GATHERING CLOUDS.
Rough, rumpled hair, two soft eyes drowned in tears, flushed, angry
cheeks and pouting lips, was the picture which met Dick's view one
morning when he entered the oak parlour two days after the eventful
party. Christmas had passed by pleasantly and tranquilly for both
children. They had had the regular Christmas dinner--turkey,
mince-pies, plum-pudding, etc.--and the afternoon and evening had been
filled with youthful pleasure and amusement. Sabbath also was calm and
peaceful, so calm, indeed, that Winnie began to think their fears were
groundless, and Mrs. Blake's annoyance a mere myth; but Dick, more
suspicious, decided it was only the lull before the storm, and on the
Monday he found his suspicions verified. The hurricane burst, and
resulted in a forlorn little maiden bathed in tears, and a boy whose
heart burned within him at the remembrance of cruel words and unjust
accusations.
"I say, Win," he cried, coming forward into the room and leaning his
elbows on the table with careless disregard to elegance of attitude,
"what a miserable object you look! for all the world like a drowned
rat. Can't you dry those weeping eyes and speak to a fellow for a few
minutes? It is dreadful being treated to a regular shower-bath in this
cold weather," and Dick tried to conjure up the faintest glimmer of a
smile to the dolorous countenance.
Winnie wailed: "O Dick, I was so happy; and now everything is wrong.
Mamma says she is very much displeased with me, and--" but here sobs
choked the little plaintive voice, and rendered the latter part of the
sentence quite unintelligible.
Her brother's lips curled.
"Win," he said impressively, "you're a good little creature, and the
mother is fond of you. In a few days she will forget all this
annoyance, and things will go on with you as smoothly as before; but I
am different. I shall never be able to blot out of my heart the words
the governor" (Dick's usual name for his father) "said to me this
morning,--never so long as I live. It was not only about this
affair--that I could have stood--but he raked up all my sins and
shortcomings from the days when I was a little boy, and heaped them,
one after the other, on the top of my devoted head. I was bad, stupid,
and awkward--the disgrace of the school, and the butt of my companions.
He was perfectly ashamed of me, and so on." Dick's eyes were flaming.
"But I tell you, Win, what it is: the crisis has come, and I'll do
something desperate."
His sister's tears overflowed again. "I hate crying, I do indeed," she
said, scrubbing her cheeks viciously at every fresh outburst; "but the
nasty little trickly drops will come. Dick, dear old boy, I'm sorry
for you; will you not be sorry for me too? Just listen: I am never to
have Nellie for my friend again. She must never come here, and I must
never go and see Aunt Judith any more."
Dick looked up in amazement. "Why not, Win? What has all that to do
with your conduct towards Ada?"
"I don't know," with another quiver of the lips. "Mamma spoke about
Nellie first, asking where she lived, and if her aunts worked in any
way. Of course I told her simply what I knew, and then she said all
our friendship must end now; she would never have allowed Nellie to be
invited to our party had she known so much about her before."
"But dear me, Win," interrupted the boy impatiently, "the mother
consented when you asked to spend that afternoon at Dingle Cottage some
time ago. Why should she turn round and condemn the friendship now?"
"Oh, I can explain that easily. Mamma was hurrying to go out with
Clare and Edith when I begged permission, and said yes without making
any inquiries; but she scarcely spoke to Nellie on Friday evening, and
I cannot understand what has made her so angry all at once."
"Did she say anything against Nellie personally?"
"No; but she is not in my position in life, and I must not make a
friend and confidante of her. We may speak at school of course, but
that is all," and Winnie's grief burst out afresh at this point.
Dick meditated.
"I wonder," he said at length, a slow light dawning in his eyes, "if
Ada Irvine can have been putting the mother up to this? It would be
quite in keeping with some of her low dodges."
Winnie shook her head. "I thought so myself at first, but mamma led me
to believe otherwise. She says Ada is such a sweet, amiable girl, and
much more suitable in every way than Nellie for a friend. I fired up
at that, however, and declared I hated Ada, adding she was a sneak, and
did horrible things at school."
"Oh, you would give her true character to the mother, I have no doubt,"
put in Dick with twinkling eyes; "but the question is, 'What was the
effect?'"
"'I was prejudiced--and no one is faultless in this world.'"
A short period of silence followed, during which Winnie wept copiously,
and Dick sat beating a tattoo on the table.
"You'll soon have no eyes left," he observed practically, as the little
drenched handkerchief was again brought into use to wipe away the
flowing tears. "Cheer up, Win, old girl, and don't look as if your
grandmother had died half an hour ago."
"But you do not know the worst of it yet, Dick," cried the girl,
raising her tear-stained face and speaking in heart-breaking tones. "I
promised Nellie I would come and spend one afternoon with her during
the holidays, and now I can't get. Oh! I wish so much to go."
"Then do so," replied Dick doggedly. "There's no great harm in that;
and after all, what reward does one receive for being conscientious and
obedient?"
His sister looked aghast. "I dare not," she whispered; "mamma would be
so angry. And yet--if I might go only this once."
Dick being in anything but a filial mood said decidedly, "There's no
use in whining and moaning, Win. You can spend Wednesday afternoon at
Dingle Cottage if you wish, without any one in the house finding that
out. Edith and Clare are away from home; Algy and Tom never trouble
about us; and both the mother and governor will be spending that entire
day with the Harveys at Springfield. As for nurse and the servants,
I'll manage them."
"Let me think," replied Winnie. She leaned forward towards the table,
drooped her head slowly on her little white hands, and then the
struggle began--the struggle between good and evil, between the paths
of right and wrong.
"Just this once," she murmured yearningly--"only this once;" and as she
strove and wrestled inwardly, it seemed as if two figures stole
silently to her side and stood with earnest eyes watching the weary
battle. "I'll never do it again," she muttered, "but--only to say
good-bye;" and at this the dark figure smiled triumphantly, while the
white, spotless one listened with saddening eyes.
This was no mean struggle in which Winnie was engaged. Many a one had
fallen under a lesser temptation; for a visit to Aunt Judith meant
much, oh so much, to her. There was something in the atmosphere of
Dingle Cottage that raised the young girl to a loftier, purer standard;
something that made her yearn after what was good and holy, and stirred
up the childish heart to reach after the things which belong unto our
peace. She would never feel so again. How could she, when there was
none to guide her in the paths of right--none to tell how she might
weave a golden sunshine into her life, and leave lingering tracks of
light behind her? All these thoughts passed through her childish brain
as she sat with low bowed head and aching heart, thinking and
struggling, oh so wearily. At length the contest was ended; and
turning to Dick with a look of firm determination on her face, Winnie
said briefly, "I will go." So the struggle was over, and the dark
figure reigned triumphant, while the white-robed one stole weeping away.
"Write and let Nellie know then," replied Dick, preparing to leave the
room. "I am going off to skate with Archie Trollope, and can post your
letter on my way to the pond if you choose."
Winnie opened her desk--a birthday gift--and her heart smote her as she
wrote in a crude, girlish hand:--
"_December 27th, 18--_.
"MY DEAR NELLIE,--I shall come and spend Wednesday afternoon with you
all at Dingle Cottage. If suitable, do not trouble replying to this
scribble.--
Your loving friend,
WINNIE M. BLAKE."
"There," she said, sealing the envelope and handing it to her brother,
"I have written; and you--you will come for me at night, Dick."
"Of course I shall, Win," answered the boy, looking down with wistful,
loving eyes on his favourite sister, "and we shall have a jolly time
for once. Put all gloomy thoughts aside, old girl, and let us be happy
while we may." With that he treated her to a rough, hearty embrace,
making teasing remarks at the same time about boiled gooseberry eyes
and swollen lids; then giving one parting hug, marched out of the room,
and a few minutes after the loud clanging of the hall-door intimated
that Master Richard Blake had gone out for the day.
The afternoon was spent by Winnie in driving with her step-mother, who
tried in many pleasant ways to atone for the morning's harshness; and
so well did she succeed that the little girl's heart ached sorely and
quailed at the remembrance of the deceit she was practising. But, she
would never do it again, no, never again, and only this once could not
be such a very great sin.
So the time passed, and Wednesday came at last, a true winter's day,
with snow-mantled earth and keen, hard frost.
"Don't be late in coming for me, Dick," was Winnie's parting
injunction, as he saw her safely into the 'bus. "I shall expect you
soon after tea." And the boy promised.
The little sister looked after him as he strode briskly away. "What a
dear, kind brother he is!" she murmured lovingly. "How should I manage
without him? Good old Dick. He is all the world to me." And the boy,
tramping along the slippery streets with giant steps, was
muttering--"Poor Win! she will fret very much at first, and I shall
miss her sorely; but it can't be helped--I must run away."
Meanwhile the 'bus, whirling rapidly through the busy streets, stopped
in due time at Broomhill Road, and Winnie, alighting with flushed,
expectant face, found Nellie awaiting her eagerly.
"How good of you to come, dear! and how pretty you look!" she said,
kissing her little guest affectionately. "I was so pleased to get your
note on Monday evening."
"You cannot guess how glad I am to be here, Nellie," replied Winnie
simply, slipping her hand through her friend's arm as they walked
rapidly along the quiet road. "Your home seems like an Eden to me, and
spending a few hours with you all there one of my greatest pleasures."
After this both tongues went merrily till Dingle Cottage was reached,
and Winnie stood once more in the snug parlour, listening to the hearty
welcomes which fell so pleasantly on her ears. The tiny home wore its
usual air of cosy comfort, and the faces of its inmates seemed
positively to shine with happiness and content. Aunt Debby's chubby
countenance was all aglow, and Aunt Meg's peevish visage, having
apparently caught the reflex of her smile, looked very fair and sweet
as the invalid turned it brightly towards the youthful visitor.
"A thousand welcomes, child!" cried Miss Deborah delightedly, drawing
Winnie to her ample bosom, and treating the girl to a hearty hug (the
word, though not eloquent, is singularly expressive); "it is good to
see your pretty face again. This is Aunt Meg," pointing to the
invalid. "I do not think you have ever met her before." Then Winnie
was obliged to cross over to the sofa and shake the thin white hand
that looked so small and fragile.
"Is your brother coming for you at night, dear?" inquired Miss Latimer,
turning from her seat by the window and giving the young guest a
tender, loving glance in answer to a certain wistful look cast in her
direction.
"Oh yes; he promised," replied Winnie assuredly. Then with a little
burst of vehemence--"Dear Aunt Judith, I wish to enjoy myself so very,
very much to-day, and be ever so happy."
All looked startled at the passion in the girl's voice, with the
exception of Aunt Debby, who viewed everything in a practical light.
"So, so! very good indeed," she said, knitting industriously, and with
added vigour. "We'll do our best to gratify your wish, child; and one
ought to be specially happy at this season of the year, I suppose."
The talk then became general, and Aunt Meg, laying aside her fretful
voice for the time being, wakened up and became the life of the small
party, chatting in such a pretty, graceful manner, and seeming
altogether so full of animation, that Winnie wondered if this could
really be the cross, peevish invalid Nellie had so often described.
Ere long, however, she learned that appearances are sometimes
deceitful, and that a gentle face and plaintive air can often be
assumed as occasion warrants. It so happened that just as Miss Deborah
was preparing to see about the tea the postman's knock sounded at the
door, and one of the dear home-letters was handed to Nellie.
"Please excuse me," she said to Winnie, breaking the seal and
commencing to read; "the children have been ill with scarlet fever, and
I am anxious to know if they are better."
The sheets were large and closely written, consequently some little
time was spent over them; but at length the last word was read, and
then Nellie, replacing the letter in its envelope, said with a happy
smile, "Mother writes the little ones are improving daily, and she
thinks they will soon be quite well. She sends you all her love, and
is glad to hear Aunt Meg is feeling so much stronger. She hopes, if
the improvement continues, to see either you, Aunt Judith, or Aunt
Debby home with me in the summer-time."
The invalid's face darkened, and Miss Deborah's merry orbs twinkled
ominously. Nothing suited Miss Margaret better than to pose as a
saintly sufferer, burdened day by day with a weary load of
never-ceasing pain. It was wonderfully pleasant at times to assume the
_rôle_ of the patient martyr, and talk of lonely days and nights borne
without murmuring. But once hint at any visible improvement, once
mention an increase of colour on the pallid cheeks or a clearer light
in the dimmed eyes, and Aunt Meg's wrath knew no bounds. Having
fathomed this secret in the invalid's nature, we can readily understand
the twinkle lurking in Aunt Debby's orbs as she scented the coming
storm.
"Who told you I was feeling better, Nellie?" demanded Miss Margaret;
and Winnie started at the anger in the voice, only a few minutes since
so soft and gentle. "Who gave you authority to utter--to write such a
falsehood? Better!" (with infinite scorn), "and my poor frame racked
with such excruciating pain. Do you imagine, because a load is borne
with unmurmuring patience, that the weight is gradually lessening and
the burden will soon be lifted? Answer me at once. Who dared to tell
you I was much stronger?"
Nellie's amazement was extreme, but she replied quietly, while Winnie
sat by Miss Latimer's side, every fibre of her mischievous nature
quivering with thorough enjoyment. "I only said what I believed to be
true, Aunt Meg. You have been looking better, and I heard Aunt Judith
telling a lady the other week that there was a very marked improvement
lately, and that she was thankful to be able to say so."
Miss Margaret cast a withering glance at Miss Latimer's quiet face.
"That is all in a piece with the rest of Judith's stinginess," she
observed sneeringly. "I know only too well why she speaks of being
thankful. Were I to regain my wonted strength, there would naturally
be less nourishing food required and fewer doctor's bills. Oh! I only
wish I could honestly say I feel a daily increase of health; but, alas!
the very thought of being a heavy burden and viewed in the light of a
constant nuisance helps to weaken and keep me low."
At this point Nellie drew Winnie towards the window and tried to engage
her in conversation; while Aunt Debby, lowering her voice, muttered,
audibly enough, however, for the girls to hear, "Don't make a fool of
yourself, Meg, and talk such utter rubbish."
The invalid's rage increased, and she was about to make some rejoinder,
when Miss Latimer interposed. "Hush, Margaret," said the quiet, gentle
voice; "for my sake do not speak so before the children. You know
perfectly well, dear, you are wilfully misinterpreting my words. I am
only too happy to be able to gladden your life in any way."
But the invalid refused to be pacified.
"Ah! I understand you, Judith. You do not wish to have your true
character exposed to the public. It suits you to pose as the saint
abroad, I suppose, and--" but here Miss Latimer interrupted her.
"Margaret," she replied firmly, "you must either be silent or leave the
room. I cannot listen to such conversation in the presence of our
guest; and if you refuse to comply one way or the other, I shall be
obliged to send the girls into my study."
"Oh no! not at all," returned Aunt Meg, her voice suddenly assuming the
most plaintive, martyr-like tone; "the house does not belong to
me.--Debby, will you assist me to my bedroom? and--no, Judith, I could
not think of troubling you; but perhaps Nellie would help her poor aunt
for once."
Now all this time Winnie had been enjoying the tragic scene immensely,
and shaking inwardly with suppressed laughter, greatly to Nellie's
distress.
"Oh, be quiet, Win; she will hear you," whispered the girl hurriedly,
as a low ripple of laughter was hastily smothered by a mock cough. But
the warning came too late. Aunt Meg caught the choking sound and in a
moment the saintly expression on her face gave place to one of intense
rage and indignation. This sudden transformation was too much for
Winnie's risible faculties. The whole affair struck her in such a
comical light that she lost all control over herself, and, with a wild
burst of stifled laughter fled hastily from the parlour to Nellie's
bedroom, where that young lady quickly followed.
"Close the door--close the door, Nell!" gasped Winnie, holding her
handkerchief to her mouth and vainly endeavouring to suppress the
laughter. "I know it's dreadfully wicked to behave in this manner, but
I can't help myself," and off the child went again; while Nellie,
unable to resist, joined in the merry peal. When both stopped at
length, the tears were running down their cheeks, at the sight of which
Winnie nearly repeated the performance. "This is awful," she panted,
wiping her eyes and fanning her hot cheeks violently; "but when I begin
to laugh I must just continue till I have emptied all the laughter out
of me: then I am all right. No, Nellie, do not go away yet; wait till
I am quite calm."
Before Nellie could reply, Aunt Debby opened the door, and looking in
shook her head admonishingly. "I should like to know if you are not
both ashamed of yourselves," she said severely; but there was laughter
lurking in her eyes and playing about the corners of her lips which
belied the severity of her words. Winnie jumped up, and throwing her
arms round the good lady's neck, replied, "I have been very rude and
naughty, dear Miss Deborah; but indeed I did not mean any harm," and
she held up her rosy mouth for a kiss of pardon.
"There, there, it's all right, child. I understand. Come down to the
parlour now; tea is ready." And with that, active, cheery Aunt Debby
trotted away, leaving the two culprits to follow at their leisure.