WILLETT'S FARM--TEA IN THE DINING-ROOM.
"Cherton! Cherton! Cherton!"
Inna sprang from the corner of her lonely carriage, and stepped out upon
the platform, helped by the kindly guard.
"Now, my dear, what's to be done? There's nobody here waiting for you,
as I see," said the man, looking up and down the small platform, where
she seemed to be the only arrival--she and her neat little trunk, which
a porter brought and set down at her feet.
"No, they don't know I'm coming," returned the child, with a sober shake
of her head.
"Where for, miss?" inquired the porter, as the guard looked at him.
"My--Mr. Willett's, at Willett's Farm," said Inna, in a sort of startled
importance at having to speak for herself.
"Do you know the way?" asked the man.
"No; but I should if you told me--I mean----"
"Yes, miss; I know what you mean," replied the porter, noting her
childish confusion. "I'll see to her, and send her safely," he promised
the busy guard, and took her small gloved hand in his, and led her away
out into the open road by the station, stretching away among fields, all
bathed in crimson and golden sunshine.
"Now, miss," said he, pointing with his finger, "you go along this road
and turn to your right, and along a lane, turn to your right, and along
another; don't turn to your left at all; then turn to your right again,
and there you are at Willett's Farm. Do you understand?" he asked
kindly, bending down to something like her height, so as to get her view
of the way.
"Yes, thank you; I must keep to the right all the way, and turn three
times--but I don't think I quite know what a farm is like," confessed
she bravely.
"Oh, miss, that's easy; there isn't another house before you reach the
farm--the village is above Willett's Farm."
"Thank you; then I'll think I'll go now."
"You'll not lose yourself? I'd go with you, but I expect another train
in almost directly, and there isn't a soul about here that I could send.
And about your box, miss: will you send for it?"
"Yes, I'll send for it; and--and I don't think I shall lose myself."
"Then good evening, miss." The porter touched his hat, and she bade him
"good evening" in return; then the child went wandering down the road
from the station--a blue dot in the evening sunshine.
Well, she took her three turnings to the right, and they brought her to
the farm, lying not far up the last lane; the farm-buildings--barn,
stable, and a whole clump of outbuildings--lying back from the road a
little, and all lit up by the last rays of sunset. The house looked out
upon the lane, where the shadows were gathering fast, under the
many-tinted elm trees overshadowing it. Three spotlessly white steps led
up to the front door, a strip of green turf lying each side, enclosed by
green iron railings, and shut in by a little green gate. A quaint old
house it was, with many crooks, corners, and gables, and small lattice
diamond-paned windows, through one of which gleamed the ruddy glow of a
fire. Ah! the air was crisp, the sun well-nigh gone, the evening
creeping on. Inna sighed, and, tripping through the little green gate,
mounted the three white steps, and, by dint of straining, reached up,
and knocked with the knocker almost as loudly as a timid mouse. But it
brought an answer, in the shape of a middle-aged woman, in a brown stuff
gown, white apron and cap, dainty frillings of lace encircling her face.
A sober face it was, yet kindly, peering down in astonishment at our
small heroine, standing silent there among the deepening shadows in the
crisp chilly air.
"Well, dearie, what is it?" she questioned, as the child opened her lips
to speak, and said nothing.
"I'm Inna: please may I come in and tell you all about it?" asked the
silvery tongue then.
"Yes, of course--that is, if you have anything to tell;" and with this
the woman made way for the little girl to pass her, and shut the door.
"This way," she said; and that was to the kitchen.
Such a clean, cheery, comfortable place, with its wood fire filling it
with ruddy glow and warmth, which was like a silent welcome.
"Now, who's ill and wants a doctor? Sick folks' messengers shouldn't
lag," said the woman, scanning her visitor as they both stood in the
firelight glow.
"Oh, nobody is ill; and I only--I mean--I don't know where to begin,"
was the bewildering answer.
"Well, of course you know what brought you," suggested the other.
"Oh, the train brought me; and I've come to stay here."
"You have?" asked the woman.
"Yes; because Uncle Jonathan gave mamma a home once, when she was a
little girl; and she said he would me, if she sent me."
"And who are you? and who's your mamma?"
"I'm Inna; and mamma is Uncle Jonathan's niece."
"You aren't Miss Mercy's daughter?" said the woman.
"Yes, I'm Miss Mercy's daughter; and now, please, may I sit down?"
asked the little tired voice.
"Yes, poor little unwelcome lamb; I'll not be the one to deny that to
Miss Mercy's daughter. Come here;" and she set her own cushioned
rocking-chair forward on the hearth. "But where is Miss Mercy? and why
did she send you here?"
"Mamma is gone abroad with papa. Some people are afraid he's dying;
and"--Inna's heart was full--"I've a letter in my pocket for Uncle
Jonathan, to tell him all about it."
"Well, well, this will be news for master--unwelcome news, I'm
thinking," muttered the woman as to herself, but speaking aloud.
"Do you mean I shan't be welcome?" asked a strained little voice from
the rocking-chair.
"Well, dearie, welcome or not, here you are, and here you must stay for
to-night, at any rate. You see, Dr. Willett has one child on his hands
already, and he's a handful. I doubt if he'll want another. But then, we
must all have what we don't want sometimes--eh, miss?"
To this Inna sighed a troubled little "Yes."
Then Mrs. Grant--for she it was--bethought her to help her off with her
jacket and hat, and inquired had she any belongings at the station? Yes,
she had a trunk there; and an unknown Will--at least, unknown to
Inna--was despatched for it.
"But maybe you'd like some tea?" suggested the housekeeper.
"Yes, I should, please," the little lady assured her, folding her jacket
neatly, as she had been taught.
"Well, they're just having tea in the dining-room. Come along."
No use for Inna to shrink or shiver, for Mrs. Grant was leading the way
to those unknown tea-drinkers of whom she was to form one; the
fire-light from the kitchen showing them the way along a passage. Then a
door was opened, and the small shiverer thrust in, not unkindly, with
the words--
"A little lady come for a bit and a sup with you, sir."
Then the door closed, and she was in another fire-lit room. A lamp, too,
burnt on a table in front of a wood fire, on which was laid a quaint
old-fashioned tea equipage, with a hissing urn, and all complete. On
the hearth knelt a lad, making toast; and by his side, leaning against
the mantelpiece, was a tall man--red-haired, with streaks of grey in
that of both head and closely-clipped beard. He had keen grey eyes,
which seemed to scan Inna through; a small mouse-like figure by the
door, afraid to advance.
"Oscar, where are your manners?" asked the gentleman, "to treat a lady
in this way, when she's thrust upon you?"
Thrust: here was another word which seemed to say she was not welcome.
"I beg your pardon," lisped the child, thinking she ought to speak.
"No, no; a lady is very like a king--she never does wrong or needs
pardon; 'tis this great lout of a boy here that is the aggressor."
Whereupon the somewhat awkward, shy lad on the hearth laid down knife
and toasting-fork, and came towards her.
"Well, whoever you are, will you please sit here?" said he, setting her
a chair by the table, and taking another himself behind the urn.
"With a lady in the room, you'll never do that," said the gentleman,
spying comically at him from where he still stood on the hearth, as the
boy began to brew the tea.
"Oh no, thank you; I couldn't manage the urn," said Inna.
"I thought not," growled Oscar, a big, handsome, fair-haired boy of
eleven, with grey-blue eyes. "And now, here I am without a cup for you."
Inna had not taken the seat he offered her by the table, but had glided
round to the gentleman on the hearth. Oscar made a bolt from the room to
fetch a cup and saucer.
"Won't you say you will like to have me here, Uncle--Uncle Jonathan?"
she asked hesitatingly. Such a mite she was, glancing up at the tall
red-haired gentleman turning grey, such blushes coming and going in her
cheeks.
"My dear little lady, I think you're just the one element wanting in our
male community: a little girl in our midst will save us from settling
down into the savages we're fast becoming," replied the gentleman,
glancing down in an amused way at her from his superior height.
"Well, isn't that welcome enough?" he asked, still with that comical
smile, as Inna gave a puzzled glance at him, as if not quite
comprehending his high talk, and fumbling in her dress pocket.
"I have a letter that will tell you all about me--why I've come, you
know," said she.
"Ah yes, Dr. Willett's letter," he remarked, taking the missive from her
and balancing it between his finger and thumb. Just then Oscar came back
with a rush.
"I know all about you, and who you are," said he, putting down the cup
and saucer he had brought with a clatter. "You're a sort of half-cousin
of mine, and a great-niece of Uncle Jonathan's," he blurted out.
"Well, since you know so much, suppose you come here and enlighten your
new half-cousin as to who I am. She has mistaken me for her uncle--and
naturally too, since you, as host for the time being, were rude enough
not to introduce us."
At this reproach Oscar left his tea-making, and approached the two: Inna
with burning cheeks, at her mistake about this unknown gentleman, not
her uncle.
"Well, this is Mr. Barlow--Dr. Barlow, some people call him, but he's
no such thing; he's a surgeon, and the one who plays David to Uncle
Jonathan--you understand?" questioned the boy, with humour sparkling in
his blue-grey eyes.
"Yes," nodded Inna shyly; "his very dear friend, you mean."
"Yes, that's about the figure," was the response, while the two bowed
with ceremony.
"And now, I am--tell Mr. Barlow who I am, please," pleaded the small
maiden.
"Well, this is Miss Inna Weston, the daughter of a certain Mercy
Willett, niece of Jonathan Willett, Doctor, who lived here years ago,
before my time. Now, old man, come to tea." With this, the boy slapped
the other on the arm with pleasant familiarity, and went back to his
tea-making.
Mr. Barlow led Inna to her seat, and saw her comfortable there, taking
his own chair beside her, while Oscar sat with his back to the
fire--like a cat on a frosty night, Mr. Barlow told him. Inna wondered
where her uncle was, but asked no questions as yet--only munched away at
her toast in her dainty way, and sipped her tea, trying hard to feel
that she was at home. As for Oscar, he made such sloppy work with the
urn, that Mr. Barlow had to say presently--
"Don't make a sea of the table, boy. You see what incapable creatures
we are, Miss Inna. I never could make tea, and your own eyes tell you
what Oscar can do."
"I suppose Uncle Jonathan makes tea when he is here," was Inna's reply.
At which the two gentlemen looked comically at each other.
"Well, I can't say I ever saw the doctor come down from the clouds
enough for that," observed Mr. Barlow dryly; "but I hope his little
great-niece--am I right in the pedigree, Oscar?--will set us to rights,
and bring in the age of civilisation for us."
Inna could but laugh a tinkling laugh at this, and asked timidly, "Do
you live here, Mr. Barlow?"
"No, dear; but I'm here morning, noon, and night. My head-quarters are
at Mrs. Tussell's, whose name ought to be, now, guess what?"
People must suppose she had an aptitude for guessing, Inna thought, and
asked with rosy cheeks was it "Fussy"?
"Just the word; only you mustn't tell her so," was the reply; at which
Inna shook her head, and said she could not be so rude. Then came the
sound of the doctor's gig outside the house, a step and a voice in the
passage.
"He'll not come in here, dear," Mr. Barlow told Inna, seeing her start
and change colour; "he'll have a cup of tea in his den, as we call it,"
at which Oscar nodded, and said, "And a good name too!"
Tea over, Mr. Barlow rose, and said "Good-bye for to-night, Miss Inna;
David is going to Jonathan," patted her head, and was gone.
"Is his real name David?" she asked shyly of this cousin she had no idea
of finding at Uncle Jonathan's; nor had her mamma either, she decided in
her own mind.
"No; William--Billy Barlow they call him in the village, only I didn't
say so just now," returned Oscar drily.
"Mind your lessons, Master Oscar," said Mrs. Grant, when she came in to
fetch the tea equipage.
"Fudge!" was the boy's response, he and Inna established on the hearth,
roasting chestnuts; and they were still there when Dr. Willett surprised
them by a footfall close behind them.
Up sprang Inna, like a startled daisy.
"So you're Mercy's little daughter?" said he, by way of greeting.