Читать книгу Alicia and Her Aunt: Think before you Speak - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 5

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"I cannot imagine what makes you so fond of that old Mrs. Launceston," said Edward Eyre to his young friend Charles Parry, "for she is a very queer-looking old woman; and though you call her aunt, yet she is only, in fact, your mamma's great-aunt; so that all the relationship must be worn out before it reaches you: yet you are running to see her, morning, noon, and night.

"Because I love her, to be sure!" replied Charles, bluntly, surprised, and almost shocked, that any person could doubt the propriety, or undervalue the reasonableness, of his entire attention to one whom he had beheld as an object of veneration from his cradle.

"I suppose so," resumed Edward, "but I cannot see the reason why you love her. Now I love my grandmother dearly; but it is very natural that I should do so, for she is my own father's mother; of course, I owe her love and respect; and she is not to be called an old woman; and she speaks very well, and hears very well, and is always making me very handsome presents; so that it would be very strange indeed if I did not love her. But I don't think, if I were in your place, I could much like my great-great-aunt."

"But I do like her, and that is enough," replied Charles, and the angry tone in which he spoke acted as a warning to Edward against continuing a conversation which he now perceived to be rude as well as foolish, since it gave pain to the best-tempered boy of his acquaintance; and therefore, immediately starting a different topic of discourse, he continued to walk forward with him, till they reached the door of Mrs. Launceston's cottage, whither Charles was going at the time when Edward joined him.

The old lady was sitting within the porch of her door, which was formed of a pretty green trellis, covered with woodbine and roses, on which Charles was accustomed to bestow a considerable portion of his gardening skill; a slight white paling, enclosing a small garden, separated this dwelling from the footpath; so that when Charles entered the door, Mrs. Launceston saw him part from a companion; and though her eyes were weak, she guessed that it must be Edward, and she called out to him, in her usual Scotch accent—"What's the hurry, maister Edward? can ye not walk in a wee bittie wi' my bonny Chairlie?"

Edward immediately entered, conscious that the inviter had a more than usual claim to his complaisance, as a balance to the unkind manner in which he had so lately spoken of her, though without any bad intention.

Mrs. Launceston was now almost eighty years of age; she never had been handsome, and her tall spare figure was now bent by time and habit, so as to render her apparently even much beyond that advanced period. She wore a mob cap, and a black satin close-fitting hood over it; and the whole of her dress, although neat, and that of a gentlewoman of a distant period, was certainly different to that of any other person in her neighbourhood. Her tones, as well as her dialect, were broad Scotch, and therefore sounded uncouth and vulgar to the ear of an English boy, who was accustomed only to the society of a gentleman's house; and being a little deaf, she aided the unpleasant effect by generally speaking in the loud voice which persons thus afflicted so generally adopt.

Yet Edward thought at this time that her countenance was open and benevolent, and that the happy and affectionate looks which she cast upon Charles had really something engaging in them, and he observed internally—"Well, I really think, if the old woman loved me as well as she does Charles, I should, like him, come to see her very frequently, and sit down and bawl to her just as he does."

"I'm no fond of troubling ye, maister Eyre; but I wad jist like to know whan ye heerd fra the brave captain, yere noble father, and how the gude leddy, yere mither, bears his absence?" said she.

"My mother is at present very well, and happy; for we have just heard from my father, who is quite recovered from his wound, and hopes to be at home in less than two months."

"God be thankit!—it has been a weery time for twa hearts, sae good and sae united, to be parted fra eech ither—His name be praised!"

Mrs. Launceston took off her spectacles, and wiped away the moisture which a devout and joyful emotion had bedewed them with; and again the heart of Edward smote him, for he was fondly attached to both his parents, and therefore grateful to those who esteemed them.

Observing the thoughtfulness of her young visitant, and not aware of its real cause, the old lady endeavoured to cheer him, by saying—"It will be a proud moment for ye all, maister Edward, whan your father comes back; for if every true Briton's heart beats warmly towards a brave mon, weel may the mither that nurtured him, and the son that honours him, feel the honest glow of a gladdened bosom—to say naething o' the tender wife wha has pined for his absence, and trembled for his safety; ay, my dear bairns, this is joy indeed! and when we receive it as the gift of a merciful Almighty, then is it doubly sweet to us; such will it be to that good leddy."

Edward, affected and confused, cast his eyes eagerly around in search of Charles, in order to offer, at least by his looks, some apology for words which he would have given the world to retract; but his friend, on the very first address of his aged relative to her young visitant, had slipped into the house, under an impression of something approaching to shame; and he therefore neither witnessed the contrition of Edward, nor heard the expressions of benevolent sympathy which had awakened it.

Just as Edward entered the old lady's sitting-room to speak to Charles, his eye glanced on the timepiece which stood upon her chimneypiece, and he was surprised to see that the hour was much later than he had supposed; he was therefore compelled to bid a very hasty adieu to the old lady, and run home as fast as possible, although he felt a weight upon his mind, which hung there so oppressively as almost to impede his progress.

Charles had passed through the house, and, feeling by no means his usual lightness of heart, was at this time wandering about the little orchard behind it, or peeping into a small inclosure for poultry, which was of his own construction, as if seeking for something that he could neither find nor describe: at length, wearied and dissatisfied, he returned to his grand-aunt, and on learning that Edward had been gone for some time, observed that he should go too.

"It's little I'm the better for your veesit," said Mrs. Launceston, drily.

As this was an undeniable truth, Charles did not reply, but he felt angry for the first time in his life with the speaker, whom he inwardly accused of being ungrateful for the attention he had been paying her every day during the vacation. He departed with a cold good-bye; but his steps lingered, and as he moved slowly away, he heard the old lady say to herself—"There's something the matter wi' my ain Charlie; mair's the pity, puir fallow!"

A short sigh followed this ejaculation, and Charles for a moment checked his steps, and was ready to run back and apologize for his manners; but, alas! evil seed had been sown in his heart—the ill-humour of the moment, and the awakened thoughts of his preceding conversation, alike tended to check the generous repentance which sprung in his bosom, and he walked slowly home, continually repeating to himself—"I am sure I don't know why I am so fond of going to the cottage; I don't see any occasion there is for it, as Edward says, and I really think I shall not do it again. I don't suppose any boy in the school, who is thirteen years old (which I shall be next Thursday,) has spent so much time with an old woman as I have; and yet——"

The "yet" brought forward, in quick succession, many thoughts which militated against the foregoing resolutions and the newly-imbibed opinions; the high respect, as well as cordial affection, with which Mrs. Launceston was ever treated by both his parents—the uncommon regard she had ever manifested towards him and his sisters—the remembrance of the pleasure he had enjoyed in listening to her recitation of old ballads, and especially her histories of Sir William Wallace and Robert Bruce—and perhaps, above all, the idea that she was in some measure either dependent upon, or materially obligated to his parents—conspired to render painful any thought derogatory to his accustomed feelings towards her.

Under the new and disagreeable conflict of present perceptions and past ideas, Charles at length came to the wise conclusion of talking over the matter with his mother, who, although likely to be partial to her aunt, was also very fond of Edward, and would, of course, think it very reasonable that her son, who was almost two years younger, should attach some importance to his observations; "at any rate," said Charles to himself, "I shall learn from my mamma what I ought to say, when he asks me for my reasons for loving old Mrs. Launceston; for though I really do think they are many, yet someway, since all relate to her kindnesses to me as a child, I fear it would be childish to give them; and that is what I can't endure, now I am getting into my teens."

On arriving at his own house, Charles, under these impressions, was soon placed at the elbow of that maternal friend whose counsels were alike dear and valuable to him, and especially at this time, as his father was absent in South Wales, inspecting the inclosure of some land which had only become his property within a few years, and which called for that improvement which, as a country gentleman of ability and activity, he was well calculated to give.