CHAPTER III.
SOUTH BAY.
"I SUPPOSE you all want to hear everything," said Dr. Arundel cheerfully, as he looked round on the expectant faces of the party who sat at tea the following evening.
"Yes, everything," answered Ada; and the others certainly did not say no.
"Well, we went to South Bay, and, as you know, it takes nearly three hours in the train. When we arrived there, we were hurried into a little shaky omnibus, and were driven into the town, and set down, according to our wish, in the very middle of all the lodgings."
"I suppose you do not care to know how many houses we went over? Nor how many disappointments we had before we found the right place?"
"Did you find the right place?" asked Arthur.
"I think we did. After wandering about till we were nearly footsore, we caught sight of a little settlement on the cliff about ten minutes' walk from the sea.
"'What is that, I wonder?' said mamma, quite brightening up.
"And we turned our steps that way, though I will confess to you, children, that I had not much hope it would turn out anything after all. But it was something, and just the very something we had been longing for. It was a small farm, with high, pointed gables; and, to our great joy, up in one of the windows close to the lane was the welcome word 'lodgings.'
"A pleasant middle-aged woman came to the door, and asked us to enter. I assure you we were not loath to do so. The glaring sun and the unusual fatigue made us glad to sit down, and the woman seemed to understand this; for she did not offer any remark for a moment, but turned to a little toddling child who hung to her skirts, and said coaxingly,—
"'Now, Alfy, granny wants you to go in the garden; run away, there's a good little boy.'
"Master Alfy, however, preferred to stare at us, and his grandmother again tried to coax him, 'See, Alfy, here's a bit of cake; now, darling, run into the garden, do deary.'
"Alfy took the cake and ate it, but remained where he was; and as mamma had by this time got a little rested, we proceeded to look at the lodgings."
The children made sundry exclamations, but their papa soon went on with his story.
"Downstairs, looking into the lane and across to the orchard, was the sitting room, which we shall take our meals in, and the kitchen belonging to the farm; then on the other side of the house, and looking over a sweet-smelling old-fashioned garden, are two rooms, which we shall use for our drawing room and nursery. From these, you can see the sea very well, and the garden and meadow slope away down to South Bay, and the fringe of houses close by the sea. These, however, are nearly hidden from the farm by some few trees at the bottom of their first field."
"How delightful!" burst from many lips.
"Then," resumed Dr. Arundel, "upstairs there are endless rooms, enough for all of you to be as comfortable as possible. The only difficulty will be for you to find your way about; for you go up three stairs, and down three stairs, and up three stairs again in the most fascinating manner."
The children all understood this, and it raised their hopes beyond everything.
Suddenly Netta laid her head on her father's arm, "But you won't be there, papa. What shall we do without you? And how dull you will be! I am so very, very sorry."
All the faces were turned full of feeling towards him. "We all are," said Ada, "only it is of no use keeping on saying so."
"Yes, my dears, so we are," he answered, looking at them all, "but it has seemed to me that I have been called to stay in London this summer. You know the physician who had undertaken my work has been suddenly taken ill; and at this time of year, everyone has made arrangements, and it was too late to find anyone else. There are a good many sick ones round us, and I cannot leave them. No; we must be patient. Perhaps further on in the autumn, I may get away; and I hope even now to come down and look in on you once or twice during your stay."
The children sighed; it was a great disappointment to them; and they felt almost guilty to be so delighted when their dear father could not share it.
The final packing up was more like Arthur's advice to Ada than the elders would have chosen. Certainly the servants, as well as Nellie and Ada, had not been idle during the two days of Mrs. Arundel's absence. But it was, nevertheless, a great bustle to pack up for so large a family. And when at last on Saturday afternoon they really did drive away from No. 8 in two cabs, and the carriage for mamma and Tom, they all were perfectly certain they had left the very thing behind that they wanted most.
Dr. Arundel was obliged to wish them good-bye at the station. They were in two adjoining carriages, in one of which Nellie, Arthur, and the little girls were established, with Simmons, the housemaid; and in the other Tom's little couch had been laid, and by him sat his mother, while at the further window Ada and the nurse and baby were making themselves as comfortable as possible.
Dr. Arundel looked at all the happy faces, and as he clasped his wife's hand, he whispered, "We have much to be thankful for, my love; may God bless you all, and strengthen little Tom."
Mrs. Arundel's eyes were full of tears as she glanced at the pale face beside her, and then back at her husband, and she only managed to say good-bye rather brokenly. But just as the train began to move, she whispered hurriedly, "Indeed I know it, so many mercies; I am not unthankful."
Dr. Arundel smiled brightly in answer, and they were quickly out of sight.
CHAPTER IV.
THE GABLED FARM.
OH the delicious smell of the sea as they emerged from the little station at South Bay!
The elder ones volunteered to walk, and as the omnibus was considered too shaky for Tom, a fly had been previously ordered, and stood waiting for them.
The light frame of his couch, with his slender form, was easily lifted and placed across the two seats, and they were soon driving along by the edge of the sea before turning up the road which led to the Downs. Tom stretched his neck to see as much as he could, and his mother tried to raise him a little, but he looked so anxious and haggard that she begged him to be satisfied to leave it all till to-morrow. The child lay back exhausted, and the mother's eyes sought the nurse's anxiously.
"He will be better after his tea, ma'am," said Mary, in answer to this look; "and to-morrow I hope he will be quite himself; won't you, dear?"
They were soon mounting the little hill that led to the farm, and Mrs. Arundel said to Mary, "I hope you will not find this very heavy to push him up and down."
"Oh, no, I do not think we shall; we must all help!" answered Mary pleasantly. "You know, ma'am, we can't expect London pavements at South Bay."
"Here we are!" said Mrs. Arundel as they drew up before a gabled whitewashed house, with a gay little garden in front, and wide-open white curtained windows, with old-fashioned tiny diamond lattices.
By the time Tom had been safely lifted out, and the nurse, baby, and Dolly had been introduced to their nursery, there was a sound of voices, and Mrs. Arundel turned to greet her merry party from the station.
"How delicious!" said Ada.
"Delightful!" said Arthur, bounding up.
"This is lovely, mamma!" said Nellie.
And Isabel and Netta joined in the chorus of gratification; while Simmons gave smiling approval.
"What a jolly sitting room! And that dear old bay window! I say, Ada, we'll have nice times here," said Arthur.
"What a little drawing room!" exclaimed Ada, rushing across the landing into the room looking towards the sea.
"Yes; that is my sanctum," said their mother, smiling.
"Quite right, too," said Arthur; "for I believe we do make an awful row sometimes."
"Where's the nursery?" asked Ada.
"Here," said Dolly's little voice from the crack of the door close by. "I've been watching you all this time. This is my nursery, and I like it very much; but Tom doesn't."
"Let's see," said Arthur. "Oh, here you are, all of you, quite settled in, I declare! Tea spread on the table, and baby looking as if he would eat the loaf if he could!"
"Yes, he is so hungry," said Mary.
"I am not," said Tom wearily. "I wish I could come in with you, mamma; I don't like being here."
"So you shall, dear, when we have taken our bonnets off. It is all strange at present, but we shall soon get happy. Arthur dear, help Simmons and Mrs. Ross up with some of our things."
They soon came down again, and Simmons and Arthur lifted the moveable part of Tom's couch from the nursery to the sitting room sofa. And there, slightly propped up with pillows, he was able to look round, and began to feel himself more at home.
"I don't want any tea," he still assured them.
"Just one mouthful," said his mother with gentle decision as she held his drinking-cup to his lips.
He obeyed without further demur, and then, placing the cup on his little table, which had been brought with them in the train, and putting one tiny piece of bread and butter between his lips, Mrs. Arundel left him while she attended to the others. And amid all the little bustle of preparation, Tom forgot to be cross, and unnoticed by all but his watchful mother, gradually took up piece after piece of his bread and butter till it had all disappeared. He looked all the better for it.
And happily no one said, "There, you did want your tea after all;" though it was on the tip of Ada's tongue several times.
By the time tea was over, it was getting dusk, and Mrs. Arundel advised them not to explore till the next day.
"Oh, mamma," said Nellie, "would you mind our just running down for a peep at the sea!"
Mrs. Arundel could not say no, and telling them "to wrap up, for it was very different from London," she went to see after her little flock, and in no time heard the three hurry out of the house and scamper down the quiet lane.
The little ones were soon tucked into the white fragrant beds; and Tom had been lifted upstairs on his light frame, and was now lying in the twilight waiting for his mother's good-night kiss.
He stretched out his hand and stroked her face, then said suddenly, "I wish I could run off down the lane with them."
"I wish you could, my precious," she answered tenderly; "but, Tom, God has willed it differently, and we must try and be willing. Do try, my dearest!"
"I can't," said Tom in a stifled voice. "It makes it worse to come here and half see it all. I would rather have stayed in London."
"I hope it will do you good, my dear; and you will find to-morrow that there are some pleasures you can share."
"I don't think there will be. Even baby could grab at the flowers at our nursery window the minute he came in; but I—, I could only be lifted as usual on to the sofa, and stick there."
A hot tear fell on little Tom's face.
"There now, I have made you cry," he said penitently. "Oh, mamma, I wish I could bear it better!"
He clasped his arms about her neck, and after a minute or two, she whispered his prayer, and then tenderly kissing him, she got up to go away.
Tom would like to have seen her face—the face he loved so much—but it was too dark; and he could only guess by her step that she was dejected and sorrowful. This made him very sorrowful too, and burning tears rolled down his cheeks when her footfall sounded on the last stair. Being left alone reminded him of that other boy who had no mother; that boy who had no white soft bed at the sea-side to rest in, but was probably at this moment in a dark, unhealthy room, looking at the shadow of the flickering gas-lamp on the dirty blind, in hot, dirty London.
"I wish I had not grieved her," he thought, as he had thought a hundred times before; "but I can't help it; I'm a miserable little boy, and always shall be, till the end!"
"Till the end!" Was there an end? The thought roused him again, for he was almost asleep. What made him think of that? Was it that beautiful evening star shining so calmly down upon him? Or was it words which his mother and father often spoke to him, and which, by the Holy Spirit's power, were coming back to him? He could not tell; and while he thought about it, his tired eyes closed, and he slept.
When Mrs. Arundel lifted her blind the next morning, and looked out over the orchard laden with fruit, with its grass sparkling in the morning dew and sunshine, she espied two figures, arm-in-arm, pacing up and down the lane. They were Ada and Arthur. No time must be lost on this first morning; and they were drinking in the fresh sea breezes, and enjoying, as perhaps only town folks can, the first morning at the sea-side. Very dear to their mother were these eldest children of hers; but how she longed to see in them, besides their bright earthly promise, the germ of heavenly growth.
"May Thy kingdom come in their hearts!" she said as she turned away.
A handful of gravel crashing against her window roused Nellie from her slumbers. She started up frightened, and then smiled as she guessed what it was.
"Nellie, Nellie!" called Arthur. "It's eight o'clock, and we want breakfast!"
"What a lovely Sunday," said Mrs. Arundel, when she came down stairs and found Nellie cutting the bread and butter.
"Yes; it is indeed, mamma. How I wish papa were here with us."
"Come, Arthur; come, Ada," called Mrs. Arundel from the door, "I am sure you must be hungry."
"That we are, and I never did see such a jolly place, mamma! That orchard, when the dew is off, will be as cool and as shady as possible; and when we are tired of the beach—"
"Which we shall not be," interrupted Ada.
"Oh, yes, we shall; one cannot be everlastingly on the beach! It is the very thing to complete our enjoyment."
"It is very nice," said Mrs. Arundel, "and is an especial pleasure to me, because I shall be able to take my work there when I do not care to go far."
After breakfast they all gathered together, and their mother read a short passage from the Bible, and prayed a very simple prayer that all could understand, asking God their Father to take care of them, thanking Him for all His gifts, and praying that they might be enabled to live to His glory.
After this, all who were old enough prepared themselves, and at half-past ten set off to walk inland to a little church about a mile away.
After dinner, Mrs. Arundel told them to bring their books to the orchard, and little Tom was wheeled under the shade of one of the largest trees, and they established themselves in various comfortable attitudes round him. The baby rolled on the grass at their feet, Dolly was absorbed in a Sunday picture book at Nellie's knee, and the rest were sitting, with Sunday faces calm and bright, waiting to hear a story which their mother was going to read aloud. The two servants, with the maid from the farm, soon passed, going to afternoon service in South Bay. And as long as the bells were chiming, Mrs. Arundel sat silent, listening to the peaceful sound, and thinking of all whom she loved who were far away.
The children were awed by the stillness and the music floating up on the soft wind; and when the last note died away, they sat perfectly quiet, till Mrs. Arundel turned to them and opened the book.
Just at this moment Alfy ran out from the wide-open front door, and crossed the road, to have a good look at the new visitors. His exit was unnoticed evidently, for no one followed him, and he made his way, not at all abashed, into the midst of the little party. The children were all rather surprised, and there was a pause to see what he would do. "Me, too," he said, and seated himself amongst them very complacently.
"Here, Alfy," said Nellie, "I have some pictures here, come and see them!"
Alfy turned round, and after examining her gentle face for a minute, he scrambled to his feet and trotted towards her; and as they were far enough away not to interrupt the others, Mrs. Arundel began her reading, and Nellie kept her two little ones happy and good for half an hour.
Just as Mrs. Arundel was shutting her book, Mrs. Ross appeared at the door, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked anxiously in every direction, at last calling in not a very pleased voice, "Alfy! Alfy! Wherever are you?"
"Here he is," said Mrs. Arundel, raising her voice a little just to reach the anxious grandmother.
"Oh, dear, ma'am, I'm sure I beg pardon for him—a naughty boy! However did he come troubling you ladies?" said Mrs. Ross, coming near.
"Oh, never mind, he has been very good."
"I suppose it was this way. Molly, the girl, was off to church, and his grandfather was having a nap, and I must needs fall asleep too. I beg your pardon, ma'am. You see we're old folks to have him on us like; but it's all we can do for him that's gone," glancing at her black Sunday gown.
"Your son's child?" asked Mrs. Arundel kindly, sympathising with the trouble in the old woman's face.
"Yes, ma'am, our only one. His wife died when Alfy was a year old; and just a year after that, our boy went out one ugly night fishing, and a storm came on, and the boats came back without his!"
All eyes were turned on Mrs. Ross; and even Alfy looked sober. Seeing them silently ask for more, she went on.
"A few days afterwards we did find him, thank God; but our brave, handsome boy, you would not have known him, ma'am; and we laid him by his young wife up there under the trees where you went this morning; and then we took Alfy home to us altogether."
"I daresay it is a comfort in some ways," said Mrs. Arundel, looking at his pretty little face, and thinking of the sailor-father.
"Yes, ma'am," said Mrs. Ross hesitating, "it is in some ways; when I think of him that's gone it is. But we're getting old, father and me, and sometimes I'm afraid whether we look after him enough; and we haven't time or strength to be always at his heels. I am afraid for him if anything happened to us, or if he were to run wild. That's what our own Alfred never did, ma'am."
Mrs. Arundel looked thoughtful. And as the children were getting tired of sitting, Mrs. Ross took Alfy's hand and led the way to show them a little brook where she could pick them some water-cresses for tea. They all ran off after her; and Nellie came up to Tom, and placing the good-natured baby by his side on the perambulator, within the circle of his arm, she pushed them slowly up and down the shady lane, while Mrs. Arundel walked by her side, and they enjoyed one of those peaceful seasons that come but seldom to mothers and elder daughters of large families, and are prized accordingly.
Nellie and her stepmother loved each other dearly, and each truly sought to be a comfort to the other. It was wonderful how many ways Nellie found of doing little things for her mamma. While in her turn, Mrs. Arundel tried to fill a mother's place to the girl whom she had taken to her heart a desolate, motherless child, of four years old, just fifteen years ago.
This Sunday was long remembered; for that week a new era opened in the lives of some of that happy little party.
CHAPTER V.
THREE-AND-SIXPENCE.
"MAMMA! What time may we bathe?" was Ada's first question the next morning when they were fairly seated at breakfast.
"I have been thinking it over," answered Mrs. Arundel, "and I know you and Arthur would generally like to bathe before breakfast."
"That we should!" said Arthur. "Bathing in the middle of the day is 'girls' time.'"
"So should I," said Ada; "but oh, mamma, what a pity we did not go this morning!"
Mrs. Arundel smiled. "I thought for the first day that you would have excitement enough, so by-and-by we will see about it."
"And may we bathe?" asked Netta; including, as she always did, her beloved companion Isabel.
"Yes, with Nellie; and I shall sit on the beach and watch you, and see what brave little girls I have."
The moment breakfast and prayers were done, there was a general rush for hats and jackets. Long before Mrs. Arundel could be ready, Arthur, Ada, Isabel, and Netta were off down the lane; and Nellie was almost as anxious as they to get off. But she waited first to help to get Tom ready, and place him in his little carriage; and then, while the nurse put on her hat, she amused the little ones and held the baby.
At last they were all ready to start. Mrs. Arundel had spoken to Mrs. Ross about the dinner, and now came out, followed by Simmons, who would push little Tom, and take it in turns with the nurse to carry the baby, while for a change, Tom often asked them to set him by his side and give him a ride too.
The nursery party went down the hill more quickly than Nellie and Mrs. Arundel cared to go, and were established on the sands when they arrived. Arthur soon spied them, for he had been on the watch, and now rushed up with a face full of eagerness.
"Here you are!" he exclaimed, opening out his mother's beach chair, and longing to see her established.
But his mother was not ready yet. She went first to little Tom's side and fixed up a sort of parasol shade over him, and then put him so that he could see as much as possible without raising his head more than was permitted.
He smiled gratefully as the shade came over his face.
"You can see pretty well now, darling?" she said, putting her face down to the level of his.
"Yes, mamma, pretty well," he said, sighing a little.
The others waited round. They knew from experience that everyone in the family had to give place to the comfort of the poor little invalid; so it was not till their mother seemed satisfied that the most had been done that could be, that they claimed her attention.
"Now, mamma, you promised us some pails and spades!"
"To be sure," said Mrs. Arundel, producing a half-crown which seemed ready; "and Arthur is the eldest, so he must lay it out to good advantage."
"Could we get anything for Tom?" whispered Ada.
"Not with that, I think; but if you see anything that would amuse him, you can let me know; or stay—suppose I give you another shilling, and you use your very best discretion to get something suitable. Suitable, mind!"
The words were hardly out of Mrs. Arundel's mouth, before the children were off, Ada dragging Dolly along as fast as her little legs could carry her towards the shops.
Mrs. Arundel looked after them, smiling, when she was startled by a slight cry from Tom. A large mastiff had come up, and was putting his cool nose right up to little Tom's face.
A young lady in deep mourning sprang forward, and said quickly: "He will not hurt you, dear, in the least!" And then, coming up to them, she apologised for her dog, and tried to make friends with Tom.
"I was only startled for a moment," said Tom, looking up, rather ashamed of his fright.
"Yes," said a clear ringing voice; "and he is so big, and came so very near! But he is as gentle as can be. Come here, Lion, and show this little boy how good you can be."
Then turning to Mrs. Arundel, and finding that her face did not rebuke her for interesting the little invalid, she showed him how her dog would fetch a stick, carry her basket, and do various little tricks.
Presently she raised her veil, and then they could see her striking face and great beauty. She was probably a few years older than Nellie, but her face was full of interest and sorrow. Nellie made up her mind that it was a sorrow carried patiently, and not fought against; though she could not have told why she thought so.
Then the stranger called her dog to lie down beside her, and Mrs. Arundel and Nellie seated themselves close to little Tom, and began to think of taking out their work.
But the work did not come to much, for before long they heard a considerable crunching of the shingle behind them, and in another moment the troop came up, breathless and excited.
"Where are your pails?" said Mrs. Arundel in amazement, seeing them all empty-handed, and making up her mind that they had lost the half-crown.
"Oh, mamma!" Ada whispered eagerly. "We haven't brought them with us; but they are all right, and we are going back for them. But, mamma, there was nothing suitable for Tom under three-and-sixpence—but oh, do let us spend that! We will give the extra out of our own money."
"But, my dear, three-and-sixpence is a great deal. Whatever toy could cost that, that he could play with?"
"Oh, mamma, he'll hear!" said Ada. "But do trust us; it isn't a toy, and it isn't waste, and do trust us to buy it!"
Mrs. Arundel would have hesitated still; but the eager faces, and the necessity for secrecy, overcame her prudent objections, so she took another half-crown from her purse, and they were off again instantly.
The young lady, who had been near enough to Mrs. Arundel to gather the meaning of it all, smiled pleasantly when they were again out of sight, and said in a low tone, "They seem very fond of your little boy."
"Oh, yes! He is our first care." Then with a glance, which the young lady understood, towards the little couch, Mrs. Arundel turned the conversation to other subjects.
In about half an hour the shopping party came back, and advanced with their hands behind them, looking eagerly happy. Arthur came first, and going up to little Tom, placed in his hand a small parcel, saying, "That's your share of the spades and pails!"
They all gathered round to see, even Simmons and Mary getting up to peep over the little shoulders; and very much surprised were they to see Tom's thin fingers take out of the paper a nice little telescope!
"How kind!" he said, flushing up. "Do you think I shall be able to see through it lying so?"
"Oh, yes," said his mother, looking delighted. "It will be the very thing, Tom. How nice it was of them all to think of it."
"And here are our spades," said the little ones, bursting out with their news, now the grand presentation was over. "See, mamma, such beauties, and the pails only fourpence each!"
"Splendid!" said Nellie. "And such nice spades. Well, you will be happy!"
"Don't you want a spade?" said Dolly, looking up in Nellie's face.
"No, dear; though I am a sea-side baby, I will confess," she said laughingly, turning to the stranger, who seemed quite interested by the family party.
The young lady smiled. "Ah, I am too old for that!" she said, shaking her head. "But I expect you could dig for a whole morning with pleasure."
"Yes," said Nellie; "I believe I could. Come along, Dolly, and let us begin."
The tide had been going down for some hours, and a nice flat strip of sand was left dry. Simmons volunteered to push Tom a little way along this, and Mary joined her with the baby.
Left thus together, as it were, Mrs. Arundel turned to the young lady, as if to finish the sentence which had been interrupted. "We never talk of him before him," she said, following the perambulator with her eyes. "He is very quick, and thinks too much about himself already; I mean his thoughts are too much centred on his affliction."
"It must be a great trial," said the young lady sympathisingly.
"Yes," said his mother, still looking after him, "yes; but we do know from whom it comes."
"Ah! That is the only comfort."
"You know that comfort too, then?"
"Yes," she answered in her turn. But it was a very reserved word, and Mrs. Arundel could not ask any more just then.
"Was it an accident?" asked the young lady presently.
"Yes; when he was nearly two years old; such a darling! The nurse—not this one—put him on the table against my often-repeated injunctions, and as she turned round to reach his hat, the child leant after her and fell. He has never sat up since."
"How sad!"
"Very, very sad! But one day my boy will, I trust, know what it is to be all right again, and have no aches and weariness. Here they come back, and I think he looks as if he were tired. Simmons, we will return home, and leave the others to their digging. How happy they all look!"
She turned to the stranger to say good morning. "Do you stay long?" she asked.
"I live here at present."
"Then we shall meet again, I doubt not."
"My name is Christina Arbuthnot."
"And mine is Mrs. Arundel."
"Thank you so much; it will be very pleasant to meet."
With a word to Nellie and the nurse, who both seemed inclined to finish the morning on the beach, Mrs. Arundel turned homewards, her little son's anxious face giving her such a heart-sinking that she felt as if she could hardly walk along. But by-and-by, she lifted her eyes to the blue sky and took courage. She remembered in whose hand she was, and that nothing could happen to her boy but by His permission.
"He knows, He cares," she said to herself; and if the eyes that still looked up were dimmed with tears, they were tears of submissive faith, that trusted when she could not see.
CHAPTER VI.
AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.
IT was not very late when Mrs. Arundel reached the farm.
Hearing the noise of wheels before she expected it, Mrs. Ross came to the door to see, and Mrs. Arundel told her that this first day the excitement had been rather too much for Tom, and that they had come home to rest.
Simmons and she soon tucked him up comfortably on the little sofa in the tiny sitting room, and with his tired eyes watching his mother sit down to her desk, he soon forgot himself, and fell peacefully asleep.
About half-past one the beach party began to return. Nurse and the little ones first, and very soon Nellie and all the rest.
When they were at tea that evening, Netta spied the postman coming up the hill. And there was a general rush to the door, in which, however, poor Netta, being small, lost her chance. Ada was the successful one, and laid the letter down in triumph before her mother.
"From papa!" she said.
Mrs. Arundel opened it in silence; while the children looked on expectantly.
"Oh, Nellie!" said Mrs. Arundel, "Who do you think has come? Oh, Nellie!"
Nellie turned pale; and Mrs. Arundel read—
"Prepare yourselves for a great surprise. When I was seated at my
solitary tea on Saturday evening, the door opened, and Walter walked
in! Yes, my dear son from India! But he must tell you all about it
himself. When he has finished his business, he will come down to South
Bay, about Wednesday, I suppose; so tell Nellie to keep back her
impatience till then. I am too busy to say more to-day."
Nellie's colour came again; but she burst into tears.
Mrs. Arundel rose quickly, and putting her arm round her shoulder, kissed her affectionately. "Dear Nellie, how nice it will be," she said; "don't cry; I am afraid I did not prepare you enough."
Nellie's tears caused general consternation; and when she looked up and saw the woe-begone faces of her little sisters, she could not help laughing, which astonished them much. So she soon recovered, and once more they settled to their tea, and to the joyful anticipations of Walter's visit.
Arthur and Ada were very full of it, and, to judge by what they said, intended to monopolise him entirely. Nellie looked radiant after her first agitation was over, and Mrs. Arundel sympathised so thoroughly with her, that she looked radiant too. The children were so excited with this news that they soon finished tea, and almost without asking permission set off for a walk inland, leaving everything scattered about.
Their mother began to put the room to rights. "They will have to be tidy," she said emphatically, half aloud; "for if everyone throws everything down, we shall not be able to move."
On the eventful Wednesday, dinner was soon swallowed, and four or five of them hurried off to meet the three o'clock train.
Tom was lifted across on his couch to the grass in the orchard, where he lay looking up into the trees, and thinking. His little telescope was held tightly in one thin hand; and the other stretched out listlessly, catching at the grass and clover.
Mrs. Arundel came over the road to glance at him, and he looked up in her face as if wishing to say something. She knew the look, and waited.
"I suppose they are all very glad about Walter?" he said gravely.
"Very glad; it is so nice for us."
"It will not be nice for me; I shall not wish to see him; I don't remember him."
"But, dear Tom, he is your brother, and so kind, and when you know him, you will love him."
"No, mamma, I shall not," he answered quietly; "nothing makes any difference to me. They will all be off for walks away from me. No; I wish he were not coming."
Mrs. Arundel could not keep back a sigh, and Tom was quick to perceive it. He hated himself for his petulance, and yet he felt unable to overcome it.
"You must watch for them coming up the lane, dear," she said, trying to speak cheerfully; "and when you first hear them or see them, give a sound on your little whistle and I will come out."
"All right!" said Tom, with a trifle more energy. And then finding he could look up into the trees with his telescope, he began to adjust it, and Mrs. Arundel went indoors.
Tom was the first to hear the sound of the approaching party, and in his excitement gave a very shrill whistle, which brought his mother running out long before anything was to be seen.
But in a few minutes, they came within sight over the brow of the little hill. Nellie, looking the picture of happiness, leaning on the arm of a sunburnt, pleasant young man of about twenty-two, who was laughing and talking, and holding Isabel by his disengaged hand.
The others were conveying his bag, umbrella, &c.; for Walter certainly should not have anything to carry this first day.
He came forward quickly when he saw his stepmother, and kissed her affectionately; and before Tom had time to object, he had stooped and kissed him also, saying with a sweet smile, "Ah, Tom! Here's somebody come that will be able to push you along finely!"
Tom looked astonished, and then a little ashamed as his eyes rested on his mother's face. And her touched and grateful smile set him thinking even in that moment of arrival how it was that his mother could love him so much. He thought he would ask her some day.
After tea nobody seemed inclined to walk down into the town again, so they gathered round their mother and Walter in the orchard. And with the sweet air blowing up gently from the sea, and the scent of the flowers coming over from the garden, he explained to them how it was that he came so suddenly, and what were his plans.
"I should not have taken you by surprise if I could have helped it; but one of the partners of our firm was coming over on business, and was thrown from his horse and seriously hurt at the last moment. They were obliged to send someone trustworthy, and luckily fixed on me; so with only twenty-four hours' notice I was off, instead of him, in the steamer in which his passage was taken."
"Jolly!" said Arthur.
"Very," answered Walter, smiling; "for I should not have come in such style on my own account."
"How long are you likely to be able to stay?" asked Mrs. Arundel. "Or perhaps you do not know?"
"I think three clear months. So, as my father tells me you are here for a month, if you will have me, I have come to stay."
"Indeed we will," said Mrs. Arundel; "and shall only be too delighted."
"I have brought something for all of you to do!"
"Have you?" said Arthur. "What sort of thing?"
"Ah! I am going to leave you in uncertainty till the day after to-morrow."
"What an age!" exclaimed Ada. "But, after all, I do not expect it will be anything nice to do."
Nellie looked pained. "I dare say it will, Ada; Walter would not propose anything disagreeable."
"We shall see," said Ada.
"I am sure it will be nice," said Isabel; "for Walter looks so kind!"
"Dear little girl!" he said. "I am glad you trust me."
CHAPTER VII.
WALTER'S TREAT.
"WHO likes donkey rides?" asked Walter the next morning.
Plenty of voices answered, "Oh, I do!"
"Who has heard of Melton Castle, three miles from here?"
"I think we all have," said mamma.
"Who likes rolled tongue and pickled salmon?"
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Ada. "You are only trying to take us in. Though there are donkeys and Melton Castle, there are certainly no rolled tongue and pickled salmon."
"Are there not? So much you know, Miss Ada."
"But, Walter, you should not tell them your bill of fare so early in the day," said Nellie, laughing.
"Well, anyone who likes all these dainties combined, must be at this door at half-past eleven precisely."
"What for?" asked Netta with wide-open eyes.
"You will see. By the bye, Netta, do you like a saddle or a chair?"
"A saddle, of course," answered Netta with dignity; "should not you, Isabel? That is, if you mean for a donkey ride."
"But what are you going to do, Walter?" asked Arthur; "but I guess."
"A picnic!" growled Walter in a sepulchral tone.
They all laughed joyfully.
"But mamma, how can she go? And Tom?"
"All arranged for. You shall behold at half-past eleven," said Walter.
"I believe Nellie is in the secret," said Ada a little jealously.
"Nellie is always in all my secrets," said Walter, smiling at her.
Nellie blushed with pleasure; but she only said, "But mamma is in the secret too."
"Of course," said Isabel; "nothing could be done without mamma."
Before half-past eleven the children were all assembled; and five minutes before that time, six donkeys came up and took their stand near the door.
The children counted and counted, but could not make out how six would be enough to "go round." Walter was lying under a tree in the orchard, and all he did was to laugh at all their questions and leave them unanswered.
Still, he kept his eye on them all, and when an open carriage drove up, he leapt from the ground and hurried across the road.
"Nellie is going to condescend to a donkey," he said, laughing, "and so I shall choose the best for her."