Читать книгу Sweet Content - Molesworth Mrs. - Страница 2

Yes, it was papa. I opened the front-door a tiny bit just to make sure. He had already sprung out of the dog-cart, throwing the reins to the groom, who went round by a back way to the stables. As papa came close to the door he caught sight of me.

“Connie!” he exclaimed; “my child, keep out of the draught. Well, dear,” when he had come in and was standing by me in the hall, where a bright little fire was burning – we have such a nice hall in our house, old-fashioned and square, you know, with a fireplace – “well, dear, how are you? And what have you been doing with yourself this dull day?”

“Oh, I have been so tired of myself, papa,” I said, nestling up to him. If there is, or could be, any one in the world I love better than mamma, it’s papa! “I am so glad you’ve come home, and now we may have a nice evening, mayn’t we?”

“I hope so. Mamma must let you come in at the end of dinner, to make up for your dull day,” said papa. But I interrupted him eagerly:

“It’s not dinner to-night, papa – not proper dinner – because you were so uncertain, you know.”

“All the better,” he replied, “for I have some news for mamma and you.”

News! What could it be? It was not often that news of much interest came to enliven our quiet life. I felt so curious and excited about it that by the time we were all three comfortably settled round the dining-table, my cheeks were quite rosy and my eyes bright.

“Connie is looking quite herself again,” said papa. “I don’t like to hear her complain of being dull and tired. It isn’t like you, my little girl.”

“No, indeed,” mamma agreed, “it isn’t like our Sweet Content.”

“But I’m not Sweet Content at all just now,” I said. “I’ve been just boiling for Peter to go out of the room so that papa can tell us his news.”

Mamma had not heard of it. She, too, glanced up with interest in her eyes.

“It isn’t anything very important,” said papa. “No one has left us a fortune, and all my patients are much the same; it is only that I think – nay, I may say I am sure – I have got a tenant for the Yew Trees.”

Mamma looked pleased.

“I am very glad indeed,” she replied. “I am quite tired of seeing the place deserted, and it is a good deal of expense to keep it at all tidy. I hope the offer is from some nice people.”

I had not spoken. I was very disappointed. I did not care at all whether the Yew Trees was let or not. I was far too unpractical to think anything about the money part of it. I suppose papa saw the expression on my face, for he turned to me as he answered mamma’s question.

“Yes,” he said, “that is the best part of it. I think they are certainly very nice people. And, Connie, there will be some companions for you among them – two girls just about your age, perhaps a little older. Their name is Whyte – a Captain Whyte and his family; he has been in the navy, but is shelved for the present. They are old friends of the Bickersteths.”

“White?” I repeated. I think I pictured it with an “i,” not a “y.” “White: what a common name!”

Mamma smiled. I think my pert speech seemed to her rather clever; but papa turned upon me almost sharply.

“Nonsense, child!” he said; “where do you get such ridiculous notions from?”

“Our name is so pretty,” I replied, “and not at all common. It is a very old name, everybody says.”

Our name is Percy; papa is Dr Percy. I don’t think “Dr” suits it as well as “Major,” or “Colonel,” or “Sir.” “Sir something Percy,” not “Thomas,” which is papa’s name, but some grander name, like “Harold” or “Bevis,” would sound lovely before “Percy.”

Papa looked at me, and he, too, smiled a little.

“It is a pretty name if you like, my dear,” he said, “and I am glad it pleases you. But as for our family being ‘old’ in the usual sense, don’t get any fancies into your head. My father was an honest yeoman, and his father was only a head-man on a farm, though thrifty and hardworking, and, best of all, God-fearing. So that, bit by bit, he came to own land himself, and my father, following in his steps, was able to give me a first-rate education.”

I had heard this before, or some of it, but it rather suited me to ignore it. I gave my head a little toss.

“I don’t see that that has anything to do with ‘White’ being a common name,” I said.

“Perhaps not. But I don’t want you to get silly fancies in your head, dear,” said papa, gently. “Trust me that Captain Whyte and his family are not common. It would be a pity for you to lose the chance of nice companions by any prejudice.”

“Oh, Connie would never be so foolish as that,” said mamma; “and the Bickersteths’ friends are sure to be nice people.”

Mr and Lady Honor Bickersteth, I may as well explain, were the former rector of Elmwood and his wife. Mr Bickersteth was a very old man now, and had resigned the living some years ago in favour of Mr Gale, Anna’s father, who had been his curate. Lady Honor was quite an old lady, and though she was very kind, I think most of our neighbours were a little afraid of her. She was what is called “a lady of the old school,” and had very precise ideas about how children should be brought up. I think she was the only person who ever dared to hint that I was at all spoilt. The Bickersteths still lived at Elmwood, in a pretty house a little way out of the town. They had never inhabited the vicarage, but had let the curate have it, so when Mr Gale became vicar it made no difference in that way. And even now Mr Bickersteth still preached sometimes when he was feeling well enough.

“I am quite sure the Whytes are nice people,” papa repeated in a settled sort of way; “and I shall be very glad for Connie to make friends with them.”

His tone was so decided that neither mamma nor I could have made any kind of objection. In my heart, too, I was really pleased, and not a little excited, at the idea of some new friends of my own age.

“Have they only those two children – the girls you spoke of?” asked mamma.

“Those are the only girls, but there are ever so many boys of all ages – from fifteen or sixteen down to a baby, I believe,” papa answered. “The elder boys are to be weekly boarders at Leam; that is one reason why they have chosen Elmwood.”

Mamma raised her eyebrows a very little.

“Then they are not – not rich?” she said.

“Not at all rich,” papa replied promptly. “I want to spare them all the expense I can. Captain Whyte is to pay a very fair rent for the Yew Trees – the same that old Mrs Nesbitt paid. I would have taken less had he pressed it, but he did not. He is very gentlemanlike and liberal – it is curious how you can see the liberal spirit even when people are poor – so I want to meet him half-way. I shall have his final decision to-morrow morning, and if it is closing with the thing, I should like you to drive over with me to the Yew Trees and have a look round. There are some things it is only fair we should do, and as it is your house, Rose, you have a voice in it.”

The Yew Trees had been mamma’s own home as a girl. Her father had been the Elmwood doctor before papa, and this house was left to her as she was older than her sister. Yet she had never lived there since her parents’ death; it was larger than we required, and mamma fancied it was lonely.

“I should like very much to go with you,” she replied. “Except – Connie, dear, I don’t like leaving you alone.”

“Connie is much better,” said papa; “and I think the wind is changing. I should not wonder if we have a bright, mild day to-morrow. If so, she might come too. Old Martha always has a good fire in the kitchen at the Yew Trees, and if the rest of the house is draughty, she can wait for us there.”

I was very pleased at this. Strange to say, the little prejudice, though it seems exaggerated to speak of it as that, which I had so ridiculously taken up on the mention of the Whyte family, had quite melted away when I heard they were not rich. I liked the idea of being kind and generous to people less well off than ourselves, and though there was, perhaps, a little love of patronage in this, I hope it was not only that.

“I should so like to go too,” I exclaimed. “I do hope it will be a fine day. Papa, if you are going to paint and paper any of the rooms, mayn’t I choose the paper for the little girls.”

Papa smiled. I saw he was pleased.

“How can we tell which room will be theirs?” he said.

“Oh, I think we can guess. They’re sure to have a room together as they’re so near of an age. I daresay their papa and mamma will let them choose, and if the paper is the kind of one I mean, it would make them fix on the room where it is. I saw it in Fuller’s shop-window the other day; roses, mamma, little climbing ones on a pale grey ground. And the painting shall be pale grey with a pink line. It’ll be lovely.”

I felt so eager about it I could scarcely sit still.

“I’m afraid that kind of paper is rather expensive,” said papa. “And though I want to make the house neat and nice, still I can’t spend very much. However, we shall see.”

“The room my sister and I had would be the nicest,” said mamma, quite entering into my plans. Dear mamma is not very sensible about money – she won’t mind my saying so, for she says it herself. She leaves everything to papa, and a good deal now, I am proud to say, to me. “You remember it, Connie? Mrs Nesbitt called it her best room. It looks out to the side with a sort of square bow-window, though that sounds very Irish!” she added, laughing.

Papa glanced at her with such pleasure. He is always so delighted when mamma laughs.

“I do hope it will go through with the Whytes,” I heard him say to himself in a low voice.

“I am so glad they are not rich,” I said, with such satisfaction that papa and mamma really looked rather startled.

“Dear child – ” mamma began.

I had scarcely known I was speaking aloud. I felt myself grow a little red.

“I mean,” I began confusedly – “If they had been rich, you know, we couldn’t have done anything for them, and – and – they might have been spoilt, and very likely they would have looked down on us.”

“Even though they have such a common name,” said papa, mischievously. “Eh, Connie? Try and keep your mind clear of all those prejudices, my dear. Take people as they really are, and be as good and kind to them in deed and thought, rich or poor, grand or lowly, as you can be, and you will find it will be all right. The real way to get on happily is to think as little of yourself as possible: then you will neither despise those below you, nor expect to be despised by those above you.”

I don’t know that I quite understood papa then; I think I understand it better now. But that night my dreams were very pleasant; they were not about myself at all, nor even about the unknown Whytes. They were all about a lovely room with roses growing up the walls, and as they grew higher and higher the walls seemed to melt away and I found myself in a beautiful garden. But just as I was rushing forward in delight I caught sight of old Lady Honor sitting in an arbour, knitting.

“Connie Percy,” she said solemnly, in her rather peculiar voice; “remember, the true way to gather roses is first to plant them.”

Wasn’t it a funny dream?

The postman’s knock came, as it generally does, while we were sitting at breakfast. There were two letters for papa, only. I had forgotten about Captain Whyte’s answer being expected by post; my head was full of the Yew Trees and the climbing rose paper, and wondering if it was going to be a fine enough day for papa to say I might drive out. It was only when he looked up with a pleased exclamation that I remembered what a disappointment that letter might have brought.

“It is all right,” said papa. “Captain Whyte agrees to my terms. Indeed, I almost wish,” he went on less brightly, “that I had not named so high a rent. I’m afraid they are very – well, not at all rich, to put it mildly. He says they cannot afford to do anything to the house, and as it is quite healthy, they will be satisfied if it is just clean and tidy. Strictly speaking, you see, I am not bound to do much to it; I did it up so thoroughly for Mrs Nesbitt, and it is in perfectly good order, substantially speaking, only – ”

“The papers are so ugly,” said mamma. “You know Mrs Nesbitt chose them all, and her taste was dreadful, and there are several little things that would make it much nicer for a family of younger people. These two poky little rooms at the back would make a nice schoolroom if thrown into one.”

“Just what Captain Whyte said himself,” papa agreed. “Well, we must go over it, and I will see what I can afford.”

“If they are paying a good rent,” said mamma, “that might make up a little.”

Dear mamma! she looked quite delighted with herself for being so business-like.

“Any way,” I said, “you really must let me choose a paper for the girls’ room. I’d rather pay for it myself, or count it as one of my birthday presents, papa, than not have it.”

Papa laughed at us both.

“What delightful ‘landladies,’ I suppose that’s the feminine of ‘landlord,’ even in the sense of a ‘proprietor,’ you would make, you two,” he said.

But by the way he stroked my head when he went out I could tell he was pleased. I think, though he very seldom found fault with me, that papa was terribly afraid of my becoming selfish. Ah, dear, I see now that I was that already!

To my great delight papa’s prophecy about the weather proved true. The wind had changed; it was mild, and, for November, pleasant. If only a little bit of sun would come out, said mamma, it would be perfect.

And after luncheon – which was my dinner – the sun did come out, and papa came driving up just as we were beginning to be afraid he was going to be late.

“I’ve two hours free,” he called out cheerfully, as he came in. “I only want a scrap of luncheon, Rose; I won’t be two minutes. Run and get your hat, Connie. Wrap up well, though it is a fine day, for you’ve not been out lately.”