THEODORE'S GREAT-AUNTS.
NOT many hundred yards from the entrance to the grounds of Afton
Hall, lying slightly back from the high road, with a grass plot
surrounded by flower-beds in front, was a snug little house called
The Nest.
It was occupied by two maiden ladies named Barton, aunts to Mr.
Barton, and therefore great-aunts to Theodore. Miss Selina, the elder
sister, was a tall, gaunt woman, who prided herself on being
outspoken. She was sixty-two years of age, but looked younger; whilst
her sister, Miss Penelope, was ten years her junior.
If it had been Miss Selina's lot to have lived in some large, busy
parish, her services would have been invaluable, for she dearly loved
visiting the poor, attending meetings, and generally interesting
herself in parochial matters. But Miss Selina was not much liked in
her native place. She had a knack of rubbing people the wrong way, of
discovering their weaknesses, of being quick to notice their
shortcomings, and equally slow to see their good points. That the
poor were an ungrateful set, she was always saying, thriftless and
wasteful; it was quite useless rendering them assistance:
and yet—strange inconsistency—no applicant for help was ever allowed
to be sent unsatisfied away from The Nest.
Miss Penelope was not in the least like her sister. Once she had been
pretty, and she never for one instant forgot the fact; but it had
been the sort of beauty that rarely lasts beyond youth. Miss
Penelope's roses had faded; her blue eyes looked washed-out; and
there were decidedly ill-tempered lines around her small, button
mouth, for the younger Miss Barton did not possess the beauty of a
cheerful, happy spirit.
Little Theodore was not particularly fond of either of his aunts, but
he decidedly had a preference for Miss Selina. Miss Penelope was his
teacher. From half-past nine to twelve o'clock every morning Theodore
was at The Nest, given up to the tender mercies of Miss Penelope,
who made him spell out little stories about the bad boy who devoured
too much cake, and nearly died in consequence, and the good boy
who shared his cake with his schoolfellows, and was filled with
complacency at his own unselfishness.
Miss Penelope always impressed her pupil with the idea of how kind
it was on her part to give so much time to him, utterly regardless
of the fact that she was amply remunerated by the child's father.
On the morning after the return of Mr. and Mrs. Barton, Theodore was
late in arriving at The Nest. He entered the sitting room with
glowing cheeks, and sung his books noisily upon the table.
Miss Selina was seated sewing by the window, whilst her sister stood
bolt upright by the mantelpiece, her face puckered into its most
ill-tempered frown.
"Well, Theodore," the younger lady cried tartly, "you noisy boy?
How long do you imagine I have been kept waiting? Look at the clock!
It is past ten!"
"I am awfully sorry, Aunt Pen," Theodore responded deprecatingly;
"I am really. But I forgot the time. I was busy talking to Jack,
Mrs. Barton's little boy, you know. He's not half bad!"
Miss Selina dropped her sewing, and glanced curiously at the child's
bright, animated countenance.
"And what do you think of your stepmother?" she queried. "Come,
Theodore, I am curious to hear what she is like."
"She is very pretty, Aunt Selina, very pretty—much prettier than any
of the ladies about here."
Miss Penelope gave a little disdainful sniff, and glanced at her own
reflection in the pier-glass.
"I don't think I can quite explain how she looks," the child
continued doubtfully, "but she's like Jack; only her hair is quite
dark, and his is yellow like gold. Oh, Aunt Selina, is it not sad?
Jack cannot walk; he won't ever be able to walk. I mean to be kind
to him, poor fellow!"
"The newcomers have evidently got you on their side already,
Theodore," Miss Penelope remarked disagreeably; "and you were so
certain you would hate your new mother."
"She is not my mother!" the boy cried, his cheeks flushing hotly,
his handsome face clouding with anger. "But I never said I should
hate her. How could I tell what she would be like? I meant to fight
Jack; but I'm not a coward, and now I've seen him I couldn't hit
him."
"No, no," Miss Selina interposed hastily, with a warning look at her
sister. "Of course we knew there was a child, but we had not heard
he was a cripple."
"He will never be better in this world," Theodore declared solemnly.
"He will have to wait till he dies to get well."
"Dear me! that's very sad."
"He's about my age, Aunt Selina, and he's very clever. You can't
think what a lot he knows about all sorts of things. He says
his mother teaches him."
"And how is your father, my dear?"
"Oh, he's very well, thank you! I don't think I ever saw him
so bright. He gave me five shillings this morning to spend as I like;
and oh! I forgot to tell you, he sent his love to you both."
"I'm sure it's very kind of him. You must remember us to him,"
said Miss Selina, as she rose preparatory to leaving the room.
"We shall call shortly. Well, Theodore, you know I am nothing if not
outspoken, and I always speak my mind. My advice to you is, to keep
in your stepmother's good graces if you can."
Lessons commenced, and Theodore struggled through his multiplication
tables and worked his sums, interrupted occasionally by questions
from Miss Penelope relative to the newcomers at the Hall.
"I suppose she dresses well?" she queried, pausing in the midst
of correcting a sum that Theodore had been laboriously adding up.
"Who?" the boy asked, in surprise.
"Your stepmother."
"Oh! I don't know, Aunt Pen; I didn't notice."
"And she is dark, you say?"
"Her eyes are brown, and so is her hair."
"It will be a change for her—life at the Hall, I mean. I believe
she was poor?" she said interrogatively.
"I don't know, Aunt Pen."
"Yes, so I am informed; a half-pay officer's widow. Well, well,
some people have luck, to be sure. How does your father appear
to take to the child—Jack, I think you said he was called?"
"Oh, I think he likes him very well and Jack seems to be awfully fond
of father."
"Indeed! Do not let your nose be put out of joint, Theodore. Not that
it can make any real difference to you, of course: you are the heir,
any way; no one can alter that."
Theodore regarded his aunt gravely in puzzled silence. Her eyes fell
beneath his steady gaze, and she hastily bade him continue his work.
He was not sorry when the clock at last struck twelve, and Miss
Penelope dismissed him, with a caution to be in good time on the
morrow.
On his way home he met Tom Blake, the blacksmith's son, a tall,
over-grown boy of twelve.
"Why, how is it you are not at school?" Theodore inquired, pausing
to exchange a few words with Tom, on whom he looked with deep
admiration, as a being much older and wiser than himself, and
therefore to be regarded with due reverence.
Tom explained that he had taken a holiday to go birds'-nesting, but
that in spite of the mildness of the spring, the birds, as it turned
out, had known better than to build so early.
"I guess the old man will wollop me," Tom grinned, alluding to his
father; "but I don't care, not I."
Theodore looked at the daring youth with admiring eyes, considering
him very brave; then he poured into Tom's ears all he knew about
Jack.
Tom listened open-mouthed with astonishment, his eyes growing rounder
and rounder.
"Well!" he exclaimed at length, "well, I never! He might as well have
been a girl!"
"Oh, no!" cried Theodore indignantly; "he's not a bit girlish—not a
bit! If he could run about, I believe he would be as brave as you."
Tom laughed derisively, showing two rows of strong white teeth.
"That's good, that is! Ha! ha!" he laughed. "A cripple, and as brave
as me! Ha! ha!"
He went off, still convulsed with merriment; whilst Theodore pursued
his way, feeling annoyed and angry, he scarcely knew why. He found
old John Bawdon pottering about the garden, as usual, and to him
he spoke of Jack, and confided to him what Tom had said.
"Don't you take notice of anything that boy says, Master Theodore,"
the old man advised. "And as to being brave, there's many a plucky
chap as has never fought with his fists. Bodily strength isn't
everything; and I shouldn't wonder if Tom Blake, for all his
boasting, isn't a bit of a coward at heart. I 'aven't seen your
stepbrother yet, so I don't know what he's like, but his mother's
been out and 'ad a few words with me. Heard a lot of me from the
master, she said. Well, maybe that's very likely, me 'aving served
the family so long. She 'as a kind voice, and a kind face. I've a
notion we'll learn to bless the day she came here. I'll own I dreaded
her coming; I'm old, Master Theodore, and I don't like new faces;
but when I saw hers, I don't know what made me say it, but I said,
speaking the words that came first to my tongue, natural-like,
'God bless you, ma'am, you'll make the old place bright again!'"
"What did she say?" Theodore asked, curiously.
"Said she'd do her best; and she will, I know. See how cheerful
the master looks; not like the same man. I heard him whistling
just now like a boy, and it did me more good to hear him than if any
one 'ad given me a five pound note."
Theodore laughed, and went into the house, where he ascertained that
Mr. and Mrs. Barton had gone out together.
He bounded upstairs into the nursery in search of Jane, and there
found her with Jack, who was lying on an invalid's chair near the
window.
"Oh, Theodore, how long you have been!" Jack cried, his beautiful
dark eyes lighting up with a look of eager welcome. "Not that I have
been dull," he added hastily, with a courteous, deprecating glance
at his companion, "for Jane has been reading to me, and we have had
a nice talk—haven't we, Jane?"
"Yes, sir."
"I've been telling her how I hurt my back. She used to know a little
boy who was lame, and after a time he got quite well. But I can't,
you know. Lots of doctors have been to see me, and one was a very
great doctor indeed, from a hospital in London, where there are lots
and lots of children. He came and punched me about a good deal;
he didn't mean to hurt, you know; he had to do it. He was sorry;
and I told him when I grew up I meant to be a great doctor, too; and
he smiled, and looked sorrier and sorrier, because you see he thought
I should not live very long. I should like to be a doctor, shouldn't
you, Theodore?—a doctor like St. Luke."
"Was St. Luke a doctor?" Theodore asked, with interest in his tones.
"Yes. Don't you remember, Paul called him the 'beloved physician'?"
"I did not know," Theodore answered humbly.
"Mother told me." Then changing the conversation, "Does your
governess give you difficult lessons to learn, Theo?"
"No, not very. She's my aunt, you know—Aunt Penelope."
"What's she like?"
"Jane says she's like a washed-out doll," Theodore answered, with a
laugh at Jane's discomfited face.
"Oh, Master Theo, you shouldn't repeat what I say like that!"
she cried in shocked tones.
"Well, Jane, you know quite well you did say so. She's not a bit
like Aunt Selina, who is very tall, and thin, and dark. They're
coming to call soon, and then you'll see them, most likely."
"Oh, but I shan't be downstairs, Theodore."
"Then they'll come up here to see you, never fear: They asked me lots
of questions about you; and they'll be sure to want to see you out of
curiosity," said Theodore candidly.
"I don't think I want to see them much," Jack remarked dubiously.
"Well, I don't think you'll like them much!" Theodore answered with
a laugh.
"You shouldn't say that, Master Theodore," Jane interposed. "Miss
Selina's a kind, generous lady; every one in the parish knows that.
And Miss Penelope, for all she's a trifle cross-grained sometimes,
is very clever, I'm told."
"I saw Tom Blake, Jane, as I came home. He's been stopping away
from school this morning to go birds'-nesting."
"How often am I to tell you, sir, not to have anything to say to that
naughty boy? He's one of the worst boys in the village."
"I'm sure he's not," was the quick, indignant retort. "He's a very
nice boy; and he knows about everything!"
"Yes; everything he ought not to know, I expect. His father does some
poaching, I'm told, and no doubt he is teaching his son to follow
in his footsteps. If I hear of your going with him, Master Theodore,
I shall tell Mr. Barton."
"No, you won't!" Theodore retorted, with a wilful look.
"Oh! won't I, indeed! You'll see."
Thereupon followed a long wrangle, to which little Jack listened
in astonishment. At length, after Theodore had worked himself into a
violent fit of passion, Jane gave in, as she usually did on such
occasions, and there was peace once more.