PREPARING FOR MOUSEY'S VISIT
"IT is Wednesday now; suppose we write and tell your I aunt to expect
you next Monday?" suggested Mr. Harding to Mousey the following morning
as he rose from the breakfast-table. "Will that give time in which to
get the few new things she requires?" he added, turning to Maria,
who had been summoned to clear the table.
"Yes, sir," she answered, "quite time, I should think. Being in black,
she will not want many new garments—a couple of washing blouses and a
new hat perhaps."
"Very well," the old man said; "you had better see about making the
purchases at once. Cannot you go this morning? I shall be at home,
and will keep house in your absence."
"I think I can spare the time this morning, sir. There is no dinner
to cook, as I suppose we shall have the cold meat left from yesterday."
Mr. Harding nodded, and sitting down at his secretaire, took up his pen
and commenced a letter to Mrs. Dawson, whilst Mousey went to help Maria
about the housework.
The old man had not written many words before his attention was
attracted by voices in the shop. Rising quickly, he glanced through
the glass door, and perceived a dissipated-looking young man, whom he
rightly guessed was Herbert Hambly, in conversation with John Monday,
whose face was full of distress, whilst he appeared from his gestures
to be trying to get rid of his companion. Mr. Harding turned the
handle of the door very softly and entered the shop.
"You must go away," John Monday was saying; "if Mr. Harding catches
you here there'll be no end of a row! He is in, I tell you!"
"Hulloa!" cried the old man, "what is the meaning of this? Who are
you, eh?" he inquired sharply, fixing his piercing gaze on the young
man, who shrank back abashed. "Are you here to help my assistant in
wasting his time, pray?"
Herbert Hambly had not believed it when John Monday had told him that
his master was within; he had thought the boy had merely made the
statement to get rid of him; but though taken aback by Mr. Harding's
sudden appearance, he quickly regained his self-command, and answered
with great assurance—
"Not at all, sir! I called purely on a business matter. I wish to have
a look at some tie-pins."
Mr. Harding brought forward a tray covered with an assortment of the
ornaments mentioned, and laid it on the counter. Motioning to John
Monday to stand aside, he took his place behind the counter. The young
man turned over the pins in silence for a while, pretending to examine
them carefully; then said he could not see one exactly like what he
wanted.
"No, I imagined you would not," Mr. Harding remarked quietly, putting
the tray on one side, and leaning across the counter to stare into the
other's face as though he wished to remember his features. "Take my
word for it, there's nothing in this shop that's likely to suit you—
and, don't come again!"
"What do you mean?" began Herbert Hambly, assuming a blustering
manner.
"I mean that I won't have you here, nor shall you have anything to do
with my assistant. I know quite enough about you to be aware that your
company is most undesirable; in fact, I think my best plan will be to
ask the police to keep an eye on your movements."
Though this was only said in a threat, it had the desired effect of
completely subduing the young man and knocking all the bravado out of
him; casting a vindictive glance at John Monday, he beat a speedy
retreat, and in another moment had slipped out of the shop and was
hurrying down the street.
John Monday heaved a sigh of relief, whilst his master noted with
surprise how white and shaken he appeared.
"What is wrong with you?" Mr. Harding asked. "What are you afraid of?"
"I told him to go, sir, and he wouldn't," John Monday muttered,
ignoring his master's question. "It wasn't my fault," he added.
"Who said it was your fault?" demanded the old man in a snappish tone.
"I never did!"
He returned to the parlour, and took up his pen again, feeling
irritated at the boy's manner, which had seemed to him sulky. It was
some minutes before he could collect his thoughts; but, finally, the
letter accepting Mrs. Dawson's kind invitation was written, and he
called to Mousey to come and hear what he had said to her Aunt Eliza.
"Will that do?" he inquired, after he had read the letter aloud.
"Yes, beautifully," she replied; "but please, Cousin Robert, will you
tell her how much I am looking forward to see them all?"
So Mr. Harding added a postscript to that effect, and having sealed
the envelope, gave her the letter to post herself.
The little girl was looking very bright. Her cheeks were rosy and her
eyes shone with happiness. The old man sighed, though he reflected
that Aunt Eliza would not be able to say Haughton did not suit the
child, for she had certainly greatly improved in appearance lately.
"I wish your poor mother could see you, my dear," he exclaimed
involuntarily.
"And I wish she could know how kind you are to me," Mousey cried, her
eyes filling with tears, as they always did when she thought of her
mother. "Perhaps she does know," she added quickly; "she always said
God would take care of me when she was gone, and He has. I thought it
very strange that you should want me to come and live with you, Cousin
Robert, but I suppose God put it into your heart to be kind to me."
"I don't know that He did," Mr. Harding responded.
"Oh, but He must have! I'm afraid I'm very expensive," Mousey said,
thinking of the new things she was to have. "I don't believe Aunt
Eliza would mind a bit if I had no new clothes."
"Nonsense! What makes you say that? Have I ever begrudged you
anything?" he demanded, frowning.
"No, no," she replied hurriedly. "I only thought—oh, Cousin Robert,
you do so much for me, and there isn't anything I can do for you.
I wish there was."
"Well, there is," he said, a smile softening his face. "You can spare
me a corner of your heart, eh? You'll try to be glad to come back here
because you like me a little, and not only on account of Mrs. Downing,
of whom you're so fond, and the friends you've made at school, eh?"
"Of course I shall!" she answered promptly. "I do like you very much,
Cousin Robert," she added earnestly.
"I shall miss you, child," he told her. "Here comes Maria, ready to
start. Don't forget to post my letter."
As if it was in the least likely she would forget that! She laughed
at the idea as she tripped along by Maria's side, and slipped the
precious letter into the first pillar-box they passed on their way.
During the days which followed the little girl talked of nothing
but her coming visit. She went to say good-bye to Mrs. Downing,
Miss Longley, and the twins; and told them all about the delightful
time she expected to have with Aunt Eliza, and Uncle Dick, and her
cousins. John Monday was the only one who attempted to put a damper
on her happiness by remarking that some people got the best
of everything.
"Oh, John," cried Mousey regretfully, "I am so sorry you are not going
to have a holiday too! It does seem hard," and she looked so
sympathetic that he regretted his grumbling speech, and felt ashamed
of himself.
At last the much-looked-forward-to Monday arrived. The town porter
fetched away Mousey's box, and after saying good-bye to Maria and John
Monday, the little girl started to walk to the station with Mr.
Harding. On the way he asked her if she had her purse in her pocket
ready to receive her ticket.
"Oh, yes," she replied, wondering what she would have done without
Uncle Dick's present on this occasion.
"Mind you don't lose it; and remember not to put your head out of the
carriage window when the train is in motion. Promise that."
She promised readily. The old man was rather nervous at the thought of
her travelling alone, though the journey was only a short one; but she
had no fears, and was full of importance at the idea. They had not
long to wait at the station, for by the time Mr. Harding had seen
Mousey's box labelled, and obtained her ticket, the train was on the
point of starting. He found a corner seat for her in a comfortable
compartment, and placed her under the care of the guard.
"Let me put your ticket in your purse for you," he said, after he had
kissed her and had warned her not to lean against the door.
She gave him her little scarlet purse, and when he returned it, she
slipped it into her pocket without glancing at its contents. A minute
later the train started. The old man watched it out of sight, then
left the station, and walked slowly homewards with a sense of
loneliness so strong that he was surprised at himself, for he had not
calculated how dear his little cousin had become to him.
Meanwhile, Mousey had taken her purse out of her pocket again, and on
opening it had found that, besides her ticket, it held a shilling,
two sixpenny-pieces, and several coppers. She was greatly touched
at this fresh proof of Mr. Harding's affection and consideration
for her; and during the whole of the journey, she was thinking how she
would write and thank him, and what words she could use which would
best express the feelings of gratitude swelling in her heart.