Into a
New Home
PATTIE DALE was very young, and not much versed in the ways of the
world. Nevertheless, she had eyes and ears, and she knew how to use
them.
It had not escaped her attention, in these few days of trouble, that
Cragg's kindness was all his own action, and not that of his wife.
She had noted that he seldom spoke of Mrs. Cragg, that when he did
speak, it was in a dubious and uncomfortable manner, that he brought
no message of sympathy from Mrs. Cragg, that Mrs. Cragg never came
with him.
Though she did not count it needful to tell him, she was not in
absolute ignorance of what had passed between him and her father.
A few minutes after her return to the sick-room, Mr. Dale had
whispered feebly, "Lean down, dear. Listen to me, Pattie. That is a
good man,—a good man! He will take care of you. He will give my Pattie
a home—always—for always. He promised—promised me." Then, before
Pattie could ask any questions, or could, if so disposed, make any
protest, insensibility had come on. Those were her father's last
conscious words.
None the less, Pattie thought things over. She recalled her
impressions about Mrs. Cragg, and she decided privately that,
whatever Cragg in his kindness of heart might intend, it was by no
means certain that his wife would agree with him. She also thought
that in any case she could not be content to live a life of
dependence. If Cragg should offer her a home, she might go to him for
a while, but certainly not for always. She fully meant to work for her
own living. Sixteen is, however, young for making one's way in life,
especially without previous training, and Pattie knew this.
Cragg did make the offer, and Pattie, while falling in with it, let
him understand that she did not look upon the plan as permanent. She
kept her own counsel, and would not show how much she knew. It seemed
to her that he and she would both be more free, if he was unaware how
much she had heard.
Mrs. Cragg on the day after the funeral was not very agreeable.
She asked her husband no questions, but glowered sulkily. He told her
after breakfast that Pattie was coming before night, and inquired
where she was to sleep.
"How am I to know?" was Mrs. Cragg's reply. "I don't keep rooms for
taking in of riff-raff."
"Pattie Dale is no more riff-raff than you and I are!" Cragg was
roused to reply firmly. Things had reached a point when he would
either have to set his foot down firmly, or to give way and break
his word.
"I know what she is. I knew it the first moment I set eyes on those
two."
"My dear, it really does not matter what you may imagine them to have
been. Mr. Dale is dead, and I have—I intend to provide for his child,
at all events until she can do for herself."
"You have—what?"
"I have made up my mind to do as much as that." Cragg wished now that
he had been more open.
"There's the workhouse."
"She will not go to the workhouse so long as I can prevent it."
"She could get a place, I suppose—if she ain't too grand."
"My dear, Pattie is coming here for the present."
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"There's only one other way," Cragg said suddenly. "If she isn't happy
here, and doesn't wish to stay, then I shall have to pay for her being
taken in by somebody else. It will cost more, and I've none too much
money to spare. But if things come to that, why, it will have to be,
and we must save in another direction. So now I hope you understand."
"I always said you were crazy about those Dales." But it was plain
that Mrs. Cragg did understand. The idea of drawing in elsewhere was,
unwelcome; and she thought better of some previous resolutions. She
had meant to make the arrangement so far unpleasant to Pattie, that
Pattie would speedily wish to go. Since that scheme could only end
in her having less money to spend, she began to take a different view
of the matter. If Pattie had to come, the best plan would be to make
use of the girl.
These ideas passed through Mrs. Cragg's mind. While Cragg was still
meditating on his last words and on her reply, she had travelled miles
ahead, and her next remark took him by surprise:
"Well, if it's got to be—though I don't hold with you, mind, and I
think a man's first duty is to his own wife and children—"
"But not his whole duty, surely!"
"That's another question, Mr. Cragg. What I was saying was, that I
think a man's duty is to his wife and children, and not to any sort
of riff-raff he can pick up anywhere. But if it's got to be, it's got
to be; and I suppose she can have that little room at the back, on the
ground floor. It isn't wanted particular for anything else,
I suppose?"
"It'll want making comfortable."
"People living on charity have no business to expect grandeur."
"My dear, if you would but be reasonable! Who spoke of grandeur?
I simply wish the room to be made comfortable. In an hour or two
I will take a look at it. A bed is easily put there, and—but I will
see what is wanted. Pattie will not be here till late in the
afternoon. I have promised to fetch her."
"As if she couldn't walk alone. What's the good of making a fine lady
of her? Hasn't she got any furniture of her own? Why isn't it brought
up out of the mine?"
"A few attempts have been made, but the things are so broken as to be
almost useless."
"I suppose she can take her meals with the servants?"
"No, my dear. She will sit at table with us. I wish her to be one of
ourselves. When you have learnt to know Pattie, you will feel as I
do."
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"Well, if she comes here, she ain't going to be idle. I shall give her
something to do."
"I am sure Pattie would wish to be useful. But she must not have hard
work."
Cragg thought he had said enough, and he made his escape. Busy as he
was, he did not forget to take a look into the small room, and it was
owing to him that, when he brought her that afternoon, the said little
room wore a cosy and comfortable appearance. Pattie glanced round with
pleased eyes.
"How nice! What a dear room! I shall like to sleep here," she said
gratefully.
Cragg wondered how she would like something else in the house. He had
to present Pattie to his wife, and that meant an ordeal for himself,
as well as for the unconscious Pattie.
Not that Pattie was so unconscious as he supposed. She had not the
least expectation of a warm reception from Mrs. Cragg. And if her eyes
did open rather widely at the first sight of the latter, it was not in
surprise at the greeting vouchsafed, but in amazement at Mrs. Cragg's
green velveteen jacket and red feather. Pattie's slim figure, in black
skirt and jacket, with neat crape-trimmed hat, made an effective
contrast.
"So you've come?" said Mrs. Cragg, looking her up and down.
"Mr. Cragg was so kind; he fetched me," Pattie answered, with a glow
of gratitude.
"I'm sure I don't know how he managed it. He never has time to do
anything I want. Always too busy."
"My dear, I really don't know that you have wanted anything to-day."
"If you had known, it wouldn't have made a grain or difference. You'd
have had too much to see to, going off there."
Cragg looked apologetically towards Pattie.
"But I could have come alone," Pattie said quietly. "I dare say
I should have felt a little shy, because I didn't know you; but that
wouldn't have mattered. I could easily have done it. And then Mr.
Cragg could have seen to whatever you wanted. I'm so sorry you didn't
tell about it."
What could Mrs. Cragg say? There was no room for a sharp answer
to Pattie's gentleness.
"And now you know my wife, I want you to know my little girl," Cragg
said, delighted with Pattie's mode of meeting his wife's humour.
He began to hope that things would go better than he had ventured
to expect.
"Little Dot! I should like that so much. I love children."
"Here she comes!" exclaimed Cragg.
Dot made her appearance after her own fashion: calmly and
deliberately, with small head held well up, and light-grey eyes
widely-opened. She ignored her own relatives, and advanced straight
towards Pattie. Then disappointment fell upon the infant mind.
"You'm not that poo-ar lickle girl. You'm drown-up,' she asserted.
"What a little darling!" murmured Pattie.
"All drown-up," repeated Dot, in profound disappointment.
"But I'm not grown up; truly I'm not. I am only a girl still, Dot.
Not really grown up. And I love games of play. May I play with you
sometimes? And I love reading stories aloud. May I read to you?"
"Pay glames and lead to me all day long," declared Dot, without an
instant's hesitation. She seized Pattie's hand to draw her away.
"But, hallo, Dot,—you're forgetting me. Not a word for-poor old
daddy!" protested her father.
Dot stopped and gave him a perfunctory kiss, then returned to Pattie.
"Pay glames and lead," she repeated. "Tome along."
Pattie looked at Mrs. Cragg.
"May I go?" she asked. "May I take care of Dot sometimes for you?"
Mrs. Cragg assented, not too graciously, and Pattie vanished, led by
the fat little hands of Dot. Cragg looked at his wife.
"Well?" he said.
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"Well, I just say the same, Mr. Cragg. I hold that a man's duty is to
his own, and not to a pack of strangers. But if she's got to be here,
she may as well be useful. If she likes to look after Dot, she's
welcome; so long as she don't spoil the child worse than she's spoilt
already. You've done enough that way, I hope. There's no managing her
when she hears your voice. Not a child in the town is worse spoilt
than Dot. And I say it's a shame."
"My dear, she's an uncommon good child. Why, Dot never cries."
"If she don't cry, she gets her own way a lot too much. You're for
ever fussing about her. And if Pattie Dale is going to do the same,
she'll be unbearable."
"Come, come, my dear. If people want a grievance, they can always make
one."
"I suppose you mean to say that I'm making a grievance, Mr. Cragg!"
Mr. Cragg had had that thought in his mind, but he wisely held his
tongue, and ventured on no further remarks.
Pattie spent a happy hour with Dot. As she had said, she dearly loved
children, and Dot, though not pretty, was clever and winning and
lovable. Few children, indeed, fail to be lovable, and Dot was not one
of those few.
Pattie had been feeling very sore at heart and desolate; and nothing
could well have comforted her more than Dot's soft arms round her
neck, and Dot's smiling face close to her own. Before ten minutes were
over the two had become fast friends; and Pattie knew that, though
life in this house might mean divers rubs, and perhaps a great many
harsh words, it would also mean a dear little friend and companion.
When Dot went to bed, Pattie had to go to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Cragg,
and that event she had been dreading. Still, it could not be escaped,
and she was quietly brave in meeting the duties of life, one after
another, without needless fears and complainings. At the sight of her
placid face, Cragg was aware of a satisfied feeling. Tête-à-tête meals
with a person of Mrs. Cragg's temperament were apt to flag, since five
times in six she was sure to be offended at something said or not
said. Pattie's presence made a change. Mrs. Cragg seemed to be under
some slight restraint, and she was not quite so tart as usual; while
Cragg had one to whom he could make remarks, which he found to be an
advantage.
But when tea was ended, somebody called Cragg away, and Pattie was
left alone with Mrs. Cragg.
Mrs. Cragg eyed her curiously, expecting to see signs of
embarrassment. There were not any, however. Pattie looked tired and
sad, but not embarrassed.
"Shall I help to clear away the tea things?" she asked. "I always did
at home."
"Well, yes, you may as well, I suppose."
Pattie at once set to work, with light, dexterous hands which made no
noise, and Mrs. Cragg idly watched her.
"What made you and your father come to this place?" she demanded.
A faint flush rose in answer.
"We were leaving our old home, and father wanted to live in a country
place."
"What made you leave your home? Where was it? How long did you live
there?"
"A great many years. Ever since I was a little child."
"Then why should you have come away?"
"Father wished it."
"What for?" Mrs. Cragg was not troubled by delicate scruples when she
wished to gain information.
"He had lost the work he used to do. There was no need for us to stay
there any longer."
"What sort of work was it?"
"He was an accountant in a small bank—a branch bank."
"Where? And what was the name of the bank?"
Pattie was silent.
"Where was it, I say?"
"I don't think I ought to tell you, Mrs. Cragg. Father wished me not
to talk of those days to anybody. He told me so when first we came."
"What for?"
"We had trouble there. He had, I mean. He did not tell me all. He had
done nothing wrong. It was not that. It was something he could not
help. And when we came away, he said I was not to talk about our last
home. So I would rather not, please."
"But if you live with us, child, we've a right to know. Why, dear me,
what rubbish! How can I tell that you're a proper person to have in
the house, if you won't say more, or a nice companion for Dot? I never
heard such nonsense in my life! Of course you've got to tell whatever
we want to know. Your father might have been—anything—" as Pattie's
quiet eyes gave a slight flash. "There mustn't be any mysteries.
I shall just speak to Mr. Cragg."
"I am afraid I cannot tell more," Pattie said gently. "I must do what
my father wished—even now."
"You've got to do what I wish, if you mean to stay in the house—that's
certain!"
"I must do what father wished," repeated Pattie.
"It isn't a question now of what he wished, but of what Mr. Cragg and
I choose. If you're going to be here, you've got to be open and
above-board. I can't abide secrets and mysteries. Don't you see, girl?
Why, what do we know about you and your people? Haven't you got any
uncles or aunts?"
"No; none."
"Nor any friends? It's they that ought to see after you. That's what
I think."
"They don't know where I am. Father did not wish that they should.
I am going to work for myself. As soon as possible I shall find
something to do."
Mrs. Cragg tossed her head.
"You look like it! Who'd take such a child as you? If you have
friends, you ought to write to them—not expect to be cared for by
strangers. I never heard of such a way of going on! Of course they'll
want to know where you are. And if your father did anything wrong—"
"My father did nothing wrong."
"They wouldn't visit it on you, at any rate," finished Mrs. Cragg.
"You'd best tell me and Mr. Cragg all about it, and then we can advise
you how to manage."
Pattie was silent.
"Well! D'you hear?" asked Mrs. Cragg sharply.
"Yes. I am very sorry; I can't do as you wish."
"Can't do what?" said Cragg, coming in.
"Who was it you went to see?" asked his wife.
That turned Cragg's thoughts, and he put no more questions. But Pattie
knew that Mrs. Cragg would not let the matter drop.