JOHN SINCLAIR'S FAIRY TALE.
All this time Daisy and Dr. John Sinclair continue to take their
almost daily rides, greatly to the delight of the former if not the
latter. Not that the young man feels one whit less the pleasure of
having his little favourite intrusted to his care, and of watching
her slow but steady return to health and spirits.
But of late he has become dull and spiritless, going about his work
in a listless sort of way which is quite foreign to him as a rule,
and which cannot fail to be noticed by anyone who knows him well.
It will have been gathered from some foregoing hints that ever since
the young doctor had been called in to attend Daisy in her illness,
he had been gradually becoming attached to her sister Honor.
At first he had been amused, afterwards attracted, by all her quiet
little motherly ways when nursing Daisy, and when he came to be a
daily visitor at the house he soon learned to appreciate and admire
the girl who, for the sake of all around her, was making such brave
and heroic efforts against an adverse fate.
It was not difficult for the doctor's keen eyes to see that Honor,
young as she was, was the guide and mainstay of the whole household,
nothing, not even the merest trifle being ever settled or arranged
without consultation with her first.
And all this was done with graceful cheerfulness and sweetness of
temper; for it was very seldom, sorely tried though she was at times,
that Honor allowed herself to become ruffled or cross, even with poor
Becky in her most stupid fits; and no one but the girl herself knew
what a weary, tired-out little frame it often was she stretched upon
her bed at night with a sigh of thankfulness for her well-earned
rest. Then when better times came, and cares and anxieties lessened,
the young doctor saw a new side to her character; for whereas she had
before been almost unnaturally sober-minded for one so young, she was
now like a bright sunbeam in the house.
No wonder Dr. Sinclair began to think how cheerless his house (which
hitherto had appeared to be all that was desirable) looked on his
arrival home, and how different it would all be if there was someone
always waiting to receive him. In summer-time he would picture this
person sitting in the porch, perhaps, with needlework, and when
winter came, in a cozy sitting-room all aglow with firelight, with
possibly a pair of slippers warming near the fender. O, yes, it was
a charming picture! In truth the young doctor, hitherto so matter of
fact and prosaic, had taken to painting many such pictures in his
mind's eye, and the centre figure always bore, strange to say, a
strong resemblance to Honor Merivale. But John Sinclair had got his
way to make in the world, for although he had stepped into his
father's practice on the latter's death, the list of well-to-do
patients was not a very extensive one, there being but few
(comparatively) large houses round about the neighbourhood; and the
young fellow being kind-hearted and lenient in such matters, fees
came in but slowly from his poorer patients, often not at all.
This had been of no consequence to the old gentleman during his
lifetime, for he had money of his own which made him independent of
his profession. In later years, however, he had speculated largely
and unsuccessfully, and when on his death-bed he was obliged to tell
his son that all he had to leave him was his house and just the bare
practice. This intelligence had in no way disconcerted John
Sinclair, however. He said he had his brains and his hands, and with
those useful commodities had no fears for the future.
He had soon worked the practice up into something very much better
than it had been formerly, and, what was more encouraging, he was
beginning to be looked upon with favour by his brother practitioners,
it being now no uncommon thing for him to be sent for to neighbouring
towns to hold consultations with men of long standing and experience.
Still his fortune was not made, and in his castle-building moments he
now became painfully conscious of many defects in his bachelor home.
The carpets, which a little while back had appeared quite handsome in
his eyes, now look threadbare and worn. The curtains are all of them
old-fashioned and dingy. The leather of the dining-room furniture
has suddenly become shabby and scratched, whilst the coverings of all
the drawing-room chairs and sofas, &c., are faded to the last degree.
No, he could not ask Honor to share his home as it is. He must wait
until he shall have the means to brighten up the old house with
modern furniture, and to make it both pretty and comfortable. He
must wait, too, until he has a certain income (how much, he has not
quite decided even to himself) to depend upon yearly.
"She has slaved and laboured enough, poor child!" he says to himself
sighing, "and she shall never have to do it again through any
rashness of mine."
So altogether John Sinclair is not in the best of spirits just now,
for while he is waiting might not someone else step in and secure the
prize.
Mrs. Merivale sees the change, and guesses pretty accurately the
reason of it. But while she pities him from her heart she feels
rightly that nothing she can do will mend matters.
Daisy does not find her companion nearly so amusing and cheerful now
as she used to, and one morning, feeling in extra good spirits
herself, and only getting mono-syllabic answers to all her childish
flow of chatter, she plainly informs him of that fact without the
slightest regard to his feelings.
"Am I not?" says Sinclair, laughing a little and pulling himself
together; for he had been leaning forward in his saddle wrapped in
gloomy thoughts, until the child's abrupt remark roused him.
"Well, I am very sorry, Daisy. I'll try to be a little more lively
in future. Shall I tell you a new story?"
Daisy looks at him, and then shakes her head.
"I like the old one best," she says, "about the princess, you know,
and the wood-cutter. But I don't like the way it finishes up. You
must make it end differently, Dr. John."
"Why, how did it end?--I almost forget now;" and he passes his hand
over his eyes and strives to take his memory back to please his
exacting little patient.
"Why, I believe _I_ know it all better than you!" remarks the child
with some contempt. "Don't you remember? The princess had a lot of
brothers and sisters; but, you know, she can only have been a
princess in disguise, because she was a kind of Cinderella at home.
Then the wood-cutter, just because he _was_ a wood-cutter, would not
ask the princess to marry him, although he was _dreadfully_ fond of
her; and _I_ think that was silly, you know, because it was quite
likely that some fairy would have made him a prince when they were
married, and then, you see, it would have been all right. You must
make up a new ending," concludes Daisy authoritatively, "and make the
wood-cutter ask the princess to marry him, and then they will both be
happy ever after."
"Do you think they really would be?" asks Dr. John anxiously.
"Of _course_ they would--they always are!" replies Daisy, with firm
conviction that the approved manner of winding up fairy tales in
general cannot fail to be successful in this case also.
"You can arrange it all nicely when you are at home to-night,"
continues the child, "and mind you make it very long."
"To be sure," says the young man as he lifts his little charge off
her pony and stands her by the gate. "Yards long, if you like,
Daisy; and we will take an extra long ride so as to get it all in
comfortably."
As he stops at the Rosery stables to leave Puck, the old gentlemen at
work in the garden catch sight of their young favourite; and nothing
will do but he must go in and take a glass of ale and some cake with
them, the brothers being devoted to cake themselves, and thinking of
necessity that every one else must be likewise. So Jack is taken in
company with Puck to the nice cool stable, where he is entertained
with a fresh drink and a few oats, while his master goes into the
shady, old-fashioned dining-room with his old hosts. It soon becomes
apparent that they have lured him in with some special object, for
after a humming and hawing from both gentlemen in turn Mr. Edward at
length says:
"The fact is, my dear Dr. John, we have been wanting to speak to you
for some time past on a little matter of business; and I do not see
that we could have a better opportunity than now."
Mr. Benjamin nods approvingly, and saying "exactly," looks at his
brother expectantly.
"You see, my dear boy," resumes the elder brother slowly, "if you
will pardon us for saying so, we do think it is time you were
thinking of getting married. Hush! pray let me finish what I was
about to say. Of course Mrs. Mildew, though a truly excellent woman
in her way, is, it cannot be denied, advancing in years; and we fear
that she does not always make you as comfortable as--as, well, as she
might. Now, Brother Ben and I, you must remember, have known you
ever since you were a little chap--so high, and have looked upon you
as a son almost. Naturally, therefore, we have put you down in our
will for a trifle. But we have lately been thinking that the wiser
plan would be to let you have the benefit of this little sum during
our lifetime--in fact, at once. It will bring you in about a hundred
a year, and with your own practice, we think you might make a
sufficient income to keep a wife very comfortably.
"Of course," says Mr. Ned, holding up his hand again for silence--"of
course _this_ is a matter in which we cannot advise you, and which
must be left entirely to yourself. I daresay, however, you know
plenty of young ladies in the different towns about;" and he nods and
smiles archly at the young fellow.
"You see, my dear boy, it looks so much better for a doctor to be a
married man," suddenly puts in Mr. Benjamin; "and should you be so
fortunate as to meet with anyone in the future whom you would like
to--to make Mrs. John, you know, you would naturally want to furbish
up the old place a bit--now, wouldn't you?"
"Another thing," strikes in Mr. Edward, both brothers seeming equally
determined that John shall not have an opportunity of getting in a
single word edgeways until they have said all their say, "it would be
an immense relief to both Brother Ben and myself to feel that we
still had you at hand to fly to in any case of emergency. We have
always had the fear that you might perhaps be running away to set up
in some more prosperous place than this."
Here the old gentleman pauses, and John Sinclair, seizing his
opportunity, speaks at last--not that he is allowed to say much,
however, for the old fellows have not half finished yet, and they
will not listen to a single word of thanks.
When John once brings in the word "obligation" they are both down
upon him at once.
"There is no obligation in the matter at all, my dear boy, unless it
is on our side. As I said to Brother Ben this morning, 'It is pure
selfishness on our part, Ben, nothing more nor less. Because, you
see, we like to see with our own eyes that what we intend doing is
really done, and without any haggling with lawyers and executors.'
Why, bless me, if every one acted on this principle there would be a
little more justice and comfort in the world, I'm thinking."
After a little more brisk conversation and some chaffing on the
subject of the future "Mrs. John" (Mr. Ben having declared that his
young friend was blushing, and that he believed he already had his
eye on some charming young lady, though whom it could be he couldn't
tell), the young doctor is allowed to take his departure.
Riding slowly down the cool, green lanes, Jack rather enjoying the
unusual pace, Sinclair repeats over and over to himself Daisy's
words, "The wood-cutter must ask the princess to marry him," till at
last, giving the saddle a sounding smack with the handle of his
riding-whip, he exclaims to himself, "He shall ask her, and that this
very day! Only," his face falling a little, "will she raise any
objections to leaving all her brothers and sisters, I wonder?" He is
put to the test sooner than he expects, for as he comes out of the
lane at the crossroads, a little way down one of which his own house
stands, whom should he see seated on the stile, a small basket by her
side, but Honor Merivale!