WINNIE'S HOME.
That same evening Winnie and Dick were alone together in the oak
parlour; a room sacred to themselves, where they ate, studied, played,
and lived, as it were, a life quite apart from that of the other
inmates of the family, who, occupied with business or domestic duties
through the day, spent evening after evening in a round of gaiety and
amusement. Brother and sister enjoyed little of the society of their
elders during the week, but on Saturdays and Sabbaths they were usually
expected to lunch with their parents--an honour which, I am sorry to
say, neither appreciated; for somehow Dick seldom failed to commit a
gross blunder or make some absurd speech at a critical moment, and
Winnie, though a general favourite, refused to be happy when he was
sternly upbraided for his fault.
The father, a man of wide culture and refinement, had no patience with
his son's clumsy movements and slow brain, refusing to look under the
surface and see the great loving heart which beat there with its wealth
of warm true affection; while Mrs. Blake and the elder brothers and
sisters regarded him in the light of a good-for-nothing or general
scapegrace. The result was that Dick hid the many sterling qualities
of his nature under a gruff, forbidding exterior, and only
tender-hearted Winnie guessed how he winced and writhed under the
mocking word or light laugh indulged in at his expense. Resenting them
bitterly, she gathered up all the love of her passionate little heart
and showered it on him, idolizing this big brother of hers to such an
extent that even his faults seemed gilded with a halo; and her
affection being equally returned, both found their greatest happiness
in each other's society.
Oh, what fun they had together in the oak parlour! Oh, the shouts of
ringing laughter and the merry jest of words! Now and then Dick would
bring home with him his special friend, Archie Trollope, and what a
night would follow,--Winnie entering into their games with all the zest
of her tomboy nature.
She never felt solitary or out of place in the company of these two
boys; and they--why, they looked upon her as one of themselves: Dick
describing her to his numerous companions as being a "tip-top" girl,
and Archie singing her praises loudly to his own sisters who never knew
what it was to join in a madcap frolic, and whose voices were strictly
modulated to society pitch.
Sometimes, in the long winter evenings, the trio, tired with play,
would lower the gas, and gathering round the large, blazing fire, tell
ghost stories with such thrilling earnestness that often the ghastly
phantoms seemed to merge almost into reality, and they found themselves
starting at a falling cinder or the sound of a footstep in the passage
outside. On those occasions the window-blind was usually drawn up to
the top, that the pale, glimmering moonlight might stream in; and as
the soft silvery beams stole silently into the room and laid their
tremulous light on the young forms and awestruck faces, the flames
leaping and crackling joined in enhancing the effect of the story by
throwing on the walls weird shadows of a moving spectral band.
But the winter days were yet to come, though the cold autumn winds and
falling leaves heralded their sure approach; and this evening Winnie
and Dick were engaged--not in wandering hand in hand into wonderland,
but in the prosaic occupation of making toffy.
Winnie, enveloped in one of nurse's huge bib-aprons, stood at a little
distance from the fire, busily studying a book of recipes; while Dick,
his honest face burnt to the colour of a lobster, was bending over a
saucepan and stirring manfully the tempting contents.
"Yes," said the young lady, laying aside the well-thumbed volume and
taking a step forward, "the quantities are correct. I am sure this
will be excellent toffy, but--Dick, you shocking boy! whatever are you
doing? Licking the spoon, I declare. How very vulgar!" and Winnie
opened her eyes in horrified amazement at her brother's lack of
good-breeding.
"Well, you see, Win," replied the culprit meekly, "you so often make
mistakes and put in some awful compound that I am obliged to guard
against being poisoned. Having a sincere affection for life, and not
being like Portia 'aweary of this great world,' I consider it my duty
to take all due precautions, and therefore _pardonnez-moi_ for tasting
the toffy."
The young cook drew her slight figure up and said with an air of
offended dignity, "I flatter myself that I am quite capable of making
excellent toffy, Richard Blake, and am well aware as to the proper
ingredients."
"Doubtless," with a sweeping bow, "but 'accidents will happen in the
best-regulated families;' and I remember how you substituted salt for
sugar the last time, and apparently never discovered your mistake till
you had dosed me with some of the vile concoction. It was cracking
stuff, I can assure you." Here Dick became thoroughly convulsed at the
remembrance of that disastrous night, and laughed so heartily that
Winnie fled to the rescue of her beloved toffy, and seized the spoon
from her brother's swaying hand.
"What an object you look!" she said scornfully, stirring the clear
brown liquid and inhaling its savoury odour with intense satisfaction.
"I don't see anything to laugh at;" and she began to hum the tune of an
old nursery rhyme, as if utterly indifferent to both Dick and his
laughter.
"Don't ape Madame Dignity, Win," gasped the awful boy in an almost
strangled condition; "lofty airs are not becoming to such a little
creature. You know perfectly well what a 'go' it was, and thought I
was about to 'shuffle off this mortal coil.'" Dick had a weakness for
Shakespeare. "Oh dear! when I reflect upon it all and remember the
taste--" but here Winnie was obliged to give in and join in his
merriment, for the boy's face of pretended disgust was too comical to
resist.
"Dick, you are dreadful!" she said at length, the tears streaming down
her cheeks and her voice still trembling with a lurking suspicion of
laughter. "Will you never forget that eventful night!"
"Never," replied her brother with mock gravity; "the remembrance is
printed indelibly on the records of my memory, and the taste remains
for ever fresh to my palate. Let us change the conversation, Win; the
subject is too much for my delicate constitution."
"I am quite agreeable," quoth the young lady composedly, "and in that
case allow your hands to be active and your tongue silent. I want the
tin buttered, and the bottle of vanilla essence brought from the
pantry. Now, do hurry, for the toffy is almost ready."
Dick obeyed orders, and in a short time the candy was cooling outside
on the window ledge, while brother and sister, comfortably settled in
their respective chairs, were preparing to enjoy a "quiet read."
"This is a splendid book, Dick," said the little chatterbox, toying
with the leaves of her dainty volume, and glancing at the tasteful
engravings. "All the school-girls are raving about it, and saying how
delightfully interesting the story is."
"What's the name and who's the author?" inquired Dick, too much
engrossed in his own book of wonderful adventures to give much heed to
his sister's words. "Quick, Win; I'm just killing a whale. Ah! now
they've got him. Bravo!" and the boy shouted his appreciation of the
stirring tale.
"Oh, the title of the book is 'A Summer's Pleasure;' and the
author--let me see--why--" and Winnie stopped short, her eyes opened to
their widest extent and her rosy lips slightly parted.
"What's up with the girl?" queried Dick, roused by the little sister's
surprised tone and bewildered expression. "Lot's wife could not have
looked more petrified, I'll be bound. Do satisfy a fellow's curiosity,
Win, and don't sit there mute as a fish."
Thus admonished, Winnie gave herself a little shake and laughed lightly.
"No wonder," she said excusingly. "Only think, Dick,--the author of
this book calls herself 'Aunt Judith,' and that is the name of one of
Nellie Latimer's aunts."
The boy gave a prolonged whistle.
"Well, you are a little fool," he said politely, "to make such a fuss
about nothing. Dear me, Win, you don't imagine surely that Nellie
Latimer's aunt is the author of that book, simply because her name
happens to be Judith. Why, there are hundreds of Aunt Judiths in the
world;" and philosopher Dick went back to his whales and icebergs in
lofty contempt of his sister's excitement.
"I daresay I am a goose," laughed Winnie apologetically; "but somehow
it seemed so strange to see 'Aunt Judith' staring at me from the
title-page. Aunt Judith--" and the little girl repeated the name
softly, as if those two words held for her some subtle charm.
The minutes passed slowly one by one. Dick was away in the far north
fighting the whales, and having wonderful adventures with polar bears;
while Winnie, curled up cosy fashion in the depths of a huge easychair,
was also absorbed in the contents of her book; when the soft
swish-swish of garments was heard coming along the passage, and the
door opened to admit a fair, stately lady, whose silken robe fell in
graceful folds to her feet, and whose arms, neck, and hair glittered
with sparkling jewels. She was followed by two younger ladies, as
richly but more youthfully dressed; and as they entered the room a
delicious perfume distilled itself and wafted all around the sweetest
fragrance.
"Mamma!" cried Winnie, springing up and gazing admiringly on the
beautiful figure before her; "how pretty you look! Are you going out
to-night again, and Clare and Edith also?"
"Yes, dear," replied Mrs. Blake in a softly-modulated voice; "we are
all going to the opera, and the carriage is already at the door. I
wished to know, however, why Dick was so late in getting home this
afternoon, and so looked in on you as I was passing."
Dick, who had barely glanced up at his stepmother's entrance, and then
continued reading, now knit his brow in an angry frown, and seemed
unwilling to answer; while Clare, the elder of the two young ladies,
laughed carelessly as she said, "Our invasion for that purpose was
hardly necessary, I fancy. It is simply the old story over
again--badly-prepared lessons."
"You're about right there," replied the boy sullenly, never raising his
eyes from the volume before him. "What else could you expect of the
dunce?" and a bitter sneer curled the corners of his lips as he spoke,
while Winnie's warm little heart was all aglow with love and sympathy.
Mrs. Blake's face assumed an expression of peevish distress. "I am
sure, Dick," she began plaintively, "I do not know what the end of all
this will be. Your father is perfectly disgusted at your indolence and
ashamed of your stupidity." The boy's eyes flashed. "Yes, it is quite
true. I am tired listening to his continual complaints;" and the lady
drew her fleecy wrap round her with an injured air.
"O mamma," interrupted Winnie eagerly, "you are wronging Dick. He may
not be so clever as Algy and Tom, but he is such a dear, good boy, and
does try ever so hard to learn his lessons. He does indeed; and I
should know best, when I study beside him every night."
"That's enough, Win," answered her brother doggedly. "I don't care
what they believe;" and the boy, drawing his chair closer to the fire,
gazed angrily into the burning embers.
"What a respectful speech, and what charming manners!" said Edith
scornfully. "You would grace any drawing-room, Dick.--Come away,
mamma; we shall be late. Papa will soon bring his dutiful son to his
proper senses."
"Well spoken, Edith," said Mrs. Blake, sweeping indignantly from the
room; "the boy is a perfect boor. I trust he may show more honour to
his father than he has accorded to me."
The door closed softly behind the unwelcome guests, the light footsteps
died away in the distance, and Winnie and Dick were once more alone in
the little oak parlour, with the dancing firelight playing on their
faces and roguishly deepening the tint on their youthful cheeks.
Dick's book had dropped from his knees, and was lying with crumpled
leaves on the rug, while the boy, his hands tightly clenched, sat in
moody silence; and Winnie's tender heart ached as she watched him.
Slipping from her chair, she crossed over to his side, and nestling
down, laid her pretty head on his arm, saying with a quiver in her
voice, "Dick, my dear, good boy, don't look like that; I can't bear it.
Oh, why do they say such things to you?" Here the tears forced
themselves into the bright eyes as she spoke.
Dick gave the fender a vicious kick ere he replied: "I tell you what it
is, Win: one of these days I'll run away. No, no; don't strangle me
and say I won't, for I tell you I _will_. A fellow can't be expected
to stand this sort of thing all his life. I'm sick of it. Hallo!
what's up?" for Winnie's arms were clasped tightly round his neck and
the great tears were running silently down her cheeks.
"Don't go, Dick, oh, don't go!" she pleaded frantically, half choking
the boy with her violent embraces. "Whatever should I do without you?
Dick, you must not go; only wait, and all will come right in the end.
Promise, promise!" and the little gipsy face looked pitiful in its wild
terror.
Dick's heart melted.
"There, there, dry your eyes, you wee goose; I was only teasing you.
Why, what a disconsolate-looking object somebody is!" and laughing his
sister out of her fright, the two sat chatting merrily till bed-time,
when Winnie went away to her own dainty room, and Dick also sought his
den.
Then, when alone in the darkness, the merriment died out of his face,
and as he lay thinking over his wrongs, real and imaginary, bitter
feelings swept over his heart, and the idle threat began to form itself
into fixed determination. "I would go right off to-night were it not
for Win," he muttered, tossing restlessly on his pillows; "but I guess
she would fret sorely, and--'there's the rub.'" Another Shakespearian
quotation. "Well, well, I'll sleep over it;" and then Dick wandered
into the land of dreams, to be haunted by the vision of a quaint gipsy
face and great pleading eyes--a vision which rose up before him again
and again in after years, when he was out on the great waste of waters,
and the soft moon and shining stars seemed to whisper of home and
loving hearts.