It was a very lovely scene, and all the lovelier for the light of a fair
summer morning upon it. There was a broad, sunny lawn, with a margin of
shade, and just one mass of flitting shadows beneath the locust-tree
near the gate. Beyond, there were glimpses of winding walks and of
brilliant garden-flowers, and farther on, the waving boughs of trees,
and more flitting shadows; the cedar hedge hid the rest. The house that
stood beyond the sunny lawn was like a house in a picture--with a porch
in front, and galleries at the sides, and over the railings and round
the pillars twined flowering shrubs and a vine, with dark shining
leaves. A flight of stone steps led up to the open porch, and on the
uppermost one sat a young girl, reading. One hand rested on her book,
while the other slowly wound and unwound the ribbon of a child's hat
that lay beside her. Her head was bent low over her book, and Christie
could not see her face for the long, bright curls that shaded it. So
intent was she on her reading that she did not hear the sound of
footsteps; and Christie stood admiring the pretty picture which the
young girl and the flowers and the drooping vine-leaves made, without
caring to speak.
She might have stood long enough before the young reader would have
stirred, had not some one advanced from the other side.
"Miss Gertrude, the carriage will be round in ten minutes."
"Yes, I know," said the young girl, without raising her eyes. "I am
quite ready to go."
"But Master Clement is going; and nurse is busy, and he won't let me
dress him; and if you please, Miss Gertrude, Mrs Seaton begs that you
will come and coax him, and try to get him away without waking his
brother."
The young lady rose, shutting her book with an impatient gesture; and
then she saw Christie.
"Good morning," she said. "Do you wish to see any one?"
"I wish to see Mrs Seaton. Mrs Lee sent me," said Christie.
"Oh, the new nurse for Clement. I dare say he won't go into town
to-day, Martha. It was only to get him out of the way--the young
tyrant. Show this girl to Mrs Seaton's room. She wished to see her as
soon as she came." And then she sat down and took up her book again.
"If you please, Miss Gertrude, Mrs Seaton wishes to see you at once.
Perhaps you will be so obliging as to go up-stairs with her. Master
Clement has kept me so long that I fear I shall not have the things
ready to send with Peter."
Miss Gertrude rose, but with not the best grace in the world, and
Christie followed her into the house and up-stairs. At the first
landing a door opened, and a little boy, half-dressed, rushed out.
"Tudie, let me go with you; I want to go."
"Naughty boys who won't let Mattie dress them mustn't expect to be taken
anywhere. You are not to come with me. You will wake Claude."
"Oh, Claude's awake, and crying to be dressed. Let me go with you,"
pleaded the child.
"No; you are not to come. Remember, I tell you so; and I am not Mattie,
to be trifled with."
Miss Gertrude spoke very gravely. Her brother, a spirited little lad of
five or six years of age, looked up into her face with defiance in his
eyes. Then he gave a glance down the long hall, as if meditating a rush
in that direction; but he thought better of it.
"I'll be good, Tudie. I won't make a noise," said he.
"Stay where you are," said Miss Gertrude, decidedly. She led the way
down the long hall, then up a flight of steps, and opened the door of a
large room. It seemed quite dark at first, but soon Christie was able
to distinguish the different things in it. The furniture of the room
was covered with green stuff, and there was on the floor a soft green
carpet, with bright flowers scattered over it. The curtains on the
windows and on the bed were of white muslin, but the hangings above were
green. The paper on the walls was white, with a border of brown acorns
and green oak-leaves. It was a very pretty room; and the coolness and
the softened light made it seem altogether delightful to Christie after
her long, dusty walk.
On the bed was a lady, dressed for an outdoor walk, but her hands were
pressed over her eyes as though she were in pain. A little boy lay
tossing fretfully on the sofa, but his peevish cry ceased for a moment
as they entered the room. Miss Gertrude seated herself beside him, and
said, without approaching the bed--
"Here is the young girl that Mrs Lee sent."
The lady took her hand from her eyes, and raised herself up. Seating
herself in a large chair by the bed, she beckoned to Christie to come
towards her.
"You came from Mrs Lee, did you?" said she.
Christie came forward. The lady observed her for a moment.
"Mrs Lee told me you were young, and not very strong," said she; "but I
had no idea you were quite such a child."
"I am past fifteen," said Christie.
"And do you mean to tell me that Mrs Lee trusted her children to you--
that infant too--through all her illness?"
"Mrs Greenly was in the house nearly all the winter, and she was in the
nursery very often. That was all the help I had," said Christie, with a
slight change of colour.
"And was it you who took care of little Harry, and who was with him when
he died?"
The remembrance of that sorrowful time was too vivid for Christie to
bear this allusion to it unmoved. She grew quite pale, and took one
step forward towards a little table, and laid her hand upon it. Miss
Gertrude, who had been watching her with great interest, rose and
brought forward a chair, looking towards her mother, without speaking.
"You look tired," said Mrs Seaton. "Did you walk? Sit down and rest."
Christie gladly obeyed.
"Mrs Lee speaks very highly of you--very highly indeed. You must have
been very useful to her; and I dare say she was very kind to you."
Remembering all they had passed through together, Christie could hardly
restrain her tears. But, as the lady seemed to expect an answer, she
said, with some difficulty--
"She was very kind to me, and I loved her dearly--and the children."
It is possible Mrs Seaton did not consider much love necessary between
mistress and maid. She did not look as though she did, as Christie
could not help thinking as she glanced towards her.
"And you got on nicely with the children, did you? Of course you will
have little to do here in comparison with what you must have had there.
But my wilful Clement, I am afraid, you will find too much for you. He
is a masterful lad."
She did not speak regretfully, as though the child's wilfulness grieved
her very much, but rather the contrary. And, indeed, one could hardly
wonder at the pride in her voice as Master Clement rushed in among them.
He was a child that any mother would own with pride--a picture of
robust health and childish beauty. His brown curls were sadly
disordered. One arm was thrust into the sleeve of his frock, in a vain
attempt to finish the dressing which Mattie had commenced. One foot was
bare, and he carried in his hand his stocking and shoe. He walked
straight up to his sister, saying gravely:
"Baby is crying, and I came to tell mamma."
She did not answer him, but laying down Claude's head on the pillow, she
began to arrange his disordered dress. He submitted quite patiently to
the operation, only saying, now and then, as he turned round to look in
her face:
"Am I naughty, Tudie? Are you going to punish me?"
She did not answer him. Indeed, there was no occasion. He did not seem
at all afraid of the punishment, whatever it might be. When she had
tied on his shoe, he slipped from her, and flung himself on the sofa
beside his brother. He did not mean to be rough with him, but the
little fellow uttered a peevish cry, and pushed him away.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't cry."
His little brown hand was laid softly on Claude's pale cheek, and their
brown curls mingled as their heads were laid on the same pillow. What a
contrast they presented! Christie could hardly persuade herself these
were the little lads that she and the Lee children used to admire so
much--partly because they were so pretty, and partly because they were
so much alike. They were alike still. One could hardly have told, as
they lay together, to which head the tangled mass of brown curls
belonged. Their eyes were the same, too, but little Claude's were
larger, and they drooped with a look of weariness and pain sad to see in
any eyes, but very, _very_ sad to see in the eyes of a child. His
forehead was larger, too,--or it seemed larger, above his thin, pale
cheeks. But not even his wan cheeks or weary eyes struck so painfully
to Christie's heart as did the sight of his little, wasted hand, white
as the pillow on which it lay. It seemed whiter and more wasted still
when it was raised for a moment to stroke his brother's rosy cheek. Oh,
how very sad it seemed! And his mother! She closed her eyes, and laid
herself back in her chair, with a sigh that was almost a groan.
Clement was very gentle, or he meant to be very gentle, with his
brother. He stroked his cheeks, and kissed him, calling him "little
brother," and "poor Claudie." And the little fellow hushed his peevish
cry, and tried to smile for a moment.
"I am going into town," said Clement; "and then we are going to spend
the day at Aunt Barbara's. They are making hay there. May Claude go?
It would make him quite well to play among the hay with me and Fanny and
Stephen. Mamma, mayn't he go? Tudie, do let Claudie go."
"Mamma, mamma, let me go. Let Mattie dress me. Oh, I want to go among
the hay!"
He came down from the sofa, and went towards his mother as fast as his
trembling limbs could carry him. She met him and received him in her
arms.
"My darling cannot go. He is not strong enough. Oh, Gertrude, how
could you let Clement come in here?"
"Mamma, I am quite well. I should be quite well if I could play among
the hay, as we used to do."
Memories of health and strength enjoyed in summer sunshine were
doubtlessly stirring at the boy's heart, to which he could give no
utterance. The look of wistful entreaty in his weary eyes went to his
mother's heart.
"My dear boy, if you only could? Oh, Gertrude! how could you be so
thoughtless?" she repeated.
"I desired Clement to stay in the nursery, and he disobeyed me," said
Gertrude, gravely.
"And now are you going to punish me?" he asked.
"Go into the nursery, and I will tell you. Go at once."
"Go away, naughty boy, and not vex your little brother," said his
mother, rocking in her arms the child, who was too weak and weary to
resist.
"I didn't vex Claude. Let him go with us. I'm not a naughty boy." He
looked as though he meditated taking up a position on the sofa.
"Go," said his sister.
"How will you punish me, then?"
"I will tell you when I come to the nursery," she said, opening the door
for him.
Not very willingly, but quietly, he went; and in a little while they
heard his merry voice ringing along the hall.
"I am very sorry," said the young lady, coming back; "give me Claude. I
will walk about with him; you are not able."
"No, no," said Mrs Seaton, though the little boy held out his arms to
go to her. "Go; the carriage is waiting. You should have gone long
ago."
"Need we go?" she asked, looking at Christie. "Clement can be kept out
of the way now."
"Yes, yes; go," answered she, hastily. "We have had vexation enough for
one day. And I thought this dear child was so nicely settled for the
day; and now he is getting quite feverish again."
Miss Gertrude turned and went out without reply.
"My boy, my poor boy!" murmured the mother, as she rocked him in her
arms, and her lips were pressed on his feverish brow. "Will he ever
play among the hay again?"
She rocked him till his crying was hushed, and weary with struggling, he
begged to be laid down. Christie arranged the pillows, and his mother
placed him on the sofa. She would fain have lingered near him; but,
weak from recent illness, she was obliged to lie down. In a little
while he asked for water, and to his mother's surprise, was willing to
take it from Christie's hands. He even suffered her to bathe his hands
and feet, and when he grew restless again, let her take him on her lap.
He was quite contented to stay there; and the last object the mother saw
before she sank to sleep was her sick boy nestling peacefully in the
arms of the little stranger maid. And it was the first object she saw
when she waked, some three hours afterwards. Christie had not moved,
except to let her hat and shawl fall on the floor, and little Claude was
slumbering peacefully still. He awoke soon, however, refreshed and
strengthened, and not at all indignant at finding himself in a
stranger's arms, as his mother feared he might be. He suffered her to
wash and dress him, as he had suffered no one but his mother to do for
the last three weary weeks. It was very well that he was inclined to be
friendly, for Mrs Seaton found herself much too ill to do the
accustomed duty herself; and it was with something very like gratitude
stirring at her heart that she said to Christie, when all was done:
"You are fond of children, are you not? You are very gentle and
careful, I see."
The little boy quarrelled with his dinner, as usual; but upon the whole
the meal was successful, his mother said; and as a reward for being
good, he was promised a walk in the garden by and by.
In the meantime Christie went down-stairs to her dinner, under the care
of the friendly Mattie, whom she had seen in the morning. She was very
kind, and meant to make herself very agreeable, and asked many
questions, and volunteered various kinds of information as to what
Christie might expect in her new place, which she might far better have
withheld. Christie had little to say, and made her answers as quietly
and briefly as possible.
When she went up-stairs again, she found affairs in not quite so
cheerful a state as when she had left them. The doctor had been in, and
though he had greatly applauded the scheme for sending little Claude
into the garden, he had utterly forbidden his mother to leave her bed to
go with him. It could not be permitted on any account; and she had so
entirely devoted herself for the last few weeks to the care and
amusement of the child that he could not, at first, be prevailed on to
go without her. He would not look at Mattie, nor at Mrs Grayson, the
housekeeper. After much gentle persuasion on her part, and many
promises as to what he would see and hear out in the pleasant sunshine,
he suffered Christie to bring his hat and coat and put them on.
"I think you may trust me with him, ma'am," said Christie. "I will be
very gentle and careful with him. Poor wee boy!" she added, looking
into the face that seemed more wan and thin under the drooping plumes of
his hat. But his mother dismissed them with a sigh.
It was not a very easy thing to amuse the exacting little fellow for a
long time, but it was perhaps a very good thing for Christie that it
fell to her lot to do so. A longer indulgence in the musings which had
occupied her during three hours passed in the darkened room would not
have been good for her, at any rate; and there was no chance for that
here. She was suffering very keenly from her parting with Mrs Lee and
her children, and as she had felt the clinging arms of little Claude
about her neck, she had said to herself, almost bitterly, that she would
not allow herself to love any one--any stranger--so dearly again. Yes,
the pain was very hard to bear, and she felt very lonely and sad as she
paced slowly up and down the long walks of the garden.
It was a very quiet place, however, quite out of reach of all disturbing
sounds, and Christie could not help wondering that she did not enjoy it
more, till she remembered what good reason she had for being very weary,
and she was content to wait for a full enjoyment of the pretty garden.
"I dare say I shall like to stay here after a little," she said to
herself. "There is one thing sure, it was no plan of mine to come. I
have had enough of my own plans. I'll just try and be as useful and
happy as I can, and wait till I see how things will turn. I am afraid
Effie may not like my staying, but I can only just wait, and it will all
come right."
And she put her good resolutions into practice then and there. She was
very patient with her little charge. She amused him, till he quite
forgot his shyness with her. She brought him flowers, and translated
the talk of the two little birds who were feeding their young in the old
pear-tree, till he laughed almost merrily again. The time soon passed,
and it was a very weary but very happy little face that he held up to
kiss his mother that night, and he was soon slumbering quietly in his
little cot by her side.
Then Christie betook herself to her place in Master Clement's nursery.
She found that noisy young gentleman quiet for the night, and gladly
laid herself down. In spite of her weariness, her long walk and her
afternoon in the open air had done her good. She was asleep before any
lonely or home-sick thoughts had time to visit her, and she slept as she
had not slept for weeks, without waking till the twittering of the birds
in the pear-tree roused her to begin her new life.
Christie had never to measure her strength with that of the "masterful"
Clement. It happened quite otherwise--fortunately for her, though sadly
enough for Mrs Seaton. The doctor, at his next visit, very decidedly
assured her that her proposed visit to the sea-side must no longer be
delayed, unless she intended to remain an invalid during the rest of the
summer. Her health, her life even, depended on a change of air and
freedom from anxiety. The good she could do her sick boy by staying at
home would be very little in comparison to the harm she would do
herself. She ought to have gone weeks since. Her infant and nurse
might go with her, but none of the other children. It would do her more
harm than good to be troubled with the boys on the journey or at a
strange watering-place, and as for them, home was the best place for
both. He assured her that her anxiety for Claude was unnecessary. He
was in no immediate danger. It might be months, or even years, before
he would be quite well again. He might never be so strong and healthy
as his brother. But there was no danger for him. Quiet and constant
care were what he needed; and they could be found best at home.
"Come here, my little man," said he, "and let me prove to your mother
that you are going to be quite well again, and that very soon, too."
Claude had been sitting on the balcony into which the windows of the
green room opened, and he came forward, led by Christie, at the doctors
desire. After a minute's talk with the child, his eye fell on her.
"What! are you here? I thought you had been far enough away by this
time. How came you to leave your charge?"
Christie came forward shyly, looking at Mrs Seaton.
"Mr Lee thought her not strong enough," said Mrs Seaton. "There was
no other one to go; and she hardly seemed fit for the charge of all."
"Humph! He has made a mistake or two before in his lifetime--and so has
she, for that matter," said the doctor, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Mrs Lee didn't know when they would come back again, and she didn't
like to take me so far-away," said Christie; "and I was very sorry."
"And so you are to be Claude's nurse, it seems?"
Christie looked at Mrs Seaton.
"She came, in the meantime, to go out with Clement and to help in the
nursery generally. I have kept Claude with me altogether of late." And
as Christie took the little boy to the balcony again, she added, "I
don't see how I can leave him. Poor little fellow! He will let no one
care for him but me."
The doctor shook his head.
"That may be very well for him, but it is very bad indeed for you.
Indeed, it must not be. Let me make a plan for you. You can quite
safely leave him with this new nurse. I would recommend her among a
thousand--"
"A child like that!" interrupted Mrs Seaton.
"A child in appearance, I grant, but quite a woman in sense and
patience. She has surprised me many a time."
"But she has had no experience. She cannot know--"
"Oh, that is the best of it. She will do as she is bidden. Save me
from those `experienced' persons who have wisdom enough for ten! I can
trust this little maid that she will do exactly as I bid her. She is a
very conscientious person--religiously inclined, I should think. At any
rate, she is just the nurse I should choose from all the sisterhood for
your poor little boy--just the firm and gentle attendant he needs now.
Trust me. I know her well."
It is possible that in speaking thus the doctor's first wish was to set
the mind of the mother at rest about leaving her child, but he could say
what he did without doing any violence to his conscience. He really had
admired and wondered at Christie's management of the little Lees during
his frequent visits to their nursery.
"And besides," he added to himself, "the poor little fellow will be
better when away from his mother's unbounded indulgence for a while. It
will be better for all concerned."
So the matter was arranged--not without many misgivings on Mrs Seaton's
part, however. Her directions as to Christie's management of the boy
were so many and so minute that the poor child was in danger of becoming
bewildered among them. To all she could only answer, again and again:
"I will be very careful, ma'am;" or, "I will do my best."
It was well for Mrs Seaton that there was but little time left, or her
heart, and Christie's too, might have failed. At the very last moment
the mother had a mind to change her plans.
"After all," she said, "perhaps it would have been wiser to send him to
his aunt's. Her children are noisy and troublesome, to be sure; but I
should have felt easier about him. Mind, Gertrude, you are to write
every day till your father returns. And, Christie, remember, you are to
obey the doctor's directions in all things. He is to call every day.
And don't let Clement fret him. And, Gertrude, be sure to write."