Part 18 (1/2)
”Yes, sir,” he said obediently. ”There'll be no more cla.s.ses then, I suppose?” he added sadly. ”Is Jesse not even to come as far as Bollins?”
”Not at present,” replied Mr. Ross, and then, feeling sorry for the little fellow, he added: ”If your mother can spare you, you may come over here to-morrow and have your Sunday dinner with your cousin in the servants' hall.”
Both boys' faces shone with pleasure.
”And will you tell the lads, Barney,” said Jesse, ”how it's all been.
And what I minded most was their things being spoilt.”
Barney's face grew melancholy again.
”Don't look so downhearted,” said Mr. Ross. ”We won't forget you and the other boys. Your work has already done you great credit.”
Ferdy's lips opened as if he were about to speak, but the little fellow had learnt great thoughtfulness of late, and he wisely decided that what he had to say had better be kept till he was alone with his parents.
Just then Christine made her appearance, very eager to know more about the constable's visit and the exciting events of the afternoon. So Mrs.
Ross left her with her brother while she herself took the two boys downstairs to put them into the housekeeper's charge for tea, of which both struck her as decidedly in need.
”Papa,” said Ferdy, when he had finished going over the whole story again for his sister's benefit, ”don't you think if Jesse has to go away that _I_ might take on the cla.s.s, one or two evenings a week any way?
Mr. Brock might come sometimes--extra, you know--just to see how they were getting on. And they would be quite safe here, and n.o.body would dare to spoil their things.”
”And Miss Lilly and I would help,” said Christine eagerly. ”There are some of them, Jesse has told us, that want to learn other things--not only wood-carving--that _we_ could help them with. Miss Lilly's been having lessons herself in basket-making.”
”Dr. Lilly has reason to be proud of his granddaughter,” said Mr. Ross warmly. ”We must talk it all over. It would certainly seem a terrible pity for the poor fellows to lose what they have gained, not merely in skill, but the good habit of putting to use some of their leisure hours--miners have so much idle time.”
”There's the big empty room downstairs near the servants' hall,” said Ferdy. ”Could not I be carried down there, papa?”
Mr. Ross hesitated. He felt doubtful, but anxious not to disappoint the boy, for as his eyes rested on the fragile little figure and he realised what Ferdy's future life might be, he could not but think to himself how happy and healthy a thing it was that his child should be so ready to interest himself in others, instead of becoming self-engrossed and discontented.
”We must see what Mr. Stern says,” he replied, ”and--yes, it will soon be time for the other doctor's visit. It would be a long walk from Draymoor for the lads.”
”_They_ wouldn't mind,” said Ferdy decisively.
”And now and then,” said Christine, ”we might give them tea for a treat--once a month or so. Oh! it would be lovely!”
CHAPTER XII
ANOTHER BIRTHDAY
Again a spring morning, only two or three years ago. Evercombe and the Watch House look much as they did when we first saw them; one could fancy that but a few months instead of ten years had pa.s.sed since then.
The swallows are there, established in their summer quarters above the oriel window, the same and yet not the same, though their chirping voices may, for all we know, be telling of the little boy who for so long lay on his couch below, and loved them so well.
He is not there now, nor is his couch in its old place. Instead of the small white face and eager blue eyes, there stands at the post of observation a tall young girl, a very pretty girl, with a bright flush of happy expectancy on her fair face.
”Mamma, mamma,” she exclaims to some one farther in the shade of the room. ”I think I hear wheels. Surely it will be they this time! If it isn't I really shan't have patience to stand here any longer.”
But ”this time” her hopes were fulfilled. Another moment and a carriage, which Christine, for Christine of course it was, quickly recognised as their own, turned in at the lodge gates. And before those inside had time to look up at the window, Chrissie had flown downstairs followed by her mother.
”Ferdy, Ferdy,” she exclaimed, as the carriage-door opened, and her brother, his face flushed with pleasure equal to her own, got out, slowly, and with a little help from his father, for the young man was slightly lame, though his face told of health and fair strength. He was sunburnt and manly looking, full of life and happy eagerness.