "that it will."
"See, the flower-beds have been freshly planted," the little girl
continued. "There are some geraniums, and there are some heliotropes,
and a lot of plants I don't know."
"Stocks," Mr. Harding informed her, pausing to look at the seedlings.
"I'm very fond of stocks—I remember we always had them in our garden
at home."
"At home?" Mousey questioned wonderingly.
"I mean my boyhood's home—where I lived when my parents were alive."
"It wasn't in Haughton, I suppose?"
"No. I was born and bred in a small village. I never had sister or
brother, so when my parents died I came to Haughton to try to make a
fortune—and succeeded."
The old man's eyes glistened proudly for a moment then softened as he
continued—
"My mother used to be fond of stocks. She was a good woman, was my
mother."
"Did you feel very lonely after she died?" Mousey asked gently.
"I dare say I did," he responded; "but she died so long ago that I
really forget."
The little girl looked at him curiously, wondering if she lived to be
an old woman whether she would forget her anguish of grief at her
mother's death. She could not think it possible; but the bare thought
hurt her, and she sighed unconsciously.
"Well, child, what now?" Mr. Harding asked. "I should have thought you
would have felt as blithe as a bird on a lovely morning like this."
Mousey smiled, but made no answer. She walked sedately and silently
by his side, deep in thought.
"By the way," said Mr. Harding presently, "how did John Monday become
possessed of your Bible, eh?"
"I lent it to him," she replied in some surprise; "but how did you
know he had it, Cousin Robert?"
"I caught him reading it yesterday, but could get no explanation from
him. So you lent it to him, eh?"
"Yes. He has no Bible of his own, and I have mother's, so I let him
have mine. I couldn't give it to him, because, you see, mother gave it
to me."
"But how did he come to borrow it? The idea of John Monday wanting
to read the Bible!"
Mousey explained the matter, whilst Mr. Harding listened with a
scornful expression on his countenance, which gave place to
astonishment when the little girl informed him how John was afraid
of being laughed at and considered a hypocrite.
"You don't think him a hypocrite, do you?" she inquired anxiously.
"I'm sure he's a nice boy. See how kind he is helping me with my
lessons of an evening; and he's very good-natured. He'll fetch coal
for Maria, and clean the knives, and—"
"So he ought!" Mr. Harding interrupted briskly. "That's what I keep
him for, to make him generally useful about the place. You don't think
I took him out of the workhouse for any other reason, I suppose?"
"I thought you took him because you wanted to be kind to him," Mousey
responded simply, "just as you took me, Cousin Robert, because he had
no mother or father, or anyone to care for him."
"Humph!" said Mr. Harding, frowning, "then you thought wrong! I have
no interest in John Monday beyond getting the work out of him to pay
me for his bed and board. He suits me well enough. As to you—"
He paused abruptly, his keen eyes softening as they rested on the
child's face.
"As for you," he continued, "I offered you a home because I always
respected your mother, and you are like her in appearance."
"Do you really think so?" Mousey asked joyfully. "I want so much to be
like her, but I am afraid I shall never, never be so good as she was."
"You are like her in appearance," Mr. Harding repeated, "or I should
say, like what she was at your age. I knew her as a child when she
used to be very fond of her Cousin Robert. Did she ever mention me
to you?"
"Yes, sometimes," the little girl responded; "once she told me you
were very rich."
A shade of disappointment crossed the old man's countenance, although
it was usually a pleasure to him to know he was considered wealthy.
He remarked that it was quite time for them to turn homewards, so they
left the park for the streets, meeting many people coming from the
different places of worship.
Mousey smiled brightly as she caught sight of Mrs. Downing and Miss
Longley on the opposite side of the road. The latter saw Mr. Harding
and his little cousin, and drew her sister's attention to them. Mr.
Harding lifted his hat to the ladies in response to their polite
salutations, and hurried Mousey on. Next they met Nellie Thomas,
walking with her father, her mother and two brothers following
behind. Mr. Harding and Mr. Thomas nodded to each other, and said
"Good-morning," whilst Nellie smiled at her school-fellow, and then
glanced at the old man in his threadbare coat and rusty hat in what
Mousey considered a scornful manner. An indignant flush rose to
Mousey's face, and tears of vexation rushed to her eyes. She was
conscious that Nellie and her relations looked well-dressed,
well-to-do people, and that the contrast between them and Cousin
Robert and herself was very great. She wished they had not met, for
she was certain Nellie would make fun of Mr. Harding next day at
school. Mousey had told the girls again and again how dependent she
was upon her cousin, but they had never seemed in the least impressed
by his kindness in giving her a home; on the contrary, they had
appeared to think he did no more than he ought, and never scrupled
to call him mean and miserly. The worst of it was, she could not
contradict them, for it had not taken her long to discover the great
failing in his character.
The day that had commenced with brilliant sunshine ended in storm.
When evening came; it rained so heavily that it was out of the
question for Maria and Mousey to go to church. Both were disappointed,
but the latter especially so, for she had grown to look forward to the
Sunday evening service at the mission chapel as a great pleasure,
which she was regretful to miss. She stood at the parlour window,
gazing at the rain with a doleful countenance, whilst Mr. Harding sat
at his secretaire writing, and John Monday, with his hands in his
pockets, lolled back in his chair, and grumbled at the weather under
his breath.
"What do you think about reading that chapter of the Bible you were
speaking of the other night, child?" Mr. Harding asked abruptly, as he
shut up the front of his secretaire.
"Oh!" Mousey cried in surprise, whilst John Monday sat upright on his
chair and stared at his master in wide-eyed astonishment. "Do you
really mean it, Cousin Robert?"
"Certainly!"
"Please let me have my Bible, John," said the little girl, turning to
John Monday.
The boy flushed, glanced deprecatingly at his master, and drawing the
sacred volume from the breast-pocket of his coat, handed it to her
in silence.
Mousey found the sixth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel; and began to
read. The old man watched her earnestly, whilst he listened to words
which he had certainly never heard since his boyhood's days.
"'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust
doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:'"
"'But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth
nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor
steal:'"
"'For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'"
Mr. Harding moved uneasily. He heard nothing of the remainder of the
chapter, and he started when Mousey asked—
"Shall I read some more, Cousin Robert?"
"No, that will do for to-night," he answered.
She was about to return her Bible to John Monday when the old man
stopped her. Going to his secretaire, he unlocked one of the under
drawers and drew therefrom a small leather-covered volume, the pages
yellow with age, which he placed in John Monday's hands.
"You can keep it, if you like," he said; "I've had it lying there for
many a long year, and you may as well have it."
"Thank you—thank you—sir!" the boy said, stammering with astonishment.
"You've no reason to thank me," Mr. Harding responded curtly. "The
Bible was mine when I was a boy, but I've no use for it nowadays."
The words were ungracious enough to chill anyone; but John Monday and
Mousey exchanged pleased glances notwithstanding. The former was glad
to possess a Bible of his own, and the latter was delighted to have
hers back again.