How It All Came Round Part 14

The paper was quickly found, and Charlotte sat down, a boy and girl on each side. It was not easy to say much under such circ.u.mstances, so the words in the little note were few.

"You will give this to your mother when she comes in. See!--I will put it on the mantelpiece," she said to Harold; "and you must not touch these parcels until mother opens them herself. Yes; I will come again.

Now, good-by." Her bonnet was decidedly crooked as she stepped into the carriage, her jacket was also much crumpled; but there was a very sweet feel of little arms still round her neck, and she touched her hair and cheeks with satisfaction, for they had been honored by many child kisses.

"I believe she's just a fairy G.o.dmother," said Harold, as he watched the carriage rolling away.

"I never seed the like in hall my born days," remarked the small maid-of-all-work.

CHAPTER XIX.

"THE PRETTY LADY"

"Mother, mother, mother!"

"And look!--oh, do look at what I have got!" were the words that greeted Mrs. Home, when, very tired, after a day of hard nursing with one of her husband's sick paris.h.i.+oners, she came back.

The children ought to have been in bed, the baby fast asleep, the little parlor-table tidily laid for tea: instead of which, the baby wailed unceasingly up in the distant nursery, and Harold and Daisy, having nearly finished Charlotte's sweeties, and made themselves very uncomfortable by repeated attacks on the rich plum-cake, were now, with very flushed cheeks, alternately playing with their toys and poking their small fingers into the still unopened brown-paper parcels. They had positively refused to go up to the nursery, and, though the gas was lit and the blinds were pulled down, the spirit of disorder had most manifestly got into the little parlor.

"Oh, mother!--what _do_ you think? The lovely lady!--the lady we met in the park yesterday!--she has been, and she brought us _lots_ of things--toys, and sweeties, and cakes, and--oh, mother, do look!"

Daisy presented her doll, and Harold blew some very shrill blasts from his trumpet right up into his mother's eyes.

"My dear children," said Mrs. Home, "whom do you mean? where did you get all these things? who has come here? Why aren't you both in bed? It is long past your usual hour."

This string of questions met with an unintelligible chorus of replies, in which the words "pretty lady," "Regent's Park," "father knew her,"

"we _had_ to sit up," so completely puzzled Mrs. Home, that had not her eyes suddenly rested on the little note waiting for her on the mantelpiece she would have been afraid her children had taken leave of their senses.

"Oh, yes; she told us to give you that," said Harold when he saw his mother take it up.

I have said the note was very short. Charlotte Home read it in a moment.

"Mother, mother! what does she tell you, and what are in the other parcels? She said we weren't to open them until you came home. Oh, _do_ tell us what she said, and let us see the rest of the pretty things!"

"Do, do mother; we have been so patient 'bout it!" repeated little Daisy.

Harold now ran for the largest of the parcels, and raised it for his mother to take. Both children clung to her skirts. Mrs. Home put the large parcel on a shelf out of reach, then she put aside the hot and eager little hands. At last she spoke.

"My little children must have some more patience, for mother can tell them nothing more to-night. Yes, yes, the lady is very pretty and very kind, but we can talk no more about anything until the morning. Now, Harold and Daisy, come upstairs at once."

They were an obedient, well-trained little pair. They just looked at one another, and from each dimpled mouth came a short, impatient sigh; then they gave their hands to mother, and went gravely up to the nursery.

Charlotte stayed with her children until they were undressed. She saw them comfortably washed, their baby prayers said, and each little head at rest on its pillow, then kissing the baby, who was also by this time fast asleep, she went softly downstairs.

Anne, the little maid, was flying about, trying to get the tea ready and some order restored, but when she saw her mistress she could not refrain from standing still to pour out her excited tale.

"Ef you please, 'em, it come on me hall on a 'eap. She come in that free and that bounteous, and seemed as if she could eat all the children up wid love; and she give 'em a lot, and left a lot more fur you, 'em. And when she wor goin' away she put half-a-crown in my hand. I never seed the like--never, 'em--never! She wor dressed as grand as Queen Victory herself, and she come in a carriage and two spanking hosses; and, please, 'em, I heard of her telling the children as she wos own cousin to you, 'em."

"Yes, I know the young lady," replied Mrs. Home. "She is, as you say, very nice and kind. But now, Anne, we must not talk any more. Your master won't be in for an hour, but I shan't wait tea for him; we will have some fresh made later. Please bring me in a cup at once, for I am very tired."

Anne gazed at her mistress in open-eyed astonishment. Any one--any one as poor as she well knew missis to be--who could take the fact of being cousin to so beautiful and rich a young lady with such coolness and apparent indifference quite pa.s.sed Anne's powers of comprehension.

"It beats me holler--that it do!" she said to herself; then, with a start, she ran off to her kitchen.

Mrs. Home had taken her first cup of tea, and had even eaten a piece of bread and b.u.t.ter, before she again drew Charlotte Harman's little note out of her pocket. This is what her eyes had already briefly glanced over:--

DEAR FRIEND AND SISTER--for you must let me call you so--I have come to see you, and finding you out asked to see your children. I have lost my heart to your beautiful and lovely children. They are very sweet! Your baby is more like an angel than any earthly creature my eyes have ever rested on. Charlotte, I brought your children a few toys, and one or two other little things. You won't be too proud to accept them. When I bought them I did not love your children, but I loved you. You are my near kinswoman. You won't take away the pleasure I felt when I bought those things. Dear Sister Charlotte, when shall we meet again? Send me a line, and I will come to you at any time. Yours,

"CHARLOTTE HARMAN."

It is to be regretted that Charlotte Home by no means received this sweet and loving little note in the spirit in which it was written. Her pale, thin face flushed, and her eyes burnt with an angry light. This burst of excited feeling was but the outcome of all she had undergone mentally since she had left Miss Harman's house a few days ago. She had said then, and truly, that she loved this young lady. The pride, the stately bearing, the very look of open frankness in Charlotte's eyes had warmed and touched her heart. She had not meant to tell to those ears, so unaccustomed to sin and shame, this tale of long-past wrong. It had been in a manner forced from her, and she had seen a flush of perplexity, then of horror, color the cheeks and fill the fine brave eyes. She had come away with her heart sympathies so moved by this girl, so touched, so shocked with what she herself had revealed, that she would almost rather, could her father's money now be hers, relinquish it, than cause any further pain or shame to Charlotte Harman.

She came home and confided what she had done to her husband. It is not too much to say that he was displeased--that he was much hurt. The Charlotte who in her too eagerness for money could so act was scarcely the Charlotte he had pictured to himself as his wife. Charlotte was lowered in the eyes of the unworldly man. But just because her husband was so unworldly, so unpractical, Charlotte's own more everyday nature began to rea.s.sert itself. She had really done no harm. She had but told a tale of wrong. Those who committed the wrong were the ones to blame.

She, the sufferer--who could put sin at her door? Her sympathy for Charlotte grew less, her sorrow for herself and her children more. She felt more sure than ever that injustice had been committed--that she and her mother had been robbed; she seemed to read the fact in Charlotte Harman's innocent eyes, Charlotte, in spite of herself, even though her own father was the one accused, believed her--agreed with her.

All that night she spent in a sort of feverish dream, in which she saw herself wealthy, her husband happy, her children cared for as they ought to be. The ugly, ugly poverty of her life and her surroundings had all pa.s.sed away like a dream that is told.

She got up in a state of excitement and expectation, for what might not Charlotte Harman do for her? She would tell the tale to her father, and that father, seeing that his sin was found out, would restore her to her rights. Of course, this must be the natural consequence. Charlotte was not low and mean; she would see that she had her own again. Mrs. Home made no allowance for any subsequent event--for any influence other than her own being brought to bear on the young lady. All that day she watched the post; she watched for the possibility of a visit. Neither letter nor visit came, but Mrs. Home was not discouraged. That day was too soon to hear; she must wait with patience for the morrow.

On the morrow her husband, who had almost forgotten her story, asked her to come and help him in the care of a sick woman at some distance away.

Charlotte was a capital sick-nurse, and had often before given similar aid to Mr. Home in parish work.

She went, spent her day away, and returned to find that Charlotte had come--that so far her dream was true. Yes, but only so far, for Charlotte had come, not in shame, but in the plenitude of a generous benefactor. She had come laden with gifts, and had gone away with the hearts of the children and the little maid. Charlotte Home felt a great wave of anger and pain stealing over her heart. In her pain and disappointment she was unjust.

"She is a coward after all. She dare not tell her father. She believes my tale, but she is not brave enough to see justice done to me and mine; so she tries to make up for it; she tries to salve her conscience and bribe me with gifts--gifts and flattery. I will have none of it. My rights--my true and just rights, or nothing! These parcels shall go back unopened to-morrow." She rose from her seat, and put them all tidily away on a side-table. She had scarcely done so before her husband's latch-key was heard in the hall-door. He came in with the weary look which was habitual to his thin face. "Oh, Angus, how badly you do want your tea!" said the poor wife. She was almost alarmed at her husband's pallor, and forgot Charlotte while attending to his comfort.

"What are those parcels, Lottie?" he said, noticing the heaped-up things on the side-table.

"Never mind. Eat your supper first," she said to him.

"I can eat, and yet know what is in them. They give quite a Christmas and festive character to the place. And what is that I see lying on that chair--a new doll for Daisy? Why, has my careful little woman been so extravagant as to buy the child another doll?"

Mr. Home smiled as he spoke. His wife looked at him gravely. She picked up the very pretty doll and laid it with the other parcels on the side-table.

"I will tell you about the parcels and the doll if you wish it," she answered. "Miss Harman called when I was out, and brought cakes, and sweeties, and toys to the children. She also brought those parcels. I do not know what they contain, for I have not opened them. And she left a note for me. I cannot help the sweeties and cakes, for Harold and Daisy have eaten them; but the toys and those parcels shall go back to-morrow."

Mrs. Home looked very proud and defiant as she spoke. Her husband glanced at her face; then, with a slight sigh, he pushed his supper aside.

"No, I am not hungry, dear. I am just a little overtired. May I see Miss Harman's note?"

Charlotte put it at once into his hand.

He read it carefully once--twice. His own spirit was very loving and Christ-like; consequently the real love and true human feeling in the little note touched him.

"Lottie," he said, as he gave it back to his wife, "why do you want to pain that sweet creature?"

Mrs. Home took the note, and flung it into the fire.