'IT'S ALL RIGHT!'
JESSIE fancied that if she rang the bell and asked for Cecil, she should
be either sent away or shown into the great schoolroom; and the idea of
facing Mr. Bardsley and all the boys seemed to her very terrible--almost
too terrible to be entertained for a moment. But then, to leave Cecil in
ignorance of the good tidings that she had run all this way to bring to
him!--to let him go on through the day still feeling himself in
disgrace, and not knowing that all was explained! No, she could not bear
that either. She put up a trembling hand, and not daring to meddle with
the big knocker, which looked prepared to make any amount of noise,
took hold of the bell at the side of it, and gave a feeble tinkle,
which would scarcely have been audible to the housemaid had she not
happened to be close at hand cleaning the hall lamp. She opened the door
so suddenly, that Jessie, who was prepared to wait some time, was quite
startled, and so confused that she could not say anything.
'Did you ring?' asked the maid sharply, looking down in amazement at the
dusty little figure and flushed frightened face.
'Yes; oh, please,' said Jessie, recovering herself, 'is Master
Cunningham here? and would you tell him that I want to speak to him a
minute?'
'The young gentlemen are in school--they can't be disturbed now,'
replied the servant, preparing to shut the door.
'But oh, please, if you would tell him I've come with news from home,
and I want to see him so much,' said Jessie desperately; 'I'm his
sister.'
The maid looked hard at her, and Jessie felt sure she spied out the
gloveless hands under the holland cape; but with as much dignity as she
could muster, the child added, 'I'm Miss Jessie Cunningham;' and
something in her tone and manner must have borne out the assertion, for
with a quick 'Step in here, please, and I'll speak to Mrs. Bardsley,'
the maid opened the door wider instead of shutting it, and allowed her
to enter the hall.
She then gave her a chair, and went into a room close by, from which she
soon reappeared, followed by a quiet-looking lady, not very old, but
with a cap and spectacles, and something about her which made Jessie
feel quite ashamed of her own heated, untidy condition.
'You have come with a message for Master Cunningham, I understand; I
trust no accident has occurred at his home,' said Mrs. Bardsley in a
voice as quiet as her face.
'Oh no! it's all good news, and I thought I should have overtaken him,
but I didn't; and oh! if you would please let me see him, and then
perhaps he would come back with me.'
'I don't think he can return till after school, unless you have brought
an order from his father to that effect,' said the schoolmaster's wife;
'but come and sit down, and then perhaps you will be able to explain
yourself more fully.'
She took Jessie into a prim-looking sitting-room; and in rather a
confused way the little girl did contrive to explain what had brought
her, and how important her news would be to Cecil. 'And if Mr. Bardsley
would let him come back with me I don't think father would mind, and
mother would like it so much better than my going back alone. I oughtn't
to have come, I'm afraid,' she wound up, feeling every minute more and
more dismayed at herself.
'I fear you must be causing anxiety at home,' said Mrs. Bardsley, still
rather stiffly. 'I will send and ask Mr. Bardsley to allow your brother
to speak to you for a minute;' and she went out of the room, leaving
Jessie alone.
Some minutes passed, and Jessie grew more and more nervous; but at
length appeared Cecil, looking very schoolboyish, with a great dab of
ink on his collar.
She jumped off her chair and ran to him, and got out one great 'Oh,
Cecil!' and then, instead of saying anything more, she began to sob.
'What is it? what's up?' said he in utter amazement. 'Don't cry, don't
cry; is anything wrong at home?'
'Oh no! it's all right! and you've got enough marks, and you're to go
back after the holidays. And oh, Cecil! I'm so glad! and I'm so hot, and
I've run all the way!'
'And you're obliged to cry about it,' said Cecil, laughing, and kissing
her. 'I say, sit down here in this arm-chair; there, I'll fan you with
my pocket-handkerchief. How's it all come out? has the Doctor
written--or what?'
'Yes, I think it was he; and father's so glad, and he said himself you
should go back. He counted up the marks wrong--not father, but somebody,
you know--and you've got plenty, and you're not a bit to blame; father
says you're not.'
A sort of dancing light came into the boy's black eyes, but he didn't
say a word. Jessie was quite astonished, and a good deal disappointed,
at his taking the matter so quietly.
'Aren't you glad?' she said; 'I thought you would have been ready to
jump out of your skin for joy. _I_ was; but I came straight off,
thinking I should overtake you. How fast you must have walked to get
here first! Oh, Cecil, do you think I could have a little water?'
'You're too hot to drink cold water,' said Cecil in a wise,
elder-brotherly way. 'I've got an apple in my pocket; you shall have a
bit of that.'
It was rather a greenish specimen, and one bite of it more than
satisfied Jessie, without refreshing her in the least; but she sat
holding it in her hand, and looking at Cecil with loving eyes, too happy
to mind much about her thirst and fatigue.
'Do you think Mr. Bardsley will let you come back with me?' she said
presently.
'Not till twelve o'clock, I'm sure; perhaps he would then. Father didn't
say I was to come, did he?'
'No, I was so silly I didn't wait to ask him; he didn't know I was
coming. Cecil, do you think they will be very angry with me? I have
never been so far alone before.'
'I'm afraid mother won't like it,' said Cecil; but he thought to himself
that he should always love her for it; and if he had been a girl instead
of a boy, he would have told her so. 'I must go back to study now; but
I think you had better wait here, if Mrs. Bardsley will let you,' he
continued, after a minute's reflection.
'But what will they think at home? They must have missed me. Cecil, I'd
better go;' and she stood up, feeling how dreary the lonely walk back
would be, with those tired feet of hers that had run along so merrily
when the thought of telling the joyful news had been the only one
present to her mind.
'There's father, I do declare, in old Mr. Rawson's gig!' exclaimed
Cecil, who was looking out of the window; and sure enough, at this
moment, a funny old-fashioned carriage drew up at the door, and Mr.
Cunningham got down from it and shook hands with the owner.
_He_ was not afraid of the big knocker, but the maid was much longer in
answering his rat-tat-tat than Jessie's feeble ring; and only a sense
that they were not in their own house, and must not take liberties,
restrained the children from opening the door themselves. They could not
resist running out into the hall to meet him, thus forestalling any
inquiry for them by their immediate appearance.
'Well, Cecil!'--oh, such a different 'well' from the one that had
greeted him on his return for the holidays!--then to Jessie: 'And so you
are _here_, little madam! Mother is making herself quite unhappy about
you.'
Before Jessie could answer, he turned to the maid, asking her to request
Mr. Bardsley to see him for a minute; and she ushered him into the
sitting-room where the children had been, and went off with the message.
Then his little daughter got hold of his hand and whispered, 'I didn't
mean to vex mother; I thought I could have overtaken Cecil. I am very
sorry.'
'Well, I don't think I need tell you not to do such a thing again,' said
Mr. Cunningham with a smile, 'for the temptation is not likely to
recur. These things don't happen every day; do they, Cecil? My boy, I am
sorry for this week of disgrace, and more glad than I can tell you to
find it was not deserved.'
Cecil looked down, coloured, put his hands in his pockets and took them
out again, twisted his eyes in a vain attempt to see the whole extent of
the ink spot on his collar, and finally, standing quite upright, and
looking straight before him, said in a very modest and yet manly way, 'I
am glad you know that I was not really idle, father; but I didn't work
so hard as I ought the last week, and I was stuck-up and made too sure
of success. I would rather you knew that.'
Jessie, looking to see how her father took this, was struck by the
shining of his eyes as they rested on his son; but before he had time to
make any reply, Mr. Bardsley came in; only, Cecil was sure, by the way
his father's hand remained upon his shoulder while he was speaking to
the master, that he understood and appreciated the frank confession, and
that they should be closer friends henceforth than ever before.
Mr. Bardsley gave leave for Cecil to return home at once; and Mr.
Cunningham said he would call again the next day, out of school hours,
to explain more fully how Cecil's prospects were altered, and 'make some
arrangement.' Jessie was rather alarmed at the sound of this, but Cecil
guessed that his father meant to withdraw him from the day school, and
wished to offer some compensation for taking him away in this sudden
fashion, just at the beginning of the half-year.
Spite of Jessie's tired feet, the walk back was very pleasant; and
neither she nor Cecil were insensible to the honour of having their
father all to themselves, and at this unusual time of day too. He
explained that he had met their mother in the village, so anxious about
Jessie, that instead of waiting till towards twelve o'clock to go into
Fairview, he had got Mr. Yorke to finish his parish business for him,
and had started off at once, accepting a lift from Mr. Rawson by the
way. And when he added quietly, 'You will take care that she is never
made uneasy again by any thoughtlessness on your part, Jessie!' the
little girl answered, 'Yes, father,' in a very subdued and humble tone,
and felt quite as sorry as if he had lectured her for an hour.
'Do you think Mr. Yorke will be at home again now? Might I run in for a
minute, father?' said Cecil as they passed the curate's lodging.
'I am not sure; you can see if you like.' And Cecil _did_ see; and
finding his friend busily engaged sermon-writing in the queer little
dining-room, tarried only for a few words.
'I suppose father has told you,' he said as he burst in.
'Yes, I am _so_ glad;' and Cecil's inky little paw was enfolded in the
curate's heartiest grasp.
'I shan't forget this week in a hurry,' the boy continued; 'but I'm not
so very sorry now that it all happened. Thank you for that nice Sunday.'
He did not say, but he implied how much it had helped him through; and
Mr. Yorke answered cheerily, 'I could have sympathized more if I had
known all that I know now; but I don't think you wanted pity. I believe
your father's sermon showed you the way to bear your trouble.'
Cecil's cheeks were burning, and he only said shyly, 'You showed me
too;' and then hastily adding, 'I want to catch up with father before he
gets home,' ran off again, after one more hearty shake of the hand had
been exchanged between them.
If the memory of pain could be effaced by after-happiness, the remainder
of this day would have amply sufficed to blot out the past week. Never
did Cecil feel more glad than when his mother kissed him, called him her
own darling boy, and at his request forgave Jessie's escapade, and gave
her and Frances a week's holiday, that he might have as much of their
company as he chose. And on the following Sunday, when he took his place
in the choir again, and Mr. Yorke came to dinner at the Rectory, and all
was thankful rejoicing, that sorrowful Sunday on which he had felt as if
the whole world were against him seemed already far away.
The trial was gone by, and some of the effects it had left behind it
were very pleasant. But for it, Cecil felt he never could have known Mr.
Yorke so well, nor his own little sister Jessie. They were his especial
friends from henceforth, in a way which they had never been before, even
though Jessie had always been regarded by Percy and others as 'Cecil's
particular chum.' Percy himself had seemed hitherto at an immeasurable
distance from Cecil, and had generally appeared to expect to be treated
with the same sort of respect as would have been shown to a school
'senior;' but now, wonderful to relate, a change came over him, and he
condescended to unbend not only a little, but a very great deal. It
actually seemed as if he had begun to respect Cecil! No one but a
schoolboy, with an admired and venerated elder brother rather given to
snubbing, can quite realize how astonishing this change appeared to the
person most concerned. For Percy to invite Cecil to come out fishing
with him, in the genial tone of an equal who really cared for his
companionship, instead of ordering him in a lordly way to take his
tackle down to the river for him, was something so unexpected and
flattering, that it went nearer to turning Cecil's head than anything
that had happened yet. Perhaps it really might have done so, but for the
wholesome lessons the boy had learned during his time of humiliation.
These fishings with Percy became a sort of institution during that week,
which Jessie had rather counted on for having Cecil all to herself.
'Francie doesn't care, because she wants to do her gardening; but what
made me like so to have holidays, was only that I might go about with
Cecil, and now he goes off with Percy and doesn't want me!' thought the
poor little maiden, in rather an injured way, as she sat forlornly in
the wide window-seat on Wednesday morning, watching the retreating
figures of her brothers. Spite of all her unselfishness, that sense of
injury _would_ come, and was very disagreeable.
'Who will take the boys' dinner down to the meadows for them by and by?'
said her father, coming suddenly into the room. 'I have promised them a
long, uninterrupted time for their sport to-day, because to-morrow we
are all going for a picnic to the Beacon, and there will be no fishing
then. You and Francie are the two idlest folk in the house just now,
aren't you, Jessie? so suppose you turn errand-women?'
'Oh, father, are they going to fish all day?' exclaimed Jessie, jumping
up when she was spoken to, but showing no great alacrity in offering her
services.
'Till tea-time, I believe, if they don't get tired of it. Do you know I
am so glad of these fishings, Jessie?'
'Are you, father?' she said, rather drearily, conscious that there was
no gladness in her own face or voice.
'Yes, because I know what a brother's friendship is worth. I believe
Percy's good-natured patronage seems to Cecil the greatest reward he has
had yet for his bravery in bearing his misfortunes.'
Jessie did not like the idea much; it seemed to her that if it were
true, her father and she had _both_ reason to feel slighted.
'Use your imagination, Jessie,' said Mr. Cunningham, smiling; 'you have
plenty, I know, and the great use of it is to help us to see things from
other people's point of view. Shall I tell you something else? I am so
glad of this companionship because I believe Cecil, though the younger,
will do Percy good.'
Jessie quite understood this; her face brightened, as it always did at
anything like praise of Cecil, and she felt it very delightful to be
taken into her father's confidence in such a 'grown-up' kind of way.
'I can carry the dinner, if you like, father,' she said briskly.
'Suppose Francie and you both go, and take your own dinners as well?
That will be a kind of picnic on a small scale, almost as pleasant,
perhaps, as the grand one of to-morrow. You can come away afterwards,
and leave the boys to their sport.'
Jessie looked rather cloudy again for a minute; it was so like being
offered a little slice when she had wanted the whole loaf!
Her father was standing quite near her now, and he smoothed down her
hair softly with his hand, as he said, 'Jessie, have you ever thought
what a sweet and happy thing love is when it has overcome jealousy? It
is not worth _very_ much till then.'
For one moment there was a sharp struggle within her, and then she
pressed her cheek against his arm, with a loving, grateful gesture. He
had no fear that his little maiden would give way to jealousy any
longer. Now that he had given the sore feeling a name, he knew that she
would be as anxious to drive it away as he was.
That dinner in the meadows was very pleasant--'Quite enchanting,'
Frances declared. 'Awfully jolly,' said Cecil, who was not so choice in
his vocabulary. Percy looked on it as rather a childish entertainment,
and said more than once that he wished 'they' hadn't forgotten that he
always took pepper with everything; but he never blamed either of his
sisters, only this mysterious 'they,' and made an excellent dinner,
spite of the absence of the pepper-box. He was very kind to Jessie
too,--so kind that she quite forgave Cecil from henceforth for thinking
Percy's notice a very grand sort of thing; it seemed as if he almost
included _her_ in the new respect he had begun to have for his younger
brother. And then, Cecil! Cecil was so entirely delightful on this
occasion, that she wondered how, even for a moment, she could have
thought him anything but the most perfect of all possible brothers. From
the noble way in which he dispensed the tart, only leaving himself a
very small piece, though she _knew_ he liked it better than anything,
down to the good-nature with which he gave his last bit of cheese to the
lame old setter, that had limped down to see after them, everything in
his behaviour was just according to her own heart, and totally unlike
the selfish greediness of what she called 'common schoolboys.' And then,
when, instead of going back to his fishing directly after dinner, he
asked her to walk with him as far as the bridge and watch the trout
leap, she was the very happiest and proudest of little sisters. If it
had not been for what her father had said, she would have lingered near
him the whole afternoon; but as it was, she came away quite contentedly
after she had watched his angling for a minute or two, and really felt
how nice it was that Percy and he should have become such allies,--how
much pleasanter for him than having only her for a companion. Percy's
vacation would be over before his, and then her time would come perhaps;
anyhow, she was much too sure of Cecil's love to have any excuse for
jealousy in seeing him taken up with others. He had opened his heart to
her when he was in trouble, she should never forget that. Oh! how dear
this had made him to her, both 'for then and for always!'
No after-trial worth recording shadowed Cecil's boyhood; and now he is a
man--just such a man as Jessie longed to see him. He very seldom thinks
of the incidents here related, but yet the lesson he learnt in that
memorable week is still bearing fruit in his life; and when any trial
comes to him, he does not say it is 'very hard,' but takes it as a new
proof of the fatherly love that watches over him, and, in dark seasons
as well as bright ones, is ready to sing with the psalmist, 'Every day
will I give thanks unto Thee, and praise Thy name for ever and ever.'
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
The original text had no table of contents. One was added as an aid to
the reader.
Page 31, "emained" changed to "remained" (have remained bitterly)
Page 51, "See page 52." was added to the text to conform to remaining
illustrations.
Page 52, "tel" changed to "tell" (you'll not tell)