YOUNG MR. TREVOR.
John Trevor, otherwise Jock, arrived at the Hall in a state of
considerable though suppressed excitement. It was not in his nature to
show the feelings which were most profound and strongest in his nature,
even if the religion of an English public school boy had not forbidden
demonstration. But he had very strong feelings underneath his calm
exterior, and the approach to Lucy's home gave him many thoughts. The
sense of separation which had once affected him with a deep though
unspoken sentiment had passed away long ago into a faint grudge, a
feeling of something lost--but between ten and sixteen one does not
brood upon a grievance, especially when one is surrounded by everything
that can make one happy; and there was a certain innate philosophy in
the mind of Jock which enabled him to see the justice and necessity of
the separation. He it was who in very early day, had ordained his own
going to school with a realisation of the need of it which is not
usually given to his age--and he had understood without any explanation
and without any complaint that Lucy must live her own life, and that
their constant brother and sister fellowship became impossible when she
married. The curious little solemn boy, who had made so many shrewd
guesses at the ways of life while he was still only a child, accepted
this without a word, working it out in his own silent soul; but
nevertheless it had affected him deeply. And when the time came at last
for a real meeting, not a week's visit in town where she was fully
occupied, and he did not well know what to do with himself--or a hurried
rapid meeting at school, where Jock's pride in introducing his tutor to
his sister was a somewhat imperfect set-off to the loss of personal
advantage to himself in thus seeing Lucy always in the company of other
people--his being was greatly moved with diverse thoughts. Lucy was all
he had in the world to represent the homes, the fathers and mothers and
sisters and brothers of his companions. The old time when they had been
all in all to each other had a more delicate beauty than the ordinary
glow of childhood. He thought there was nobody like her, with that
mingled adoration and affectionate contempt which make up a boy's love
for the women belonging to him. She was not clever: but he regarded the
simplicity of her mind with pride. This seemed to give her her crowning
charm. "Any fellow can be clever," Jock said to himself. It was part of
Lucy's superiority that she was not so. He arrived at the railway
station at Farafield with much excitement in his mind, though his looks
were quiet enough. The place, though it was the first he had ever known,
did not attract a thought from the other and more important meeting. It
was a wet day in August, and the coachman who had been sent for him gave
him a note to say that Lucy would have come to meet him but for the
rain. He was rather glad of the rain, this being the case. He did not
want to meet her on a railway platform--he even regretted the long
stretches of the stubble fields as he whirled past, and wished that the
way had been longer, though he was so anxious to see her. And when he
jumped down at the great door of the hall and found himself in the
embrace of his sister, the youth was thrilling with excitement, hope,
and pleasure. Lucy had changed much less than he had. Jock, who had been
the smallest of pale-faced boys, was now long and weedy, with limbs and
fingers of portentous length. His hair was light and limp; his large
eyes, well set in his head, had a vague and often dreamy look. It was
impossible to call him a handsome boy. There was an entire want of
colour about him, as there had been about Lucy in her first youth, and
his gray morning clothes, like the little gray dress she had worn as a
young girl were not very becoming to him. They had been so long apart
that he met her very shyly, with an awkwardness that almost looked like
reluctance, and for the first hour scarcely knew what to say to her, so
full was he of the wonder and pleasure of being by her, and the
impossibility of expressing this. She asked him about his journey, and
he made the usual replies, scarcely knowing what he said, but looking at
her with a suppressed beatitude which made Jock dull in the very
intensity of his feeling. The rain came steadily down outside, shutting
them in as with veils of falling water. Sir Tom, in order to leave them
entirely free to have their first meeting over, had taken himself off
for the day. Lucy took her young brother into the inner drawing-room,
the centre of her own life. She made him sit down in a luxurious chair,
and stood over him gazing at the boy, who was abashed and did not know
what to say. "You are different, Jock. It is not that you are taller and
bigger altogether, but you are different. I suppose so am I."
"Not much," he said, looking shyly at her. "You couldn't change."
"How so?" she asked with a laugh. "I am such a great deal older I ought
to look wiser. Let me see what it is. Your eyes have grown darker, I
think, and your face is longer, Jock; and what is that? a little down,
actually, upon your upper lip. Jock, not a moustache!"
Jock blushed with pleasure and embarrassment, and put up his hand fondly
to feel those few soft hairs. "There isn't very much of it," he said.
"Oh, there is enough to swear by; and you like school as well as ever?
and MTutor, how is he? Are you as fond of him as you used to be, Jock?"
"You don't say you're fond of him," said Jock, "but he's just as jolly
as ever, if that is what you mean."
"That is what I mean, I suppose. You must tell me when I say anything
wrong," said Lucy. She took his head between her hands and gave him a
kiss upon his forehead. "I am so glad to see you here at last," she
said.
And then there was a pause. Her first little overflow of questions had
come to an end, and she did not exactly know what to say, while Jock sat
silent, staring at her with an earnest gaze. It was all so strange, the
scene and surroundings, and Lucy in the midst, who was a great lady,
instead of being merely his sister--all these confused the boy's
faculties. He wanted time to realise it all. But Lucy, for her part,
felt the faintest little touch of disappointment. It seemed to her as if
they ought to have had so much to say to each other, such a rush of
questions and answers, and full-hearted confidence. Jock's heart would
be at his lips, she thought, ready to rush forth--and her own also, with
all the many things of which she had said to herself: "I must tell that
to Jock." But as a matter of fact, many of these things had been told by
letter, and the rest would have been quite out of place in the moment of
reunion, in which indeed it seemed inappropriate to introduce any
subject other than their pleasure in seeing each other again, and those
personal inquiries which we all so long to make face to face when we are
separated from those near to us, yet which are so little capable of
filling all the needs of the situation when that moment comes. Jock was
indeed showing his happiness much more by his expressive silence and shy
eager gaze at her than if he had plunged into immediate talk; but Lucy
felt a little disappointed, and as if the meeting had not come up to her
hopes. She said, after a pause which was almost awkward, "You would like
to see baby, Jock? How strange that you should not know baby! I wonder
what you will think of him." She rose and rang the bell while she was
speaking in a pleasant stir of fresh expectation. No doubt it would stir
Jock to the depths of his heart, and bring out all his latent feeling,
when he saw Lucy's boy. Little Tom was brought in state to see "his
uncle," a title of dignity which the nurse felt indignantly disappointed
to have bestowed upon the lanky, colourless boy who got up with great
embarrassment and came forward reluctantly to see the creature quite
unknown and unrealised, of whom Lucy spoke with so much exultation. Jock
was not jealous, but he thought it rather odd that "a little thing like
that" should excite so much attention. It seemed to him that it was a
thing all legs and arms, sprawling in every direction, and when it
seized Lucy by the hair, pulling it about her face with the most riotous
freedom, Jock felt deeply disposed to box its ears. But Lucy was
delighted. "Oh, naughty baby!" she said, with a voice of such admiration
and ecstasy as the finest poetry, Jock reflected, would never have awoke
in her; and when the thing "loved" her, at its nurse's bidding, clasping
its fat arms round her neck, and applying a wide-open wet mouth to her
cheek, the tears were in her eyes for very pleasure. "Baby, darling,
that is your uncle; won't you go to your uncle? Take him, Jock. If he is
a little shy at first he will soon get used to you," Lucy cried. To see
Jock holding back on one side, and the baby on the other, which
strenuously refused to go to its uncle, was as good as a play.
"I'm afraid I should let it fall," said Jock, "I don't know anything
about babies."
"Then sit down, dear, and I will put him upon your lap," said the young
mother. There never was a more complete picture of wretchedness than
poor Jock, as he placed himself unwillingly on the sofa with his knees
put firmly together and his feet slanting outwards to support them. "I
sha'n't know what to do with it," he said. It is to be feared that he
resented its existence altogether. It was to him a quite unnecessary
addition. Was he never to see Lucy any more without that thing clinging
to her? Little Tom, for his part, was equally decided in his
sentiments. He put his little fists, which were by no means without
force, against his uncle's face, and pushed him away, with squalls that
would have exasperated Job; and then, instead of consoling Jock, Lucy
took the little demon to her arms and soothed him. "Did they want it to
make friends against its will," Lucy was so ridiculous as to say, like
one of the women in _Punch_, petting and smoothing down that odious
little creature. Both she and the nurse seemed to think that it was the
baby who wanted consoling for the appearance of Jock, and not Jock who
had been insulted; for one does not like even a baby to consider one as
repulsive and disagreeable. The incident was scarcely at an end when Sir
Tom came in, fresh, smiling, and damp from the farm, where he had been
inspecting the cattle and enjoying himself. Mature age and settled life
and a sense of property had converted Sir Tom to the pleasure of
farming. He shook Jock heartily by the hand, and clapped him on the
back, and bade him welcome with great kindness. Then he took "the little
beggar" on his shoulder and carried him, shrieking with delight, about
the room. It seemed a very strange thing to Jock to see how entirely
these two full-grown people gave themselves up to the deification of
this child. It was not bringing themselves to his level, it was looking
up to him as their superior. If he had been a king his careless favours
could not have been more keenly contended for. Jock, who was fond of
poetry and philosophy and many other fine things, looked on at this new
mystery with wondering and indignant contempt. After dinner there was
the baby again. It was allowed to stay out of bed longer than usual in
honour of its uncle, and dinner was hurried over, Jock thought, in
order that it might be produced, decked out in a sash almost as broad as
its person. When it appeared rational conversation was at an end, Sir
Tom, whom Jock had always respected highly, stopped the inquiries he was
making, with all the knowledge and pleasure, of an old schoolboy, into
school life, comparing his own experiences with those of the present
generation--to play bo-peep behind Lucy's shoulder with the baby.
Bo-peep! a Member of Parliament, a fellow who had been at the
University, who had travelled, who had seen America and gone through the
Desert! There was consternation in the astonishment with which Jock
looked on at this unlooked-for, almost incredible, exhibition. It was
ridiculous in Lucy, but in Sir Tom!
"I suppose we were all like that one time?" he said, trying to be
philosophical, as little Tom at last, half smothered with kisses, was
carried away.
"Like _that_--do you mean like baby? You were a little darling, dear,
and I was always very, very fond of you," said Lucy, giving him the
kindest look of her soft eyes. "But you were not a beauty, like my boy."
Sir Tom had laughed, with something of the same sentiment very evident
in his mirth, when Lucy spoke. He put out his hand and patted his young
brother-in-law on the shoulder. "It is absurd," he said, "to put that
little beggar in the foreground when we have somebody here who is in
Sixth form at sixteen, and is captain of his house, and has got a school
prize already. If Lucy does not appreciate all that, I do, Jock, and the
best I can wish for Tommy is that he should have done as much at your
age."
"Oh, I was not thinking of that," said Jock with a violent blush.
"Of course he was not," said Lucy calmly, "for he always had the kindest
heart though he was so clever. If you think I don't appreciate it as you
say, Tom, it is only because I knew it all the time. Do you think I am
surprised that Jock has beaten everybody? He was like that when he was
six, before he had any education. And he will be just as proud of baby
as we are when he knows him. He is a little strange at first," said
Lucy, beaming upon her brother; "but as soon as he is used to you, he
will go to you just as he does to me."
To this Jock could not reply by betraying the shiver that went over him
at the thought, but it gave great occupation to his mind to make out how
a little thing like that could attain, as it had done, such empire over
the minds of two sensible people. He consulted MTutor on the subject by
letter, who was his great referee on difficult subjects, and he could
not help betraying his wonder to the household as he grew more familiar
and the days went on. "He can't do anything for you," Jock said. "He
can't talk; he doesn't know anything about--well, about books: I know
that's more my line than yours, Lucy--but about anything. Oh! you
needn't flare up. When he dabs his mouth at you all wet----"
"Oh! you little wretch, you infidel, you savage," Lucy cried; "his sweet
mouth! and a dear big wet kiss that lets you know he means it."
Jock looked at her as he had done often in the old days, with mingled
admiration and contempt. It was like Lucy, and yet how odd it was. "I
suppose, then," he said, "I was rather worse than _that_ when you took
me up and were good to me. What for, I wonder? and you were fond of me,
too, although you are fonder of _it_----"
"If you talk of It again I will never speak to you more," Lucy said, "as
if my beautiful boy was a thing and not a person. He is not It: he is
Tom, he is Mr. Randolph: that is what Williams calls him." Williams was
the butler who had been all over the world with Sir Tom, and who was
respectful of the heir, but a little impatient and surprised, as Jock
was, of the fuss that was made about Tommy for his own small sake.
By this time, however, Jock had recovered from his shyness--his
difficulty in talking, all the little mist that absence had made--and
roamed about after Lucy, hanging upon her, putting his arm through hers,
though he was much the taller, wherever she went. He held her back a
little now as they walked through the park in a sort of procession, Mrs.
Richens, the nurse, going first with the boy. "When I was a little
slobbering beast, like----" he stopped himself in time, "like the
t'other kind of baby, and nobody wanted me, you were the only one that
took any trouble."
"How do you know?" said Lucy; "you don't remember and I don't remember."
"Ah! but I remember the time in the Terrace, when I lay on the rug, and
heard papa making his will over my head. I was listening for you all the
time. I was thinking of nothing but your step coming to take me out."
"Nonsense!" said Lucy, "you were deep in your books, and thinking of
them only; of that--gentleman with the windmills--or Shakspeare, or some
other nonsense. Oh, I don't mean Shakspeare is nonsense. I mean you were
thinking of nothing but your books, and nobody would believe you
understood all that at your age."
"I did not understand," said Jock with a blush. "I was a little prig.
Lucy, how strange it all is, like a picture one has seen somewhere, or a
scene in a play or a dream! Sometimes I can remember little bits of it,
just as he used to read it out to old Ford. Bits of it are all in and
out of _As You Like It_, as if Touchstone had said them, or Jaques. Poor
old papa! how particular he was about it all. Are you doing everything
he told you, Lucy, in the will?"
He did not in the least mean it as an alarming question, as he stooped
over, in his awkward way holding her arm, and looked into her face.