QUEENIE'S COUNSELLOR.
"Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident,--
It is the very place God meant for thee;
And should'st thou there small scope for action see
Do not for this give room to discontent."--_Trench._
Ted had proved himself an able steward, and a sufficiently luxurious
luncheon had been conjured up for their refreshment.
Queenie had never in her life been present at a stranger picnic,--a
table had been set at the base of a jutting cliff, and boxes and
emptied hampers formed rude seats for the party. The brothers
presided, and Ted's boyish face beamed with innocent satisfaction at
the result of his successful management. "Isn't this first-rate," he
whispered to Queenie who sat beside him. "Not a drop of rain to
spoil enjoyment, and only enough wind to blow the table-cloth off
once. We broke one bottle of cream, but that's nothing; you must
have some champagne. Garth always does things handsomely for the
ladies. Miss Cosie," persuasively, "you will have just half a glass
to drink Garth's health?"
"My dear, not a drop; what an idea, and I a total abstainer!" and
Miss Cosie's big curls quite shook with excitement. "I wish you and
your dear brother would think with me on this subject. If only more
of his men would sign the pledge; fancy Hepshaw without a single
public-house! why it would be paradise over again," continued the
little woman, patting his coatsleeve in her energy; "but there,
there, my dear, we can't expect old heads on young shoulders."
After luncheon the party broke up into twos and threes. Garth had
half-an-hour's business to transact; Ted volunteered to help Miss
Faith and Cathy in their search for ferns; Langley and Miss Cosie
superintended the repacking of hampers; while Captain Fawcett
strolled with Mr. Chester across the moor, leaving his wife in
delighted guard over the two children. Queenie had declined to join
in the fern scramble, and she and Mr. Logan seated themselves on some
granite boulders; there Garth found them on his return. More than an
hour had elapsed, the rest of the party had disappeared. Nan and
Emmie were playing at fortifications among the rocks. A merry voice
from the cliff above called to Mr. Logan; he pushed his spectacles
off his forehead in a perplexed way as he rose slowly in obedience to
the summons.
"You and I will talk about this again, my dear young lady, we have
plenty of time; nothing need be settled in a hurry. I confess you
have taken me somewhat by surprise, but I will promise you that I
will think well over it, and let you know."
"What are you and the Vicar prosing about?" asked Garth with
good-humored curiosity, as he threw himself down on an old shepherd's
plaid beside her, and stretched himself luxuriously. "Has the dear
old pedant been treating you to the results of some of his
antiquarian researches? You look tired and grave, Miss Marriott."
"Because I am discussing a grave subject," she returned, rather
nervously, pulling at some grasses that grew between the stones, and
splitting the thin stalks of the weeds as she spoke. "I was asking
Mr. Logan's advice about something; most likely he will speak to you;
at least he said he recommended me to speak myself," faltered
Queenie, growing pale all at once with the difficulty of imparting
her plans to a stranger.
"You are in some uncertainty; you want advice, assistance, and you do
not like to trust such new acquaintances," he replied quietly, with
such thorough comprehension of her unusual diffidence, and with such
evident intention of breaking through it, that Queenie's
uncomfortable timidity yielded a little.
"I am only a stranger among you, and I have no right to trouble you
with my affairs; only Mr. Logan said--" but he interrupted her with
good-humored peremptoriness.
"You shall tell me by-and-bye what Mr. Logan said. Let us settle
this little piece of business first. I like to be troubled with
other people's affairs, it is a hobby of mine, and makes me feel of
more consequence;" and then, a little gravely, "I do not look upon my
sister's intimate friends as strangers.'
"You are very kind," hesitating.
"We mean to be, if you will allow us such a privilege, Miss Marriott.
I hope you mean to tell us how we can be of service to you and your
little sister. You want advice, you say? I am not as clever as Mr.
Logan; but then, every one knows business men are more practical than
the clergy. Supposing you tell me all about it, your plan and
everything," finished Garth, in a comfortable, matter-of-fact tone,
as he stretched himself again on the shepherd's plaid, but at the
same time he shot a keen anxious glance at the young face above him;
and, indeed, the sadness in Queenie's brown eyes might have touched a
harder heart than Garth's.
"There is little to say," she replied, with a quick flush. It was
one thing telling her troubles to Mr. Logan, who was kind and
fatherly, and who looked about fifty, whatever his age might be; but
to tell them to this young man, who spoke to her with such pleasant
peremptoriness, who was at once gentle and yet masterful, who never
let her forget for a moment that he was Garth Clayton of Warstdale,
well, it was different. And yet he might be able to help her and
Emmie.
"Oh, it is so painful to have to trouble you with such things," she
said with a little impatience and quiver of suppressed annoyance in
her voice; "that is the worst of being a woman, that one must be
helpless, and trouble people."
"I rather enjoy this sort of trouble," he replied coolly; "I like to
be of use, and to give advice. We are only wasting time, and the
others will be back. Supposing you tell me all about it," continued
Garth, with a bright persuasive smile, quite comprehending her
difficulty, but making light of it in his masculine way. "I am years
younger than the Vicar, but you will find that we business men are
just as much to be trusted."
"Yes; I know. I think men have the best of it in everything,"
continued poor Queenie, ashamed of her irritation, and yet conscious
of feeling it all the time. "They are independent, they can carve
out their own lot in life; it is women only who are so helpless.
After all, there is little to tell. I am not ashamed of being poor;
I never was in my life. I want to work for myself and Emmie, and I
think I have found something that will suit me in Hepshaw."
"In Hepshaw!" Garth raised himself on his elbow, and gazed at her in
unfeigned astonishment.
"Yes; it is humble, but I know it will suit me; and then Emmie will
have country air, and we shall not be separated. You look surprised,
Mr. Clayton; surely you guess what I mean! Cathy tells me that you
are going to lose your girls' school-mistress, and I want Mr. Logan
to elect me in her stead."
"And what did he say?" asked Garth in a tone of such utter
bewilderment that Queenie nearly laughed.
"He seemed almost as astonished as you are, and tried by every means
in his power to dissuade me. He said it was absurd to throw away
myself and my talents on a village school, that--"
"He was right, of course," returned Garth, interrupting her; "we must
do better for you than this, Miss Marriott; the scheme cannot be
entertained for a moment. Why our school-mistress has only forty
pounds a-year! We might make it fifty, perhaps; but for a lady-- He
is right; it is too absurd."
"Hush! please do not make up your mind that it is impossible. I have
set my heart upon this, ever since I came; and Cathy told me the
school-mistress was gone. I want it for Emmie's sake, because she
must have country air, and we cannot be separated. We would rather
starve on a crust together than be separated," continued Queenie,
speaking with feverish energy, and the tears springing to her eyes.
"But, Miss Marriott--"
"But, Mr. Clayton, you must listen to me, please. I have no such
grand prospects before me; a junior teacher in a school cannot
command a high salary. If I went back to Carlisle it would only be
drudgery over again, with no Emmie. No; you must hear me," silencing
him as he attempted to speak: "this is a wiser plan than you think.
I have forty pounds a-year of my own, it is nothing very great, but
it all helps; and then I might give French lessons to Mrs. Morris's
children in the evening. Cathy says Mrs. Morris is so anxious for
them to have lessons; she and I were awake half the night planning
it, and Cathy said--"
"Well, what did she say?" as Queenie paused.
"That I must speak to you and Mr. Logan, and that you would be sure
to help me. There is that little cottage of Captain Fawcett's to be
let; we were looking at it yesterday. Do you think it would be very
dear?" asked Queenie anxiously. "It would do so nicely for Emmie and
me, if the rent were not too high."
"Do you mean that ramshackle wilderness of a cottage just fronting
the lane?"
"Yes; it would be very pretty if it were only freshened up a little,
and the garden put in order."
"Well, it might not be so bad," returned Garth reluctantly. "Rents
are not very high here; I dare say Fawcett would let you have it for
about fifteen pounds a-year, and do it up properly besides. Let me
see, there was some furniture belonging to it, that will go for a
mere song."
"I forgot about the furniture," owned Queenie candidly. "We must be
content with very little at first, just a table and a few chairs or
so. I have only a few pounds to spare, but Caleb would advance me
the rest. Fifteen pounds a-year! do you really think that Captain
Fawcett will let the cottage to us for that?"
"I can answer for it, certainly he will. You can leave that part to
me; you need not distress yourself about that little matter of
detail; as far as that goes I can promise to secure your election
to-morrow. All I want to know is, if you be serious in this matter?"
"Mr. Clayton, how can you ask me such a question?"
"I call it a monstrous notion."
"Then we will not argue about it at all."
"Impracticable and absurd to the last degree. Good heavens, Miss
Marriott!" flinging back his head with a gesture of mingled
excitement and wrath, "have you no friend or relative to stand by
you, and prevent you from throwing yourself away on this miserable
pittance?"
"I have one very good friend, but he is poor," returned the girl, and
then she sighed. Something in Garth's manner--his assumed roughness,
his suppressed wrath, the sudden break and softening of his voice as
he uttered his short remonstrance--touched and yet pained her. What
would it be to have a brother to work for her when she needed
support, a strong arm that could protect her in times of emergency!
Poor self-reliant Queenie felt her bravery oozing out. Suddenly a
pang of self-pity crossed her as she pictured the future. Would it
always be work and drudgery for herself and Emmie? must she for ever
go through life with this weak burthen round her neck, toiling,
toiling, with the child's feeble hand in hers?
"Friends will not be wanting to us; heaven helps those who help
themselves," she cried with a clasp of her hands and another
involuntary sigh. "I am not afraid--not often, I mean. I prayed for
work; and now work has come, and I do not mean to shrink from it. I
hope you and your sisters will not be ashamed of knowing me when I am
only a village school-mistress. Are you sure you will not mind--for
your sisters, I mean? turning on him a little anxiously.
"Do you think such a question deserves an answer?" somewhat
reproachfully. "You do not know us yet, Miss Marriott. We shall
honor you more in your poverty and independence than if you came
amongst us rolling in riches. Rich people are my abhorrence, women
especially. Agar's prayer--'Give me neither poverty nor
wealth'--always pleased me. I am an odd fellow, and have my hobbies
and facts like other men--this is one of them."
"It is a very comfortable one, as far as I am concerned. Then you
will promise to help me with your influence with Mr. Logan and
Captain Fawcett?"
"I suppose I must, if you will let me have my grumble out first.
Recollect, I enter my remonstrance; I do not approve of your scheme
in the least."
"You have made me understand that most fully."
"I denounce it as moral suicide."
"I call that exaggeration."
"You are burying yourself alive under a mistaken notion of
self-sacrifice; and mark my words, I am no true prophet if you do not
live to repent it."
"On the contrary, I intend to be very happy. Cathy is going to help
me with my garden, and we mean to read German together."
"I hope you will allow your friends to subscribe for your funeral if
the crust should prove not quite so sufficing as you imagine?"
"You need not fear anything so tragic; Emmie and I mean to flourish
on our crusts as much as Daniel and the three children did on their
pulse and water," returned Queenie gaily, whose spirits had risen now
her formidable task was achieved. "I shall speak to them both
to-morrow, and get it off my mind," she had said to Cathy the
previous night, when they had discussed the grand question in all its
bearings, under cover of the summer darkness, and with the scent of
Langley's roses steeping the air. "There is no time to be lost; Mr.
Logan is writing to Carlisle for a mistress, and I must speak to him
at once."
Queenie's buoyancy had returned, but Garth remained silent. He had
done his duty, and uttered his protest against this monstrous scheme,
which, nevertheless, he was bound to further by all means in his
power.
"Quixotic, absurd, girlish to the last degree," he muttered to
himself, and yet he felt he respected and liked the girl all the
better for her modest independence. Two days ago they had been
strangers, and now they had entered on a mutual league of friendship
and support. "I have promised to see you through this, so you may
leave all business details to me," he said with a little
condescension, which, in spite of everything, amused Queenie.
"Half-measures are not in my line; if you want help from me you will
be sure to get it," finished Garth; and Queenie felt amused and
grateful in a breath.
Garth was a little silent after this; the young man felt an odd
thrill, half painful and half pleasant, at the recognition of this
new responsibility. This young stranger had unconsciously thrown
herself upon his protection. In asking his advice she had appealed
strongly to his generosity. To be sure, Queenie would not have read
matters in this light, indeed, would have rebelled at such a
statement; but Garth judged otherwise. Tenderness to all weakness
was inherent in his nature; women, children, and animals always
trusted themselves involuntarily to him; his shoulders were broad
enough to incur a mass of responsibility that would have crushed most
people. "It was Garth's chief happiness to help people," his sisters
always said. True, he must help them in his own way, and they must
submit to his good-natured dictates, flavored a little arbitratively
perhaps; but his sympathy and ready help would always be forthcoming.
No one ever appealed to Garth Clayton's generosity in vain.
He was silent for a long time after this, revolving all sorts of
schemes for the sisters' benefit. Once or twice, as she sat beside
him, he glanced at her with kindly scrutiny. "She was not much like
a village school-mistress," he thought, as he noted the quiet,
refined face, the pretty figure, the brown dress enlivened with the
knot of white rose-buds, the hat with the pheasant's plume. "Where
has she picked up that air of finish and elegance? it struck me from
the first. I suppose some fellows would give anything to be in my
place," thought the young philosopher, a little elated, and yet
puzzled at his own position. "She is very unlike Dora, quite a
contrast; they are neither of them pretty, at least not strictly so.
Dora is the more attractive, but Miss Marriott's eyes are wonderful;
I never saw any in the least like them, not that I concern myself
about such matters," finished the patriarch of eight-and-twenty,
pulling his moustache with an amused air.
But for all that he roused himself rather reluctantly as Cathy and
Mr. Logan came towards them, dragging a large basket of ferns between
them. Cathy looked hot and flushed, and just a trifle perturbed.
She left her hold of the basket a little impatiently, and flung
herself down by Queenie.
"How provokingly cool you two look. Here have Ted and I been working
like galley-slaves, until Mr. Logan chose to come and break in on our
work."
"She was overtiring herself, so I took away the trowel," returned Mr.
Logan, with an expression of quiet humor. "Moderation in everything,
Miss Catherine, even in fern-hunting. St. Paul's rule is the best."
"I like to be my own taskmaster," grumbled Cathy, who seemed to be in
one of her impracticable moods. "Queen, for pity's sake come with me
for a run across the moor. I have been so long with Miss Faith and
Mr. Logan that I shall have a 'break out' directly, as the prison
matron calls it, unless I associate for a little with less
desperately good people. Moderation even in this is the best rule,"
continued Cathy aggravatingly, drawing up her graceful figure, and
darting a defiant look at Mr. Logan. "After all, St. Paul was right;
so come along, Queenie."
"Kitty, whatever has put you into such a bad temper?" asked her
friend affectionately, linking her arm in the girl's as they crossed
the tramway.
"I don't know; he treats me like a child, and I will not bear it. He
puts me in one of my tantrums, and then pities and drives me wild
with that gentle way of his. I hate to feel so ashamed of myself,
and he knows it."
"But what is it all about?" asked Queenie, a little bewildered at
this sudden storm.
"Oh, I don't know, I never do know, that is just the aggravating
part. I say something in my usual way, and then he puts me down and
argues with me, and proves that he is right and I am wrong; and then
when I get cross, and human nature won't bear such an amount of
contradiction,--at least mine won't,--he just says I am tired, and
takes away my trowel. I know all the time he is laughing at me in
his quiet way, and saying to himself, 'that poor foolish child.'"
"But, Cathy, there is no harm in that."
"There is harm when I am no child, when I do not feel like one,
when--but I won't talk about it any more. Let us have a race,
Queen--one--two--three--away," and Cathy flew down the moor with a
swift, bird-like movement, her small head erect, but not before
Queenie had caught the gleam of something like a tear on one long
eyelash.
Just then a whistle from Garth summoned the scattered party together.
The afternoon was far advanced; some evening clouds skirted the edge
of the moor; the children were weary. The little engine steamed up
slowly towards them, and all hands were busy in packing the hampers
and baskets on the truck.
Cathy stood aside a little sulkily while the rest clambered into
their places. Queenie, who was watching them, saw that Mr. Logan
wanted to assist her, but Cathy would have none of his help; she was
therefore a little surprised when he followed her, and seated himself
persistently by their side.
"So you have not forgiven an old friend for having the best of an
argument," he said at last, after vainly trying to draw her in the
conversation. Queenie had flung herself gallantly into the breach,
but Cathy remained obstinately silent.
"She is tired, Christopher, my dear," suddenly interrupted Miss
Cosie's little chirping voice; "nothing is more wearying than talking
when one wants their tea, and I am sure I want mine. Mrs. Fawcett
has been saying the same thing just now; there, there, we shall get
it presently, I dare say, and Langley always makes such beautiful
tea, as I tell her."
"Are you tired, Miss Catherine? then I will not talk to you any
more," was the gentle reply, and Mr. Logan quietly turned his
attention to Queenie.
The waggonettes were waiting for them at the entrance of the
Warstdale works, and a short drive deposited them at the dark porch
of Church-Stile House.
Mr. Logan was standing apart for a moment under the sycamore trees,
when Cathy suddenly walked up to him. The girl's cheek was crimson,
her eyes were still a little defiant. "Miss Cosie was wrong, I was
not tired. I let you believe what was not true. I was only vexed
and put out with myself, as I often am," wrinkling her smooth brow
and speaking quickly.
"I am always sure to hear the truth at last from you, Miss
Catherine," he replied, with a kind look and smile, as he held out
his hand to her; and then Cathy sprang away into the house.