"SUGAR AND SPICE AND ALL THAT'S NICE."
Perhaps for one day Charlotte Harman was selfish in her happiness. But
when she awoke on the morning after her interview with her father, her
finely balanced nature had quite recovered its equilibrium. She was a
woman whom circumstances could make very noble; all her leanings were
towards the good, she had hitherto been unassailed by temptation,
untouched by care. All her life the beautiful and bright things of this
world had been showered at her feet. She had the friends whom rich,
amiable, and handsome girls usually make. She had the devotion of a
most loving father. John Hinton met her and loved her. She responded to
his love with her full heart. Another father might have objected to her
giving herself to this man, who in the fashionable world's opinion was
nothing. But Harman only insisted on a slight delay to their marriage,
none whatever to their engagement, and now, after scarcely a year of
waiting, the embargo was withdrawn, their wedding-day was fixed, was
close at hand. The twentieth of April (Charlotte knew she should not
oppose the twentieth of April) was not quite two months away. Very light
was her heart when she awoke to this happy fact. Happiness, too, was
standing by her bedside, and she made no scruple to press the radiant
creature to her heart of hearts. But Charlotte's was too fine a nature
to be spoiled by prosperity. Independent of her wealth, she must always
have been a favorite. Her heart was frank and generous; she was
thoughtful for others, she was most truly unselfish. Charlotte was a
favorite with the servants; her maid worshipped her. She was a just
creature, and had read too much on social reform to give away
indiscriminately and without thought; but where her sense of justice was
really satisfied, she could give with a royal hand, and there were many
poor whom Ward, her maid, knew, who, rising up, called Miss Harman
blessed.
Charlotte had taken a great interest in Mrs. Home. Her face attracted,
her manner won, before ever her story touched the heart of this young
woman. The greatest pain Charlotte had ever gone through in her life had
followed the recital of Mrs. Home's tale, a terrible foreboding the
awful shadow which points to wrong done, to sin committed by her best
and dearest, had come near and touched her. Uncle Jasper, with his
clever and experienced hand, had driven that shadow away, and in her
first feeling of intense thankfulness and relief, she had almost
disliked the woman who had come to her with so cruel a tale. All
yesterday, in the midst of her own happiness, she had endeavored to shut
Mrs. Home from her thoughts; but this morning, more calm herself, the
remembrance of the poor, pale, and struggling mother rose up again fresh
and vivid within her heart. It is true Mrs. Home believed a lie, a cruel
and dreadful lie; but none the less for this was she to be pitied, none
the less for this must she be helped. Mrs. Home was Charlotte's near
relation, she could not suffer her to want. As she lay in bed, she
reflected with great thankfulness that John Hinton had said, on hearing
the tale, how manifestly it would be his and her duty to help this poor
mother. Yes, by and by they would give her enough to raise her above all
want, but Charlotte felt she could not wait for that distant time. She
must succor Mrs. Home at once. Her father had said last night that, if
she married in two months, there would be no time for her to finish her
book. He was right; she must give up the book; she would devote this
morning to Mrs. Home.
She rose with her determination formed and went downstairs. As usual her
father was waiting for her, as usual he came up and kissed her; and as
they had done every morning for so many years, they sat down opposite
each other to breakfast. Charlotte longed to speak to her father about
Mrs. Home, but he looked, even to her inexperienced eyes, very ill and
haggard, and she remembered her uncle's words and refrained from the
subject.
"You seem so feeble, father, had you not better go into town in the
carriage this morning?" she asked, as he rose from his chair.
To her surprise he assented, even confessed that he had already ordered
the carriage. He had never to her knowledge done such a thing before,
and little as she knew of real illness, nothing as she knew of danger
and death, she felt a sharp pain at her heart as she watched him driving
away. The pain, however, was but momentary, lost in the pressing
interests of other thoughts. Before eleven o'clock she had started off
to see Mrs. Home.
Now it was by no means her intention to go to this newly found relation
empty handed. Mrs. Home might or might not be willing to receive a gift
of money, but Charlotte hoped so to be able to convey it to her as to
save her pride from being too greatly hurt.
Charlotte had a small banking account of her own. She drove now straight
to her bank in the city, and drawing fifty pounds in one note slipped it
into her purse. From the bank she went to a children's West End shop.
She there chose a lovely velvet frock for the fair-haired little Daisy,
two embroidered white dresses for the baby; and going a little farther
she bought a smart tailor suit for the eldest boy. After buying the
pretty clothes she visited a toy shop, where she loaded herself with
toys; then a cake shop to purchase cakes and other goodies; and having
at last exhausted her resources; she desired the coachman to drive to
Mrs. Home's address in Kentish Town. She arrived, after a drive of a
little over half an hour, to find the lady whom she had come to seek,
out. The dirty little maid stared with full round eyes at the beautiful
young lady and at the handsome carriage, and declared she did not know
when her missis would be in.
For a moment Charlotte felt foiled; but she was excited now--she could
not go away, laden as she was with fairy gifts, without making some
effort to dispense these blessings.
"I am a relation of Mrs. Home's and I want to see the children. Are the
children in?" she asked of the little maid.
Rounder and rounder grew that small domestic's eyes.
"They can't be hout without me," she volunteered; "ain't I the nuss and
maid-of-all work? Yes, the children is hin."
Then she opened the dining-room door, and Charlotte, first flying to the
carriage and returning laden with brown paper parcels, followed her into
the little parlor.
The maid, on the swift wings of excitement, flew upstairs. There was the
quick patter of eager little feet, and in a very few moments the door
was pushed open and a boy and girl entered. Charlotte recognized them at
a glance. They were the very handsome little pair whose acquaintance she
had made yesterday in Regent's Park. The girl hung back a trifle shyly,
but the boy, just saying to his sister, "The pretty lady," came up, and
raised his lips for a kiss.
"You don't think me rude?" he said; "you don't mind kissing me, do you."
"I love to kiss you; I am your own cousin," said Charlotte.
"My own cousin! Then I may sit on your knee. Daisy, come here--the
pretty lady is our own cousin."
On hearing this, Daisy too advanced. Neither child had any idea what the
word cousin meant, but it seemed to include proprietorship. They stroked
Charlotte's furs, and both pairs of lips were raised again and again for
many kisses. In the midst of this scene entered the little maid with the
baby. Pretty as Daisy and Harold were, they were nothing to the baby;
this baby of eight months had a most ethereal and lovely face.
"Oh, you beauty! you darling!" said Charlotte, as she clasped the little
creature in her arms, and the baby, too young to be shy, allowed her to
kiss him repeatedly.
"What a lot of lumber!" said Daisy, touching the brown-paper parcels.
This little child's speech brought Charlotte back to the fact of her
cakes and toys. Giving baby to his small nurse, she opened her
treasures. Daisy received her doll with a kind of awed rapture, Harold
rattled his drum and blew his trumpet in a way most distracting to any
weak nerves within reasonable distance, and the baby sucked some rather
unwholesome sweets. No child thought of thanking their benefactor, but
flushed cheeks, bright eyes, eager little voices, were thanks louder and
more eloquent than words.
"I want to see your mother; when will she be in?" asked Charlotte, after
a little quiet had been restored.
"Not all day," answered Harold. "Mother has gone with father to nurse a
poor sick lady; she won't be back till quite night."
"She said we were to be very good; we are, aren't we?" said Daisy.
"Yes, darling; you are quite perfect," replied the inexperienced
Charlotte.
"Did our mother ask you to come and play with us and give us lovely
things?" demanded Harold.
"She does not know I am here, my dear little boy; but now, if you will
show me where I can get a sheet of paper, I will just write your mother
a little note."
The paper was quickly found, and Charlotte sat down, a boy and girl on
each side. It was not easy to say much under such circumstances, so the
words in the little note were few.
"You will give this to your mother when she comes in. See!--I will put
it on the mantelpiece," she said to Harold; "and you must not touch
these parcels until mother opens them herself. Yes; I will come again.
Now, good-by." Her bonnet was decidedly crooked as she stepped into the
carriage, her jacket was also much crumpled; but there was a very sweet
feel of little arms still round her neck, and she touched her hair and
cheeks with satisfaction, for they had been honored by many child
kisses.
"I believe she's just a fairy godmother," said Harold, as he watched the
carriage rolling away.
"I never seed the like in hall my born days," remarked the small
maid-of-all-work.